#Sympathetic Deceit

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Primal

I was thinking one where Janus believes the others have only excepted him/like him as his function of self preservation not as Janus the person? And because of that belief he is failing to care for himself as he needs. Pushing to do more for the others and masking his own feeling untill he can't anymore and the others take care of him and assure him that is not the case? Bonus for Janus having chronic issues either snake related or other. – ultrageekygirl

Had the thought of neurodevelopmental disorders showing up in the sides as physical disorders or disability. A side trying to hide a flare-up or otherwise bad day believing they wouldn't be helped, only to be found and promptly (affectionately) smothered? – diamond-blade

hi! i love your fics!♥️ my fav is the wings one and it got me thinking and search and i found that you already did one with naga janus (didn't read it yet. but i will!♥️), but i think naga janus is awesome. could you do something do with him? like a protective parent with his adoptive only child Virgil? make some drama, like They lose Virgil or Remus doing some usual bullshit or the light sides do something and get scolded or something of your liking. just please make Janus a Naga. i need my snake boi to be snake. – anon

Writing prompt if you're accepting them!: one of the sides for some reason grows up thinking he doesn't have or doesn't deserve a human name? Maybe Virgil would work best. ^-^ – anon

Random idea I just had, you can do what you will with it: something in the style of your Green Kitty Cat, where Janus is campaigning heavily for lying in a situation where that would clearly just make it worse, and Thomas ends up having a Talk with him about how he's thankful Janus is looking out for him, and it's okay to be scared, he gets it, but they're going to be Okay. <3. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3836

There are differences between the Light Sides and The Dark Sides, but they aren't as…black and white as they seem. For one, there's no abject morality—if you'll forgive the wordplay—to being on one side or the other. Fear can just as easily be a key component of survival, as can Doubt, as can they be things that hinder you or hold you back. There is nothing keeping the two factions apart from that perspective, and so we must examine things a little more closely.

Namely, at the root of their core concepts.

Fear, as many will tell you, is primal. As is Self-Preservation, as is what is commonly referred to as Thought. Those who would tell you that there are different types of Thought would be willing to Split them, hence the two Sides of Creativity. But one of those is far more conscious than the other, is it not? Oh, obviously there are parts of Fantasy and Romance that cannot be so easily corralled or called upon as other Thoughts, but there are those and then there are the ones that drift around and careen into each other solely unbidden.

So. What do we do, when we are young and still learning how our minds work, but associate those things that are far more primal with animals?

Lies. Deceit. Doubt. Selfishness. A young Side waking one morning with a deafening scream trapped in his throat when he's greeted not to the soft comforts of his bedsheets, but instead the rippling coils of a massive snake. He thrashes, trying to get away from the terrifying creature, only for the coils to slip over and over and over until he realizes that it's him.

A child, shaking and shivering in the sudden cold of his room, his remaining human-like limbs growing sore as he tries to wrestle his uncooperative snake tail into some semblance of comfort. Growing at the speed of Thought, learning how to use his transformation abilities himself, learning how to care for the scales that grow up one side of his body, learning how to manage his internal temperature by wearing layers and layers to keep himself warm by force. A Side coming into his own with a silver tongue and golden eyes, learning how to hide the parts of him that he would rather the world not see.

Humans learn things at different rates. Lying comes easily after you've done it so many times, but we can never truly master what it is to be afraid. It makes sense, after all, we are not meant to immerse ourselves in Fear. It's a built-in alarm system, designed to make us flee from danger and get somewhere safe. And so, is it any wonder that Fear would take longer to grow into itself?

Janus has two little ones with him in the Dark. The first, another child that shivered in the cold and whispered about what could be hiding in the shadows with him, clutching onto his sleeve and trying to warn him about what might be lurking around the corner. This one stayed a child for a long time—but what else could Fear do as it tried to figure itself out? The unknown is terrifying, after all, and who could begrudge a child comfort? It made sense to be little for so long, it was a far simpler way to feel safe. But we learn, at our own pace, how to manage our fears, how to live with them, how to name them.

If only it was so simple a process for Fear itself.

Janus spends many nights soothing the little bundle with cuddles and warm blankets, whispering that it was alright, finding your own shape takes time, but you should still figure it out because it was you, and there was nothing better to be than yourself. Fear resisted for a long time, arguing that he wasn't something good, he shouldn't be himself, he shouldn't be named. It grew worse when thick furry legs began to appear on his sides, crawling and twitching of their own free will. Janus would pull the spider child into the warmth of a heat lamp and massage his pained limbs, trying to calm him down just enough that he wouldn't smack himself in the face with them.

It's alright, he would whisper, letting his tail wrap around the two of them, it's alright, it's only me, it's only you. There's nothing wrong with either of us, see?

But Fear could be stubborn, as young children are wont to do. I don't deserve a name. I'm bad, I'm not supposed to exist!

Fear keeps us alive. How else would I know what to do? You tell me everything, you tell me how best to keep us safe, what is more important than that? Janus runs his hands over the limbs, teaching him how to feel them, how to accept them, and more importantly, how to hide them when he needed to. It's up to you to control it, it's a part of you. You can do it.

Slowly, Fear learns. Fear becomes Virgil, spider legs hidden under massive baggy hoodies and sweatpants, curling up around Janus to keep warm and keep safe.

The other child takes much longer to even settle on a form to begin with. Thought races around with all the malevolent glee of a sprite, upsetting things and causing chaos and leaving the echoes of gleeful cackles wherever it goes. But something ephemeral cannot be held, cannot be comforted, cannot cause a certain type of chaos, and so a blob of a child forms with its skin pulsating and roiling with all the madness of a storm at sea. Janus would curl his tail around the blob, feeling it thrash against the confines until it settled into something more tangible. A child with black tentacles, with a bright streak of white in his hair, a manic grin on his face. Remus, the one who darted about with all the subtlety of a hurricane and left just as much carnage in his wake.

Thoughts are meant to be together. When Remus discovers that half of him is missing, he screams.

Shh, shh, Janus hushes, pulling him and Virgil into a cuddle in the warmth, don't fret, don't fret, there's nothing wrong with you.

He's gone, Remus wails, lamenting the loss of a brother he'd never truly gotten to know, he left me, he left me all alone!

Then that's his loss. You are worth just as much on your own, we would not trade you or bargain you away for anything. You are ours, just as we are yours.

I can't stop them, Remus sobs, hands hooking into claws only for Janus to tut and use two more hands to pull them away from his face, I can't control them, I can't—I can't do anything right!

You can be yourself. You can be yourself because it is the best thing you can ever be. You can learn to harness the energy, put it where it needs to go. Control it, use it, it's yours.

They grow. They learn. They control their more animalistic traits and by the time they are all round about the same age, they can hide them completely.

***

When Thomas learns of his Sides, there isn't a way to differentiate between Light and Dark. After all, Roman hasn't come up with the name yet, and he isn't aware that Janus and Remus exist yet. Or rather: Deceit keeps things hidden and Thomas still believes he has one Creativity.

At first, he worries. Virgil is by far the most sensitive about his status as a Side, but he could no more keep Thomas's Fear from him than he could eliminate it entirely, and so…Virgil it is. His little spider has developed quite the sharp tongue over years of dealing with him and Remus, and so he watches with no small amount of glee as Virgil holds his own against Logic, Morality, even Creativity. Certainly, watching Roman puff up like a proud peacock ready to be plucked—he blames Remus for that one entirely—is reward enough on its own. But there's a reason Fear is present in these conversations as Thomas tries to work through his issues, and more often than not, it's to be put back in its place. No one handle being cut down to size over and over and over with no respite.

He lets Virgil snuggle up to him in the warmth whenever he needs to. Strokes his hair and whispers that it's alright, still, he has his place, he's still useful to Thomas even when it feels like he isn't. His chest clenches when Virgil confesses his childhood worry that this would all be better if he wasn't here, that it might just make more sense for him to duck out. Nothing has him as terrified as when Virgil actually does it, not since he woke up twisted in his own tail. He hammers on Virgil's door, calling for him, trying with Remus to break it down when they don't get anywhere.

But then the Light Sides show up. With Thomas. And everyone can breathe again.

Virgil becomes…well, not a Light Side, but he becomes one of them. He shows up to their meetings, he helps them with their issues, and he…starts to join them. For things like dinners, movie nights, things that aren't about helping Thomas, but just about them as the Sides. Remus doesn't take it well at first, screaming that Virgil's leaving them just like Roman did, but Virgil points out that it wasn't Roman's fault they were never together in the first place, and, well, things don't go well.

Virgil leaves, because he can go to the others now. They understand that Fear is necessary sometimes, and so they let Virgil be around them. For Janus and Remus, well, they have always been at home in the shadows, and so Janus curls his tail around Remus's thrashing form and whispers that they'll be okay.

You're safe, little Kraken. It's okay. It's all going to be okay.

How is it going to be okay? They're never going to accept us! They hate us!

They don't know we exist, sweetie, that's not the same thing.

Why? Why can't we show them who we are?

And Janus, who has spent years managing the cold and the pain that comes from being half snake, just holds him tighter. It took them this long to realize that Fear is useful. I don't…I don't know how long it will take for us.

Remus perks up. But we can try?

But we can try.

Janus does try, for Remus's sake, because he can see how much Remus misses not one but two brothers, but if he doesn't give it 'the old college try,' Remus doesn't need to know about it. The longer it goes on, the more he resolves not to tell Remus the truth about what exactly goes on at the meetings, not when he sees how the others actually treat Roman.

He's heard enough of Remus griping that his brother's probably the more beloved one since they were old enough to have such sibling rivalry, but he hadn't truly put it together why Virgil stopped weighing in on those after he started regularly seeing them. It wasn't because Virgil was growing to prefer Roman, as he and Remus had feared, but instead because it simply wasn't true.

Roman was…treated badly, to put it mildly. Roman was treated like a work horse. An idea factory. A convenient excuse when things went wrong and a shiny accessory when things went right. He was so willing to listen to a kind word or a touch of praise that it made his initial foray as Patton the easiest trick he'd pulled in decades. And even when the masquerade had been revealed and Thomas learned of his existence, Roman was still there accepting his sarcastic compliments as though they were real.

He tells Remus his brother doesn't miss him. It's the first time he's not sure who he's lying for.

Things get worse before they get better. Far worse. Worse enough that he's not sure if any of them will actually recover from it, not when Thomas is closer to a genuine breakdown than he's ever seen, not when Patton is shaking and shivering from turning into a giant frog, not when Roman sinks out and a genuine stab of Fear makes him think they might just have One Creativity after all, worse enough that for the first time in years, his control over his snake form trembles.

Roman falls apart. He locks himself in his room and refuses to let anyone in. Not for the first time, Janus wonders if he's done more harm than good, lancing open the wound to purge the infection, but at the cost of causing Roman pain. He doesn't regret what he's done, not when it's gotten Thomas to take a good look at himself, not when it's begun to bridge the gap between Light and Dark, but poor Roman is the lynch pin to be sacrificed for the greater good.

The heroic sacrifice that he's sure the Prince would be happy to make, but he hadn't made the choice himself.

He worries that Roman might be alienated entirely. After all, he's no longer being useful. He's drowning, spiraling, drifting further and further away from anything that could possibly be productive, and none of the others know how to reach him.

Then Remus smashes through his door with a Morningstar and tackles his brother into a bear hug.

Janus watches, spellbound, as the others converge on Roman, wrapping him in their arms and whispering comforts. A foreign sight, a familiar sight, except they aren't saying the things they should be. They're not offering encouragement, ways out of the Dark, they're telling Roman how much they love him. How much he's important to them not as Creativity, but as Roman. Remus vows never to let his brother forget how much he loves him and Janus can only blink in surprise—last they spoke, Remus hated Roman, how did it come to this? How much has he missed?

He's missed a lot, it seems, as he watches Virgil be just as active a participant in comforting Roman as the others. He watches Logan and Patton pull Remus into their group hug without a second thought. He watches Roman's tearful face go from scared to relieved over the course of that hug, watches him relax into the embrace and drift off into an exhausted sleep. He feels a twinge of pain in his scales and forces a smile to his face, teasing the little prince ever so gently before sitting on the edge of the hug.

That must be another difference between Light and Dark, then. The Lights are more than just their functions to each other.

***

Thomas is…confused, to say the least. At least he's not alone. The others are also staring at Janus like he's just sprouted another head. Granted, that's slightly more Remus's territory than his, but Thomas wouldn't put it past him.

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're suggesting we do something really, really stupid?"

"We've already vetoed Remus's ideas, actually."

"First off, ouch," Remus grumbles from Roman's side, "and second, you know damn well that's not what we're talking about."

Janus scoffs, crossing his arms and examining his gloves. "I really don't know what you all are so ticked off about."

Logan takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Janus, we've been over this. There is no point to lying about why we are attending this art show. We gain nothing by deceiving our friends."

"And we gain nothing by having them figure out where we are actually going and guessing that we're getting them a present that they specifically told us they do not expect."

"Yeah, which means it'll be a nice surprise!"

"Patton's right—" and wow, Thomas never thought he'd hear Remus say that, and judging by Patton's expression, neither did he— "besides, you know how important trust is to Addie, we can't just lie to them and expect it to be fine!"

"What they don't know won't hurt them."

"Okay, now you're not even trying—"

"J, I swear to God—"

"That's not true and you know it—"

"Temper, temper," Janus drawls, raising his hands like he's some overdramatic villain about to be executed, "aren't we all a little uppity today?"

"What the fuck is going on, J?" It says something that Patton doesn't call Virgil out on his language. "You've been pushing this sort of thing for weeks now. What's wrong?"

"Why would you believe something's wrong?"

"You've been trying to get us to make decisions that are objectively worse for us, despite your role as Self-Preservation," Logan lists, a furrow to his brow too, "you've been antagonizing us significantly more than usual, and you've been avoiding us outside of the meetings."

Thomas blinks. That's new. Sure, even he knows Janus isn't the most social of Sides, but missing things like their movie nights? The one time where all of them agree to be civil and get along for one evening? Yeah, no, something is wrong.

"—think you're all overreacting."

"We're not overreacting, buddy, we're worried."

"Same thing."

"It is not. You are clearly upset about something—"

"Oh, well, if you believe I'm upset—"

"That's not what he meant, kiddo, and you know it."

"Guys," Roman says, "I don't think trying to do it like this is gonna work."

"You should listen to Roman," Janus says, and Thomas winces at how sharp it's become, "you'd think you'd have gotten better about that."

Roman flinches, Remus glares at Janus, and Thomas gets it.

"Janus?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

"It's okay to be scared. We are too. But trying to push people away isn't going to work."

Janus freezes. Full deer-in-headlights. Distantly, he hears Remus and Virgil make noises of realization.

"It's hard, right? Trying to figure out how to manage it? But it doesn't have to come at the price of us being happy around people. We don't have to hide everything."

"Of course we do," he hisses, and it actually does come out as a hiss, which—he admittedly didn't see coming, "haven't you learned that by now, Thomas? People aren't kind about things like this."

"Like what?"

Janus stumbles, as though he hadn't meant to say that. On one side, Remus wraps an arm—oh, shit, that's very much not an arm. That's not an arm, that's a tentacle. That's definitely a tentacle. In hindsight, it's probably obvious that Remus had tentacles or was capable of having tentacles, but still.

"You're an idiot," Virgil huffs, but it sounds more affectionate than anything else, "you haven't let yourself shift since you started coming to movie nights, have you?"

"Excuse me for being polite," he bites out and Remus flicks his ear.

"You can just say you didn't feel comfortable doing it."

"It's private!"

"It's hurting you."

"Whoa, wait, what?" Patton steps forward. "Janus, you're hurting?"

"They're being dramatic, I'm fine. I'm—oh, for crying out loud—"

Remus had wrapped his arms around Janus's waist and squeezed tightly, just as Virgil comes up to his other side. "Sheesh, Snakey, you're freezing. Why didn't you tell me your heat lamp was out of batteries?"

"It wasn't important!"

"Of course it's important, it keeps you warm."

"Janus," Logan asks gently, and even Thomas gets a lump in his throat, "why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah, isn't that like, your thing?"

Janus looks around and seems to realize that he's not getting out of this anytime soon and huffs. "You don't keep me around for that, you keep me around because I'm useful."

"I feel like we went over this," Roman teases, going to wrap his arms around Janus too. Thomas chuckles at the muffled how are you so warm? "You're not an exception to that rule either."

"Thomas?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna join us for movie night?"

"Sure."

"Wait," Janus mumbles, flailing a little in the twins' grip. "What about—we need to decide—"

"Oh, we have time," Thomas grins, sitting down and watching Janus get man-handled into sitting too, "and you need to warm up first."

Janus lets out an affronted huff but lets himself be cuddled on the couch. He glances at Remus, who nods—they'll have a talk about Janus later, he's sure, but for right now, he settles back and watches Logan and Roman fuss over the movie selection.

***

"Hey," he whispers when the other Sides are asleep, "is everything okay? Really?"

Janus looks at him, and for a moment, he looks like a lost child. "Are you sure I'm…okay? Really?"

Thomas grins, opens his arms, and pulls him close. "Promise."

He feels a cold snake tail wrap around him in the dark and kisses Janus's forehead.

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[fandoms-bandoms-andmentalissues]

Alone? Not Anymore

Logan is belittled, ignored, and discarded by the light sides, but until Janus and Remus help him find a new side of himself he didn’t think there was anything he could do about it. They help him make a very difficult choice suddenly very easy.

[whqreforstevengrant]

just some mommies for the HS AU

[michelangelo-error]

Patton Sanders Sides' Head-canons

~

Patton loves whenever the other sides play with his hair! When Virgil is ever feeling a little antsy he would let him make small messy braids🥰

Add on to the first- After he would leave the braids in, wanting to cherish the master piece a bit longer

When patton puts an object down he tends to give it a gentle pat

One of Patton's love languages is touch, one day the other sides started noticing the small touches he does. Poke on a cheek, shoulder nudges, and fixing a wild hair strand

Whenever, Roman or Remus needed to practice their makeup skills they knew they could rely on Patton to be such a good sport. Even if it ended with some horrific creations especially from Remus😭 (But anything for those Kiddos)

During Janus' more stressed filled nights, Patton would drag him to the living (Luring him in with his favorite wine, making Hot chocolate for himself) then throwing on a Disney film.

[frickerdoodledoo]

Soooo... guess who got really nostolgic while having a cold and binge-watched all of Sanders Sides again after almost a year?

For the last few days I have been sucked down a rabbit-hole of Fandercontent, and let me just say... while this fandom is so creative, there are just a few things I wish people utilized more in fics, you know?

(Disclaimer, I live on angst and the Dark Sides are my three favourite characters, so most of these are about both of those subjects. Also not a huge fan of non-mindscape au's, so these are all about canon-adjacent fanfiction. My only AU is Sympathetic Dark Sides where they all coexist. Yes, even Remus.)

First and foremost, and this is what inspired this post until I found more things after, why do I see so few fics that include Virgil's Dark Side Voice™? It happens whenever he get's too stressed in canon, and from how he reacts whenever it happens, it seems to be a bit of an insecurity for him. Why aren't angst authors jumping on that?

Guys. We... we all saw the end-card of Flirt or Flight, right? How come so few do anything regarding Virgil's colour-changing eyeshadow? It's adorable, it's gorgeous, talk about it, please!

When Janus takes off the gloves in order to show himself to be truthful about his name... why??? He did that for a reason. If it was just about the typical "Cross my heart" pose, there was nothing stopping him from leaving on the gloves unless their was a reason to take them off! Theorize, go nuts! (I personally believe that his scales fluctuate in their coverage of his skin, and his hands being completely human shows that he's being honest. He wears gloves to make his lies less obvious.)

And on the subject of Janus' lies, has anybody else realized that for the embodiment of Thomas' Deceitfulness... he's actually kind of a terrible liar? While disguised as other sides, he always drops some pretty obvious hints that he's not the real Patton or Logan. And whenever he does his whole "speaking in lies" thing, he has this tone about him that makes it clear to... almost everyone, (Cough cough except Roman apparently), that he's lying, or atleast just being sarcastic?

In the Five Year Anniversary special, Virgil, Remus, and Janus refer to themselves as the Cousin, Uncle, and Aunt respectively. And I know that there actually is a fair amount of content about the Dark Sides being a seperate but related family, but I just feel like not many people talk about the low-key confirmation of that as a reality, ya know?

More.👏 Protective.👏 Dark Sides.👏 They've known eachother for so long, no matter how close the whole family is, Virgil, Remus and Janus would naturally know eachother better than any of the others.

If we are to assume that Janus even just unstably co-exists with the Light Sides, (like pre-redemption Virgil), post-Redux, but Remus doesn't... Well, that's the third person that Remus actually has a connection to that just... left him. First Roman, then Virgil, now Janus. (I personally believe that the Orange side will just be an Unsympathetic Dick, so he doesn't count, but that's just me.)

I am a "Former Paranoia Virgil" Truther, as are many others in the fandom. However, something I wish I saw more of is others not catching themselves when calling Virgil paranoid. Even better, the Dark Sides not realising how much thinking of that part of his past affects him, thinking nothing of it and then feeling really guilty.

And that's all the canon-supported stuff, but just... one last thing. Consider the following:

The Orange Side is a relatively new "Relevant" or "Consious" Side, his existance only needed when suddenly there were only two Dark Sides and still three Light Sides

Janus is Patton's foil because he represents an "immoral" side to Thomas, and Remus is Roman's foil as a flip-side to one, single concept. Virgil used to be Logan's foil before his redemption, because senseless overthinking and paranoia defies logic.

This need for a foil doesn't apply to Virgil, because he is no longer a Dark Side, but he isn't really a Light Side either. A Grey Side, if you will.

Virgil encompasses both the good and bad aspects of Anxiety, and is even capable of representing more of an excitement or sense of anticipation, hence the purple eyeshadow seen in Fight or Flirt. He is his own foil in the same way that Roman and Remus are eachother's. They're the good and bad of creativity, Virgil is the good and bad of anxiety.

I am most likely not the first person to come up with this, but this is just my specific take.

Anyway, I am probably going to go write atleast half of these prompts myself, so if any of these concepts interest you... maybe stick around?

[howam-i-theparent]

Sanders sides HCs (Starting with Janus because he is my favorite)

Gender-fluid, but not the “switching genders” but more if the “It’s fluid, but kind of all one thing, ya know?”

Any pronouns (usually goes with he/him or they/them) but also loves sticking to a set that doesn’t match what they’re presenting as that day. (Like she/her in a full 3 piece suit or he/him in a ball gown)

loves confusing people with their gender (the expressions of others trying to figure them out is just so funny)

The “mom friend” who has so may chaotic children (Me tho)

Weaves as just something to do with their hands (weaves a tall tale, web of lies, ect.)

Would know how to walk in heels, but only after a lot of practice in their own room. They never wore heels before getting the hang of it.

One of the only ones that can actually cook (They kind of have to as self-care and self-preservation)

Took care of Virgil and Remus after the split, even though they were the same age

Was the first to “form” in Thomas’s mind, but not as deceit, only as self-preservation.

their nickname was “prezzy” before they got names because self-preservation was too long (this is from a Ao3 Fic that I read a while back, but I don’t remember the author or the Fic title)

Evolved into “Lies” after telling a falsehood to Thomas’s teacher to get them out of trouble

became deceit sometime after the split, No one knows exactly when, not even themself

Would make sure that each of the sides have what they need to go to sleep/function in the morning. Even if no one notices besides Remus.

Tries to not hurt the other sides because they know that would hurt Thomas, it would go against their very nature. They can’t help but to lie, it is one of their main functions. But they will try and emphasize the part that is a lie to be understood easier. (“I can’t do that”, but they emphasize the can’t)

They realize after a while that each of the sides can make small changes to their appearance to look slightly different from Thomas.

They choose to grow out their hair and bleach the ends (it reaches to about their waist now) but they tie it up and hide it under their hat when needing to film Or presenting masculine

Likes to braid their hair and decorate it with gold pieces

Can very easily multi task with all of their extra arms

Cold blooded and has at least 3 layers on at a time

Has something akin to a snake den made out of blankets and pillows in the back of their closet where they can shut the door so it’s dark and warm

Called each of the sides “snakelets” at one point or another and then got very embarrassed

spends a lot of their time studying the minds of people (or just general humans) to mind out how to keep Thomas from the danger of humans

Understands that the current American government is not the best. They try to do small things to rebel against it. “If the place Thomas lives in is not safe, then Thomas is not safe, and I can’t stand for that”

Would hiss at people when startled or upset (Full on Hissed at Remus after they got woken up after being woken up after an explosion)

Sticks out their tongue in concentration unconsciously

Wears gloves because “Ew texture” (who knows what kind of things Remus is leavening around) but takes them off once they are safe in their own room because “Mmm texture”

That’s all for now, might think of some more at a latter date

[ask-gt-roceit]

I can't believe it's been a while since I've done something with those two.

I don't exactly have excuses besides life and motivation ig...

-

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[treenissanderssidesstuff]

This is gorgeous and heartbreaking

They’re both liars….

[charcoallip]

My biggest regret you ask?

Holding every hand that came to me, their fingers intertwined with mine, hoping their fingers will stab me through flesh and bone and finally touch my soul

Drawing a million of their eyes on every parchment , paper, leaf that fell to me. Hoping every other pair would see me.

Kissing too many cold lips, with my hands on their hips, hoping they'd burn me like the sun.

What's your biggest regret?

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Relapse

hello! hope you're doing ok I have a request that's dealing with some sensitive topics, please don't feel pressured to write this! Warning for self harm I've been in a not the best mental space recently and was wondering if you could write smth where one of the sides has a sh relapse for an extended period of time and is hiding it, then gets discovered (and probably has a panic attack about it). my preference is Logan but I'd be happy with any of them!! – anon

Could you write a Roman angst + hurt/comfort sickfic. You can pick whatever sickness you want to give Roman. He tries to hide his illness from the others but they find out and help nurse him back to health. – monkeythefander

just saying.... if you wanted to write some not-romantic-not-platonic-what-are-you-a-cop? analogical h/c....... especially if they both- oh wait. I was trying to keep this vague but actually I just remembered from one of the earlier episodes Virgil said "I'm a problem identifier, not a problem solver" and Logan made a face like he wanted to disagree. maybe Logan is struggling and Virgil helps him and then later Virgil says something to that effect and Logan starts pointing out all the ways that isn't true? – anon

I was thinking about Logan angst and how maybe some of it isn’t about him thinking that he’s emotionless, but he’s just really reserved, and then the others make assumptions about what emotions he Must Be Feeling. And when he tries to explain himself, they don’t listen because they think he’s just denying that he has emotions, not that he’s denying having the specific emotions that they assume he has. – anon

Hi, I absolutely love your Sanders sides fics and I was wondering if you would write roman angst where the other sides realize that he is nearly always performing when he’s around them (kinda like your fic productivity). Like they thought Roman was kinda irresponsible/ careless and then they find out that when he’s not around them he’s working himself to the bone to prepare for the 0.5% and when he is with them he’s still not relaxing - even when they’re just like having dinner or something - because that’s when he has to perform. No pressure to write anything if you’re not up for it; you write Roman angst like no one else – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-harm

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3529

Relapse: deteriorate after a period of improvement. Relapse: return to a less active or worse state. *** There are good times, there are bad times.

Virgil gets summoned when the other Sides are afraid. Somehow, Logan had forgotten this crucial thing.

Stupid, stupid—

"Hey, no, none of that, bud," comes Virgil's voice, low and soothing as he crouches next to Logan on the cold bathroom floor, covered in water and blood and sodden toilet paper and— "Hey. Stay with me, Logan."

Logan blinks. He looks up. Virgil's face is blurred. He blinks again. Something warm touches his face, brushing tenderly along his cheek—hand, his brain supplies, that's Virgil's hand on his face. He blinks again. "V-Virgil?"

"Hey, there he is. You with me?"

"I think so."

"Okay, that's good. That's really good, Logan, okay? I want you to try and stay with me while we get you all cleaned up. Can we do that?"

Cleaned up. Right. That's why he'd come into the bathroom. That's the rule. He only ever does it in the bathroom because that's where it's the easiest to clean.

Oh, God—

"Logan." Virgil's voice is a little firmer now. "Stay with me, remember?"

"I'm here." He shakes his head slightly. "I'm here."

"Okay. I'm gonna stand up to get you some water. I'm not gonna leave, I'm gonna use the cup you keep in your medicine cabinet for this reason, okay?" Logan nods. "Okay. While I do that, I need you to count backwards from twenty. Ready?"

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…" As he counts, Virgil stands up. He hears the click of the cabinet opening and the sink running. "Five, four, three, two, one."

"Good job, bud. Here, drink that, okay? Try and drink all of it if you can."

"It's so much."

"One sip at a time, yeah?" There's a hand on his shoulder and another on the hand holding the cup. "C'mon, just try and get some of it down. For me?"

He can try. For Virgil, he can try. He lifts the cup with Virgil's help. The cool water soothes his throat—he was crying, he was hyperventilating, the rush and sting of it dulled everything to a background roar, why can't he just live there instead—and he swallows once, twice, three times. Soon he lifts the cup back to his lips and discovers it's empty.

"Good job, Logan, you did great. Do you want some more?"

He shakes his head. Virgil nods and takes the cup gently from his hands, settling it on top of the counter and taking Logan's hand in his. He rubs his thumb over Logan's trembling knuckles and gives his fingers a squeeze.

"I need to clean you up, buddy. Do you want to stay in here while I do that?"

"Bathrooms are easy to clean," he mumbles by rote, and Virgil only hesitates for a moment before there's another squeeze.

"Yeah, I know, but you're not a bathroom. You're Logan. And if Logan needs to be all comfy on his bed while I clean up, then that's what we'll do."

Bed…his bed sounds very nice right about now. His body tingles with the macabre satisfaction of being exhausted and lying down would help, wouldn't it? He tries to stand but a fresh sting of pain ripples up his legs and he collapses back to the wet tile.

"Hey, let me help you, c'mere, come put your arms around me…" Virgil hefts him off the floor like he weighs nothing, carrying him through to his bedroom and settling him on the edge of the bed. "There. I'm gonna go get the stuff from the bathroom, okay? You'll see me the whole time, you'll watch me go over there and you'll watch me come back."

"You won't leave?"

Virgil's gaze softens ever so slightly. "I'm not gonna leave, L. Do you want to count again? Would that help?"

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…"

By the time he gets to one, Virgil's got the first-aid kit laid out on the bed next to him, a towel folded up next to it, and another cup of water on his nightstand. He lets Logan wind nervous fingers into his hoodie, holding him close. He reaches up and lightly ruffles Logan's damp hair, smiling in the way where the corners of his eyes crinkle up.

"Hey, bud. You got me, see? I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna start cleaning up now, yeah? You wanna close your eyes for me?"

Logan's grip tightens. Virgil covers his hand with his.

"You got me, see? I'm right here. You can close your eyes, L, it's okay."

"If I close my e-eyes I'll just feel it. I can't—" his breath hitches— "I can't just feel it."

"Okay. Do you…do you want to see what I'm doing?" Logan shakes his head. "Okay. Do you want to talk while I'm doing this?"

"What would I talk about?"

"Well, I do wanna know what happened, but—but," he says softly when Logan barely stifles a whimper, "that doesn't have to be right now. Why don't you talk to me about something that isn't work related? Have you been watching something interesting?"

"There's—" he swallows— "there's this video game that Roman and I have been talking about."

"Oh, yeah? What's it called?"

"Superliminal."

"That sounds cool as hell. What's it about?"

"The premise is that you're going to this hospital for something called 'dream therapy,' meant to help you relieve—relieve stress," he mumbles, breath hitching again when Virgil tears open an antiseptic wipe, "and the game is you going through the stages of the therapy."

"Huh. That's a cool idea for a video game. What, uh, what's the story like when you're actually playing it?"

"The core mechanic is—" he hisses at the sting and Virgil blows a stream of cold air over it— "that you can change the world around you by picking up objects and that will alter their relative size based on your perception of them."

"Whoa. How the hell did they program that?"

"I have no—no idea."

"What sort of objects?"

Logan continues to describe it as Virgil works patiently to clean him up, pausing every once in a while to murmur words of comfort and encouragement when Logan's voice gets a bit too strained or his hand suddenly tenses. He keeps asking questions, prompting Logan to continue talking, until he finishes describing one of the more frustrating puzzles and realizes that Virgil's hands are on his shoulders, not his legs.

"You…you're done?"

"Yeah, bud, I'm all done. You did great. Here, drink some more water."

He accepts the cup and manages to lift it himself this time, Virgil's thumbs stroking gently over the seams of his shirt. The cool air of his room hits his still-damp skin and he shivers. "Are…are we to talk about what happened now?"

"I think that's a good idea, don't you?" He shrinks in on himself and Virgil's quick to lean forward, cupping the back of his head and carding a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad, L. I'm not gonna get mad. You don't have to be scared with me, I swear."

"You promise?"

He wants to flinch at how much a child he sounds, but Virgil just smiles. "I promise."

He closes his eyes, turning his face into the crook of Virgil's neck. Virgil's fingers keep working patiently against his scalp. He takes one deep breath, two, three.

"I was…talking with Patton."

"Okay."

"We were—I was—" he swallows— "I was trying to explain how I'm not—I don't—I don't feel things as strongly as he and Roman do all the time but that it's not the same thing as not feeling at all because it isn't, just because I don't yell or shout or proclaim my emotions for everyone to see doesn't make them less important or less valid just for—"

"Shh, easy." Virgil's hand rubs firmly up and down his back. "Hey, bud, you're okay."

He swallows. His chest starts to get tight again. "He wasn't listening to me."

"Can you say more?"

"He—he kept on trying to say that I did have feelings, even if they weren't the same as what I thought they should look like, but I do know what my feelings look like, I know better than him what they look like because they're my feelings, and I—" he chokes on a sob and Virgil shushes him again, whispering you're doing great— "I just got so mad."

Virgil rubs his back again, pulling away to push the cup of water into his hands again. "You got mad?"

He nods. "I…I yelled at him about how he didn't know what was best for me and he didn't—couldn't know what I was feeling because he's Thomas's emotions, not mine, and I didn't—I didn't mean to get so mad but it wasn't—I couldn't just explain it to him calmly because he wasn't listening but then he tried to tell me I was—I was—"

"Hey. Hey." Virgil takes his face in his hands, giving him the gentlest of shakes. "Look at me, L. Just look at me."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Shh, shh, don't be sorry, you're not doing anything wrong. It's okay, you're okay, you're alright. It's just me, we're in your room, you're safe. Just take a second, calm down…shh, shh, that's it…that's it, L, you're doing great."

Logan takes a deep, shuddering breath. The lump in his throat grows. He truly didn't mean to shout at Patton. He didn't deserve it. He just got so frustrated and Patton wasn't listening and it—he—

"Is that why you came up here?" Virgil's question is gentle but stings no less. "Because you felt bad about it?"

"I don't like being angry," he croaks. "I don't like the person I become when I'm that angry."

"Oh, L…"

"I don't know how to be angry without being punished for it," he whispers, "and Patton—Patton just—he just—I—he couldn't—I can't—"

"What did he do? Or say?"

He sniffles. "He said that if I really did know about my feelings, then I wouldn't…then when I felt them, I wouldn't—I would know how to handle them."

Virgil's quiet for a long moment. Then he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like kick your ass that Logan's fairly certain is directed at Patton, not him, before he's being bundled up in another strong hug. "I'm really sorry, L, that was shitty of Patton to say."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, uh-uh. We're not gonna do that now. We're gonna make sure you have enough water to drink, that you eat something, and that you rest, okay? Everything else can wait."

Logan nods. He takes another breath and holds onto Virgil. "What is it you say?"

"About what?"

"About later you?"

"Oh, right: that's a problem for Future Virgil. These are problems for Future Us to deal with, yeah? Trust me, I'm an expert problem identifier."

Virgil's shampoo smells like pine. Logan tucks his chin over his shoulder and hums. "You're wrong about just being that, by the way."

"Huh?"

"You always say that you don't solve problems, you just find them. But that's not true. You help. All the time."

"Aw, thanks, L. You're sweet."

"Does that count as an emotion?"

"'Sweet?' I dunno, let's ask Princey when we're up to it. For now, why don't you poof yourself into something more comfy and we'll watch an episode of that dumb game show you like making fun of."

"The one where the points system makes no sense?"

"Yep. That one. And, hey, Logan?" Virgil chucks him lightly under the chin with a smile. "I'm really proud of you."

"But I…relapsed."

"Yeah, but then you did all of this. You let me take care of you, we talked about it, we made sure you're okay for right now, and that shit's harder than people give it credit for. So yeah, bud, I'm super proud of you."

The smallest smile makes it to Logan's face.

***

The first thing Roman realizes when he wakes up is that he's somewhere soft and warm. Which is strange, because last time he checked, the bathroom floor where he thought he'd passed out is neither of those things.

Then he realizes there's a gloved hand adjusting the blankets tucked up under his chin and oh.

"Hi, sweetie," Janus says softly, patting his cheek, "good to have you back."

"How long…?"

"A few hours, at least. You were pretty exhausted." He raises his eyebrows. "Would you like to explain yourself, or should I?"

There's just enough gentle affection in his voice to keep the sting from overwhelming him, but he can't help but flinch away from it. Janus coos, leaning down to brush a kiss over his forehead, a cold un-gloved hand tucking itself against the side of his neck.

"You've been sick, sweetie, for days, and you've hidden it from all of us."

"Didn't—didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to hide it, or didn't mean for it to get this bad?" Roman shuffles guiltily. Janus hums. "I found you on the floor of the bathroom, covered in sweat. I managed to get you into bed but you need to eat and drink something."

"Not hungry."

"You don't have much of a choice right now, Roman, you need something in you. Don't you dare," he threatens with a tap to Roman's nose when he opens his mouth, "I'll get Remus to help me bully you into taking care of yourself, don't think I won't."

"…okay."

"There we go. Come sit up, you've got more pillows than Sleeping Beauty's palace. Would you prefer juice or Gatorade?"

"…can I have blue?"

"Yes, you can have blue. Sit up, now…"

Roman carefully gets himself sitting upright, blankets still swaddling his lower half as Janus reaches for a small bottle on his nightstand. He manages about half of it before he gives it back. When Janus moves toward him with a snack, though, he closes his mouth and stubbornly turns away.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I have to get back to work."

"You don't have to do anything other than rest and get better."

"But we have movie night."

"Exactly. We don't have anything else to do other than relax, so you should try and rest up now so that if you feel up to it—if," he repeats sternly when Roman shrugs, "you feel up to it, you can join us."

"But that's not how it works."

"That's not how what works?"

"I don't get to relax during movie nights."

Janus pauses. There's a soft clunk as he sets the bowl back on the nightstand and then the cool hand is cupping Roman's cheek, thumb brushing over his flushed skin. He closes his eyes at the relief of it.

"What do you mean," comes Janus's soft voice, "that you don't get to relax during movie nights?"

"I don't get to."

"Say more, sweetie."

"That's not—that's not the point. That's not why we have them."

"That's precisely why we have them, Roman, so we can all de-stress and relax together."

"No, we have them so Thomas can relax."

"We—we're saying the same thing, Roman—"

"No, we aren't." Roman pulls away from the touch, burying his face in his hands and scrubbing harshly. Janus tuts, catching them and pulling them to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "Don't—what're you doing?"

Janus's eyebrows quirk. "Why am I treating you gently? Is that what you're asking?"

"…you're mad at me, so—"

"I'm not mad at you, sweetie." When Roman frowns, something flickers over his expression and settles on something way too close to devastation for Roman to be comfortable still holding eye contact, so he looks away as Janus lets out a quiet noise. "Oh, Roman…"

"What?"

"Can you look at me?" Roman drags his eyes back up and Janus squeezes his hands. "Why do you think I'm angry with you?"

"…you had to take care of me? I'm disagreeing with you? I'm not—you didn't—I haven't—"

"That's my fault," Janus interrupts with a sigh, "let me rephrase: I'm not angry with you, Roman. I'm not angry that I 'had' to take care of you, I'm upset because you needed taking care of and you didn't feel like you could let us know. I'm not angry that you're disagreeing with me, I'm concerned because you're telling me that something I thought was relaxing for you isn't actually relaxing at all. I'm not mad, you're not in trouble, I'm not going to—to punish you, I want to help."

Roman stares at him. That's more words than he's ever heard Janus say to him about feelings ever, and too many of them sound too perfect to be coming out of Janus's mouth at him. And as if he can hear those thoughts, Janus takes his un-gloved hand and brushes Roman's hair back from his damp forehead. An embarrassing noise leaves his mouth and he goes to pull away but then the other hand is cupping the back of his head and pulling him closer.

"Can you tell me why movie nights aren't relaxing for you?"

His jaw wobbles. "I have to—they're for Thomas."

"What does that mean? I'm not trying to make fun of you," he says quickly when Roman's mouth screws up, "I'm just trying to understand."

"It's for Thomas. That means I have to—I'm there for Thomas. I have to be watching the movie for Thomas. I'm not—that's not relaxing, nothing I do for Thomas is relaxing, it's work."

"But Thomas doesn't always come to our movie nights."

"So?"

Janus frowns. "So why would the ones where he's not there also be for him?"

"What does Thomas do to relax?"

"Let's see, he…well, he watches movies, he reads things, he watches shows, plays games with his friends…"

"He engages with stories."

Janus lets out a quiet oh. Roman closes his eyes. The pounding in his head is back.

"So it's…work. It's part of the 0.5%, or whatever it was."

"You know that Logan doesn't believe that anymore, don't you?" Roman's quiet for a little too long before Janus kisses his forehead again. "We'll talk to him when you feel better, okay?"

"Wait, 'we?'"

"You didn't think I'd leave you on your own to deal with things, did you?" At Roman's hopeful expression, he chuckles. "You're enough of a disaster already."

"Hey!" He smacks weakly at Janus's chest. "I'm sick, you have to be nice to me."

"And considering that's the first time you've admitted that you're sick, I'd say that proves my point."

"No fair."

"I know, I'm so mean to you," he murmurs, unable to keep all of the remorse from his voice as he kisses him again. "Shh, it's alright, sweetie, everything's going to be okay. Now go to sleep, you need it."

"Will you—can you stay?"

"Of course I can, sweetie. Rest, now. We can sort everything else out when you wake up."

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[scoliosispunk]

i have thoughts about the fact that janus consciously chooses to rise up, even though he's clearly unused to it and doesn't have to, considering virgil still just pops in even though he has cemented his spot as a light side. it's as though despite the fact that he's still being antagonistic, he's consciously doing things that will make the rest of the sides let him in more, to see him less as 'the villain'. he's an asshole, but he wants to be accepted REAL bad.

[atherflame-theconcubus]

That is the most brutal way to reject someone. I commend you Remus.

Roman: Any good ideas, Remus?

Remus: Rip his eyeballs out and shove them down his throat.

Patton: REMUS!

Remus: He cheated on our Thomas! And now he has the nerve to ask for him back!? I think not! Reject him! Reject him hard!

Deceit: I like that idea. Reject him.

Virgil: I agree.

Roman: Me too.

Logan: It would be less feelings than dating him again. So I agree.

Remus, cheering: WOOO! WERE DUMPING HIM!

[piliiiiconfusionf]

The Beginning ~ Sanders Sides fic

Wc: 3942

Characters: Roman Sanders/ Dragon Witch/ Mentioned Logan Sanders/ Mentioned Remus Sanders /Mentioned Virgil Sanders/ Mentioned C!Thomas Sanders/ Unknown to the Narrator voices.

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence and injuries (though they aren't really real) mentioning blood, stabbing, but without a knife.

Summary: Roman, as Thomas' creative side, has always been familiar with nightmares. Not in the way of him having them himself but… quite the opposite. He fought against the nightmares his friends had.

Or better said…with what was left from them.

He was absent when it came to being part of Thomas' nightmares, never being able to understand and see by himself what was happening in them, all because of his brother, Remus, the other half of creativity, being in charge.

He got frustrated by that, always, struggling to help and guide Thomas to his dreams, to what felt right.

But... this time, after so long... It was different.

~*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.~

The Beginning

Roman, as Thomas' Creative side, has always been familiar with nightmares. Not in the way of him having them himself but… quite the opposite.

He fought against the nightmares his friends had.

Or better said…with what was left from them.

Most nightmares were vivid, prompted by his brother, Remus, the embodiment of dark Creativity and Roman's opposite, while Virgil ended them, the latter waking Thomas up in an anxious mess, while Logan tried to reassure them with facts to remind them it was only a dream, helping them to go back to reality and calm down.

Once they were mildly recovered, if needed, Roman would do his best to distract Thomas the best he could. Roman was the one that was always up to save Thomas from them, sometimes helping him with particularly bad dreams, if it wasn't by Thomas calling for him in the middle of the night to make up lighter scenarios to go back to sleep, it was trying to help him to see the nightmare more positively, getting inspired from whatever his brother decided to annoy Thomas with, instead of ignoring them, since Logan Insisted was the best way to avoid intrusive thoughts.

But again, Roman was absent. He struggled to understand the nightmares, sometimes even refused to, just for the pride of not being like Remus, which he had to fight for, just for his love and loyalty towards Thomas, but it still made the mission of finding out how exactly to help Thomas the best he could be harder than he would like it to be.

Sometimes, he even wished he could actually …be there. It was frustrating to see his friends hurting from nightmares, it was frustrating that he couldn't stop Remus from doing it in the first place, to not understand later and have him being explained over and over, having to ask the logic side to remind him of details he sometimes messed up with, repeating, reminding them of the bad time, because it was frustrating that he was affected by something he couldn't understand and above all, it was frustrating to not be able to help, especially when Virgil refused to talk about it and leave it alone to not trigger Thomas.

He was the prince, the Hero of the story supposed to be there when he was needed; the one others could rely on; the one others could trust. How could he help if they didn't let him know?!

He got frustrated, over and over. He was not good at hiding it when something made him upset, but… he cared about his friends, even if he didn't want to admit it, and did his best to not add even more to the pile. He had to be strong when things went bad, that is what heroes did.

He tried, his best, to just accept that things were like they were, but the hope of doing something more was still there. He was the embodiment of hopes and dreams after all, he couldn't lose that.

He tried not to think too much about it. This was something he didn't have any power on, he couldn't take his brother's place, no matter how frustrating that was. He tried not to focus, to ignore.

But… this time, after so long… it was different.

When Roman opened his eyes, darkness embraced him. It was dull, hollow, and confusing in a way that he didn't even know when his eyes were open. He tried looking around, walking around, running forward, walking forward, slashing with his sword around, trying to summon a candle that didn't appear… he was met with nothing, no matter what he imagined, which told him this was somewhere different from the Imagination or the Mind Scape.

Realization struck him. The last memory he recalled was him calling it a day as he read some Disney book he found. Probably Inside Out, he thought at first, being reminded of the darkness where each emotion met in the movie.

But then he felt something different. Dreams, the dreams that he created, weren't dark, weren't hollow, in the slightest. His dreams were bright, imaginative, out of this world, full of adventures and mysteries to solve that would leave both him and Thomas with an open ending haunting them forever.

This one, even though it was a mystery, was just … different.

This one was not made by him.

The darkness was uneasy but that probably was because Roman wasn't one to be in the darkness, he didn't like it much. That was more of the Emo Nightmare Virgil thing where he would either enjoy the time there or be overwhelmed by something Remus did, to scare Thomas.

Remus…this was more of his thing…

And if it was a dream, that Roman didn't make…

This was a nightmare.

Roman found himself with his last feeling of sleepiness off, traded by pure adrenaline burning in his chest with that thought. He gasped at the realization and perked up, following his first thought when he kept running forward.

That could get him somewhere right? That's how a dream worked, he had to move, continue the plot, a made up plot that he didn't have any power on, that the person dreaming didn't have power on, but if it was vivid enough, like this one, could choose its path by themselves… Roman knew how dreams worked and this one was vivid, he could finally choose by himself, in a nightmare,finally by himself.

Finally a change to help.

To be the hero.

After so long, after so long hoping- was it possible?

No need to question it, he thought. He wasn't Logan, dreams didn't follow logic. Hope was born in his chest again, gently warming his chest up.

In the middle of his undeniable excitement, Roman tried to remind himself of how nightmares worked. Dreams were a thing, but Nightmares had a factor that explained why they affected a side like the embodiment of Anxiety himself the most.

They were supposed to know someone to their deepest, the strongest fears, their weaknesses…

…

And Roman was a hero. He was brave, he fought his weaknesses, he beat them, and that made him invulnerable. Who else was more appropriate to face a situation like this, if it wasn't him?

A nightmare was just another, darker, dream right? Just like fighting yet another monster, another adventure, another mission.

Easy.

Roman kept running, a grin on his face as his hope kept trying to tell him where he had to go.

First, he had to find out whose nightmare it was, or… which side was the one contributing the most. As far as he knew, no one of the sides feared the darkness, including him, so what must be the problem here was: what was in the darkness, right?

And what he needed to see that was light.

He ran and ran, and could swear he started seeing light far away when he hurried himself. Feeling pride by his confirmed thought.

It was simple.

This was finally…the time.

His time.

"DO NOT WORRY!" Roman shouted confidence in his tone as a warning. His voice echoed around the darkness, surprising him and reminded him of when he was exploring caves. Hearing his own echoed words, he doubted them a bit, continuing with the same tone "OR ABSOLUTELY DO, ACTUALLY, IF YOU ARE A VILLAIN." He put his sword up.

"RETREAT, OR…" he laughed at his own thought "WE WILL MAKE THIS EVEN MORE EXCITING!"

Roman, indeed, was getting excited as he felt a fire of pride coming on his chest.

He strengthened his run. The light seemed to be getting closer with every step and the feeling on his chest did the same.

He ran with widened eyes, his eyes shining, his smile brightening, he put his hand towards it in an attempt to reach the light and jumped, feeling like he was flying as he slowly floated forward to it.

He took his time to look at it. Allowed himself to breathe, to curiously investigate it. Waiting.

Yeah, he thought it would be easy, that it was just another goal to achieve…but he wouldn't expect it to be boring. Too easy.

Suddenly, the growl that he was expecting came. He expectantly looked up, and smiled.

'There you are' Roman thought. His smile brightened even more.

From the above, a huge dragon with a black cloth and hat appeared as it threateningly flew in circles towards the light. It reminded Roman of how Logan described vultures used to fly around before eating their prey. A last mock from a creature of nature to another in its last minutes of life.

Roman chuckled.

He should be the one doing that.

"I'M READY!" Roman shouted to the Dragon Witch, his nemesis, his long sworn enemy and opponent. He wasn't surprised by her appearance in the first nightmare he remembered being part of. This creature, even if Roman always had to fight it and represented the villain of his stories, was who reminded Roman of his ego, of his purpose.

To protect. To guide people to their dreams.

Roman looked down to the light again, steady and lonely from where Roman first found it. It didn't seem that it had moved itself, not even a little, like it was shocked in place, small as it was. The small…star? Was weakly glowing in place, like a little kid so overwhelmed by a crowd, this little star not realizing it was the reason why there was light in the darkness, light that it couldn't feel itself.

Roman urged to where it was, allowed the weird atmosphere where he was to allow him to float to where the light was, which moved for the first time, backing off, but Roman didn't push it, saving a bit of distance between them, and then struggling to control his movements like he was floating in air. To his experience, it felt like swimming in the water, imagining himself as what would it be if the prince from the little Mermaid would do if he was transformed into a mermaid instead of Ariel into a human.

But Roman had to shake his head and come back to the situation at hand. This was a cool scenario and he was sure that it was also worth it for a Disney production scene if he tried.

With pride, he put himself between the light and the dragon who was coming with a speed that he didn't remember ever seeing her being able to reach, but didn't have time to think about that, she was coming for him.

Roman put himself on guard and charged with a war shout to the dragon too.

Once both were just in front of each, Roman tried slashing while the dragon blocked with her claws. The struggle between them lasted a bit like that until the dragon managed to take Roman by surprise and scratched him on his neck, pushing him back.

Roman groaned with shut down eyes, putting his hand on his neck from the pain. Surprisingly, there was no blood, no physical symptoms aside from the pain, and he had to notice fast when he saw the dragon charging towards the star again.

Roman yelped, and ignored his struggles trying to go as fast as he could towards the dragon-

'You are losing'

A voice echoed in his mind, taking Roman off guard. This voice didn't sound like anyone in particular,at least not someone he could recognise… he just waved it off.

Losing? No, he wasn't. The prince shook his head, and charged once more. He would prove it otherwise.

The dragon noticed Roman behind him, and looked back with a ball of fire charging in her mouth as a last warning for Roman to realize he had to dodge.

It was a struggle, once again, but this time the adrenaline took control and Roman dodged the next attacks rolling in the air with an experience that he knew he didn't have in reality, like he was flying and had been for the entirety of his life.

Welp, that's how dreams worked, he thought. He wasn't surprised that Remus' would work the same.

Speaking of witch-

Suddenly, probably because of his thoughts, the Dragon's laugh started sounding like Remus'. His brother's laugh followed by a high pitched screech coming from the dragon echoed in Roman's mind, and it was making it even more frustrating than it had to be, making his ears sore.

He shutted his eyes down against his will and tapped his ears as he groaned-

'You are a FAILURE.'

Roman flinched.

Among the noises, the voice that spoke to him before came back with more strength.

For a moment, Roman struggled, feeling how the words affected the warm feeling of pride that was still burning in his chest. It didn't hurt, but for a tiny bit he felt a pang of pain as the words settled in his mind.

He wasn't a failure.

Ignoring his clear uneasiness and how he felt like the darkness around him moved, Roman charged towards the dragon again. He had determination in his eyes, his internal fire pushing him to keep fighting and trying to muffle the laughs that kept getting stronger. He put his attention on the tiny star, and pushed harder.

He had someone to protect. Recognition and pride were things that he needed as Thomas' ego but this star needed a savior, and there was him.

'Are you sure about that?'

The voice asked, mockingly, and distracted Roman for a second, only a second.

When he looked down he regretted doing so.

In a way that couldn't be possible, the dragon was way too close to the star now. Roman widened his eyes and ignored everything as he charged again.

Or tried to.

'Not too fast.'

The darkness suddenly trapped him from behind and took him by surprise as he tried to fight it. The thick black darkness pushed him into it like tentacles that reminded him of his brother's obsession with octopuses. They were strong, and coming out from them didn't seem like an easy task, so he better got himself out there quick, or else-

Suddenly, one of the tentacles moved from his back.

'How could they trust you if you can't even do this right?'

Roman felt a sharp , luckily quick pain in his back to his stomach, like he had been stabbed, pain that didn't give him time to scream about it after he was left on the floor with a gasp.

He crouched down, breathing accelerated at the dull pain. He felt kinda grateful that it didn't hurt as much as it probably should, but when he checked down his torso, the wet he could swear he felt wasn't there. For a second he even expected a hole-

He weakly shook his head and closed his eyes.

A nightmare, Roman thought This is just a nightmare, and blood and all that is not your thing, you know this, you are doing this right, helping, finally, they– he kept trying to reassure himself when the voice pushed back again with force

'How could YOU expect them to trust you like this?'

Roman looked up.

From the darkness, one of the tentacles moved up and Roman could swear that it was a perfect black representation of Deceit's face. The prince looked confusedly at it for a second and then gasped, as the fire that once helped as determination, now started to burn him from the inside.

"Between you and Remus, I wouldn't know who the evil twin is"

Deceit

Roman groaned.

He wasn't evil. He knew that-

"I'm the most important Side here!"

Logan

WRONG! Roman thought, but couldn't find in himself to speak.

The fire kept growing in him, keeping him in place because of the pain. He felt tears coming down his cheeks as the darkness left him on the floor, action he barely noticed in the shaky, vulnerable way he was kneeling down on the floor. The fire just kept growing.

‘’Roman, you get super insecure for some reason and when you do, the work suffers’’

Virgil

Roman heard the voices but not quite acknowledged them, pushed them down. The fire kept growing and as the teary mess he was he didn't know how to make the feelings stop.

Insecure.

Virgil, the one that was always in fear, always the one that Roman thought held Thomas back, called him, actual ego,…insecure.

‘How could you expect them to feel secure around you if you are insecure?’

Roman looked down.

He knew better now. Knew better from Virgil, knew better than to take everything Virgil said seriously or in a negative way when he didn't mean it, like it was in this case, learnt to respect him. To see pass his role, to see what his intention was.

But..the feelings, even if they felt distant, they were real. Every time he tried to push them down, they didn't do anything but push back up.

He knew he could mess up sometimes, he did more than he would like to admit, like-

'Did you really do the right thing?'

Ah, yes. What were nightmares about, again?

Weaknesses.

His first thought was the wedding. The feelings there, the weight, the doubt, the thought of 'I don't want to be here.' that weightened him.

Roman hated this. He hated the regret that embraced him when thinking about it, but…he was the one who chose that, right? That was…right, even if it hurt… it was the right thing.

Right..?

He… he deserved it, he gave his word, he–

"Roman, it's ok"

Suddenly a voice that he couldn't recognise snapped him out of his thoughts. For a moment, everything was silent, Roman widened his eyes in shock, unable to react until the voice sounded again.

"We l—- y—u..."

...

Wait what was that-?

Who in the–?

The voice was distant, glitched, so blurry that for a second he thought his mind made it up trying to get himself out of the torture this nightmare was making him deal with, but the fact that he kept trying to understand what he heard didn't allow to forget, pushing forward to focus. He could even feel how his body weirdly calmed down at it–

This thought, even if it wasn't on purpose, seemed to also help to distract his mind enough to stop the memories. The fire didn't hurt anymore, the darkness around seemed to stop trying to reach for him, but he felt weak, tired, a deafening sensation embracing his whole body, kind of dizzy and cold now that the fire seemed to have ceased. He posed his hand on his neck and flinched slightly at the faint pain he felt from the attack he received earlier.

Speaking of which.

Further from where he remembered he was, he barely could catch the light that he swore to protect. He felt the adrenaline rush in his chest again, but found out his mind was working faster than his body.

Damnit.

He focused, and feeling a weird numbness in his chest, he slowly stood up. But to his surprise ,the next thing he knew was that he was standing next to the star. Star that, differently from what he remembered, was weak, a barely there light blue light that shily glowed through Roman.

Roman, disoriented at first, gulped, and uncomfortably looked behind him expecting the Dragon to keep looking for him, but found her crumbled on the floor, without making a sound.

Did he…did he do that–? When-

The star slightly glowing harder for a moment called his attention back to it. Like Roman, it also seemed… tired? More seconds passed by, and Roman could swear he saw how it was slowly also getting smaller. Roman rushed,reaching out, and gently put his hands below it, so it could stay there.

The star seemed to oblige, as it stayed there, without moving. Roman took the opportunity to kneel and take a closer look to it when… it also seemed to be losing color.

Roman felt a weird urge of emotions flowing through him again. A small drop coming from his eyes again, this time with no apparent reason.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel so…sad? Was that it?

He knew better than to question nightmares, especially if prompted by Remus but- what was all of this?? Did it even have a meaning?

Maybe–

As he processed, he noticed the star was losing form. Little particles floating around Roman's arms like glitter and embraced him like they were tiny stars, and Roman was like that one Disney short, a kid in the space trying to reach the stars in the darkness of the night.

'Woah, Yeah uh…Logan would love this' he thought with a tiny smile as he sighed at the sight of it. That stoic perfectionist logic side could have some appreciation for these things, especially when he didn't have other ways to experience it. He…was able to understand that what Roman did, even if it was different…was also important… that it wasn't nonsense. The thought helped to distract Roman a bit from the hopelessness he was starting to feel.

It was not right for him to feel hopeless…it didn't feel right.

He looked down at his hands again, where the tiny last glow stayed.

Roman looked at it, and sniffled against his will. He gently took one hand out and pointed to the star, hesitantly. The light didn't move, and for the last seconds, it was like time stopped.

Darkness embraced him again after the last touch, and this time, he didn't do anything to fight it.

…

The next thing he knew was that he slowly, so slowly, opened his eyes and was found by many tiny familiar figures on the ceiling, and posters on the walls.

He was in his room.

He didn't even feel like moving. He looked up, trying to catch what had just happened.

After a bit, he looked aside, to his bedside table. There was the book he remembered reading last night, and above it, his notebook. He always left it there, always waiting and prepared for him waking up with ideas or for when he came to bed and had the 3 am thoughts, always getting inspired in the least preferable moments-.

This dream seemed like one of those, the ones that he would feel the urge and need to write down for Thomas, especially when it was about the first nightmare he felt he was part of.

A nightmare that … seemed to be about him. About Roman. This was his nightmare, that was…without saying. He just…didn't know what the heck did it mean, it felt more than just- his insecurities.

He focused on the notebook…actually unfocused.

He just felt…so weird.

He kept staring at the pencil next to it too.

He just-

He was…this was not good.

Something was missing.

He looked back to the ceiling, processing the feeling.

The fire on his chest… he didn't feel it. He couldn't feel it. What- why–?

…

Oh.

Wait a second-

This was- the feeling of the lack of a feeling he well knew pushed him forward. That had a name, and it was–

Oh.

Holy. Sh—cheezits and bagels.

Roman Sanders, Sir Sing A Lot, Thomas's creativity, hopes and dreams, his ego…was feeling…

Unmotivated.

The royal pain he couldn't help to feel and killed him from the inside out. He lost his damn sparkle.

He had no motivation.

He couldn't do his job. Couldn't help Thomas-

That was definitely not good.

~*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.~

***

-Author's note: HELLO THERE!! phew I hope you enjoyed this! This is a story that has been in my mind for quite a long time now- I'm a really slow cook, bear with me-- XD started around last year and keeps kicking- 🤣 I have a lot of plans for this! I wouldn't want them to simply get lost in my documents haha 😂

The gist of it, to give a better understanding of this part in particular, is a Side being forgotten. Roman doesn't know said Side in this story, it's like he never met him... Why could that be? Any thoughts? :)

Anyway! Thanks for your time and reading! Would love to know what you guys think! :D might see more about this thing around in another time, consuming my mind at the time XD See you!

And special thanks to @fandombead for helping me post this, I'm just a little guy that wants to make stories once in a blue moon and doesn't know how this works BWAHA ty fren

-Pili F.

***

[erabundus]

i  just  think  it's  very  fascinating  how  scara  likes  to  adjust  his  approach  when  he's  trying  to  figure  out  the  most  efficient  way  to  gain  his  desired  OUTCOME.

[kaznejis]

He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?”  “-Y/N, please-”  “My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

A/N: So I hadn't touched this in over a MONTH. Never fear, I had a zap of inspiration and prevailed- I hope you enjoy! I'm considering doing a short fic from Jean's POV of Erik after the battle so look out for that! :)

Word Count: 9,391 / Read it on AO3! / Feel free to send any requests!

BEFORE

“No, Y/N isn’t taking part.” Erik’s words were final, as according to his tone and the silence that ensued; even Charles seemed shocked, his eyes flicking between you, sat upon one of the leather couches, and Erik, stood at the front of the room, hands on hips. 

“Erik-” Charles began, adjusting in his wheelchair and clearing his throat. Jean, beside you, too shifted; her anger visible as she sent daggers Erik’s way with her eyes, he seemed entirely unaware. “I- Y/N is an incredibly capable mutant, in the missions she has gone on-” 

“-Which she shouldn’t have-”

“Erik! In the missions she has gone on,” Charles repeated, shaking his head, “She has proven herself to be one of the best; her Geokinesis has the potential to be-” 

“Potential,” Erik shook his head- whilst your eyes had not left his form, his eyes were yet to stray towards your own as he resolutely stared at any other catching aspect of the room. “That’s all you seem to care about Charles, not the actual raw talent of a mutant.” 

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone who sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?” 

“-Y/N, please-” 

“My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

Your mouth downturned unwillingly as a clogging feeling entrapped your throat, unadulterated sadness filling your gut at the cruelty of his words. Beside you, Jean sprung from her seat; hurling insults at Erik as Scott attempted to hold her back. At the edge of the room, Charles simply rubbed at his brow, but not before sending you a sympathetic, apologetic look. It had been like this for months now; Erik disregarding your every word, suggestion, and proposal; it seemed that he simply had no interest in anything you had to offer. 

You had been appointed to the X-men with wide, open arms; having scored ridiculously high marks in your training. Erik had even been a friend, in the beginning, one of your closest- hence, the outright obvious, and regretful, feelings you harboured towards him. He had once treated you with kindness; helping you in your training, the similarity in your abilities allowing him to provide advice, tips on how to truly harness your powers. Whilst Erik could control the direct elements of the Earth; Iron, Zinc, Potassium, amongst many others- you could control, as stated within your mutant file, ‘photosynthetic eukaryotes’. You had laughed upon first seeing the description, shaking your head at the severity it suggested; Erik had corrected you then. “You can wield more than you know,” He had nodded, gesturing to the screen before you, “Your powers may seem simple to you now; but there is always more to discover,” He had paused then, turning towards you directly, smile discreet, “I will help you discover that.” 

“What more is there to discover about plants?” You had laughed, genuinely unable to grasp the supposedly absurd concept of your power being of any worth other than discreetly fixing an elderly neighbour’s yard, speeding the growth of the tomato plant they had incorrectly cared for despite their best efforts. 

Erik had shook his head, eyes misting slightly as he watched you, “More than you would know.” 

Your feelings for him didn’t exactly come as a surprise to you, whilst you did regret them greatly, you couldn’t deny the kindness he had provided you during your first months at the school; the guidance he had offered you during the day and the friendship he had offered you at night- it had been everything in contrast to the loneliness you had felt since discovering your mutant gene. Harrowing, stomach-turning nightmares would procure directly from your memories; Erik would always be there to wake you, running into your room before anyone else could even rise, shaking you awake and halting your sobs with the strength of his embrace.

In his shift, his silence; you had learned to quieten your cries- to wake yourself up from your nightmares, scared of bothering him even in sleep. 

You could pinpoint exactly when things had changed; when Erik had suddenly slipped away, succumbing you to the darkness of your own mind; to navigate the dingy, griping hallways of your mutant powers alone. It had been the depths of Summer; the sun hot and blazing upon the grounds of the manor- you spent many a day in the gardens, tending to the plants and honing your powers; barefoot and free. Sometimes, Erik would join you, using the seasonal bloom of the flowers as a ‘training opportunity’. 

The day it ended, you had been manipulating the vines of ivy that had grown upon the fence; learning how to move them as if they were one of your very own limbs. “Focus.” Erik had spoken from behind you, his arms crossed and gaze severe, “Clear your mind of everything other than that plant.” 

A difficult task, you had bemused to yourself, when the sole occupier of your mind and the object of your desires stood only a hair’s breadth away. “I’m trying,” You had gritted your teeth, pushing a splayed palm towards the ivy; your fingers trembling slightly, the sun blazing through the spaces between your fingers. 

Just as you had been about to give up, a touch lay upon your wrist, effectively silencing any thoughts intruding on those regarding the task at hand. “Here,” Erik had mumbled, his breath hot upon your neck, “Hold your hand up like this.” As he parted your fingers, practically intertwining his fingers with your own- you had found clarity in your own worry of revealing your nerves to him, of revealing the heat that clambered upon your chest and upon your neck where his breath lay, goosebumps rising in its wake. Within that sense of clarity, you had linked your powers with the twines and inky green leaves of the ivy- lifting the ivy from the fence and guiding it to hover above you; Erik’s fingers still intertwined within yours. You breathed; shock coursing through your body as you stared wide-eyed at the life-form levitating above you- the ivy floated upon the air, drifting languidly as if upon waves of a tranquil sea. The moment passed then; the initial calm of your powers passing as euphoria replaced it. Laughing,  you had instantly turned to Erik, dropping his hand in favour of throwing your arms around his shoulders; gasping and blubbering as tears of joy had formed within your eyes. Erik, too, had matched your fervour at first; grinning and burrowing a hand within your hair, another moving to rest upon your waist. 

Looking back on that moment, you knew that the pulse of power within your fingertips and the warmth within your chest and the hand within your hair had blurred your judgement entirely. So, looking back, you could see why you had pulled away and immediately pressed your lips to Erik’s. 

In other words, you had kissed him. 

At first, he had reciprocated; the hand within your hair deepening, the grip upon your waist tightening. He had guided your face to the side, gasping into your mouth as you intertwined your tongue with his own. You had felt so alive in that moment, your entire body thrumming like a tightened cord; held aloft by the grip of his hands and the heat of his tongue. 

However, the moment ended as quickly as it had begun. You had felt it as he had frozen, his body going ramrock still against your own; the heat between you retreating like a dying flame. 

You lamented yourself for that kiss everyday; whilst you knew that objectively, there had been nothing wrong with it, and it had been the best kiss you had ever experienced, even in its lacklustre length; you couldn’t see past the detrimental effect it had projected upon your relationship, your life as a whole. He had retreated instantly, some wayward excuse tumbling from his lips as he fled the garden, fled the warmth of your touch. The lingering sense of something more hanging stale, dead in the air. 

You had never forgotten the sound the ivy had made as it had slapped upon the concrete; the stems withering and rotting instantly in the projections of your regret, the scent of it bleating from you in waves. You had used every last ounce of your might, your power, to revive it; pressing your hands incessantly to the blackening stems. They did not return to their living state, too far gone in the influence of your vast emotions. Your nightmares took a new turn then, dreams of rejection, isolation; of your powers overtaking you and destroying the foundations of the world, any semblance of emotion desecrating nature and instilling desperation. Those dreams were worse than your own memories; you grew afraid of your powers, afraid of yourself, your own inability to control your emotions. As you became a shell of yourself, of the barefoot girl who grew geraniums in the palm of her hands; Erik drew further away, you could only chart it up to disgust- you had gone too far, flung yourself upon him in the light of the risen sun where others could have seen. He had been embarrassed of you. Why wouldn’t he be? You were a semblance of everything Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, was not; whilst he could control the very foundations of the earth’s core, you could barely maintain its creations. Whilst he could stand before the students and present any lesson he desired, you shied away from an authoritative position, opting to hide in the comfort, the secrecy, of your gardens.

You felt as though you were a disappointment of a mutant; a waste of genetic advancement. Entirely undeserving of the gene. 

Days without Erik turned into weeks, and then gradually months. Day after day you sat alone in the cafeteria; staring at the side of his head, watching the crinkle of his cheeks as he smiled at something Charles said; as he enjoyed the company of those within his own mutant league. 

But, as Erik had departed from your life, Jean had entered. Silver linings, and all. She had barged into your life with her fiery hair and even brighter personality; the powers so strong that they would immobilise the average person, the average mutant- but Jean simply took it in her stride, using her staggering, incredible powers for good. 

You would forever be thankful for the way she had taken you under her wing that one random morning at breakfast. You had been sitting alone, meagerly sipping a mug of tea, your nightmares leaving you unable to stomach any solid food; unable to do anything but longingly stare at Erik across the hall, able to think of nothing but the way his lips had felt against your own. It was set to be an entirely normal morning, the same as every other; stare at Erik, tend to the plants, wallow in your lonesome. However, before you could embark on your pathetic routine, your line of sight had been blocked by a figure before you, Jean, placing her tray upon the table and chatting with you as if it were nothing new. 

“-Honestly, it’s ridiculous.” You had blinked, tearing your vision away from Erik; your finger hanging limply at your lips where you had been chewing at a loose hangnail. Shaking your head, you had been able to do nothing but gape at Jean, your brain unable to compute what had been said, why she had been sat across from you, how you had managed to find your way into the dining hall at all. She had simply nodded her head at you, gesturing blatantly down at her provided breakfast tray, “The fact that they’ve only been serving brown bread for toast recently, I mean- nobody wants to eat that.” 

You had practically shifted yourself into first gear, inwardly slapping yourself awake as you had processed what she had said, what she was saying as she continued to complain about the discrepancies the cafeteria had allowed in recent months. “Maybe you should complain to Charles, go straight to the top.” You had managed to contribute, visibly sighing in relief as she nodded enthusiastically. 

“You know what, you’re so right.” 

From there, Jean’s presence had become a normality, walking arm-in-arm with your new best friend through the halls of the manor became a daily pleasure. 

You had almost forgotten about Erik. 

But, you found within yourself, you just couldn’t. He had been so kind, so understanding, and so ridiculously attractive- to which he, in fact, was potentially even more so. 

It eventually reached the point that you had been at in the common room; the only interactions being him hurling insults in your direction, exposing every insecurity you had ever had regarding your abilities; and you sitting there utterly befuddled as to how your relationship had deteriorated so severely. The conversation had initially revolved around assignments, specifically who would enact the nightly patrols of the grounds; groups of two would simply walk the outskirts of the land owned by Charles and ensure that everything was in order. It had been clear that you were perfect for the job; the edges of the land were uncared for; flooded with wildlife and overgrowth- you would practically be in your element. And yet, Erik had vehemently argued against you taking part, so passionately to the point that it was past being insulting, and just outright deranged. 

“You are such an asshole!” Jean’s shouts brought you out of your thoughts, blinking harshly as you zoned back into the conversation to which you were the main component of, “Do you ever climb down from your high horse, Magneto?” She spat his superhero nickname in a derogatory manner, practically laughing as she procured the word; as if one of the strongest mutants on the planet was merely a joke to her. She turned to you then, where you were still sunken into the leather of the couch; gesturing towards you passionately, “Y/N is an incredible mutant, if you had showed any interest in her recent training, you would know that; in fact, Charles is right, she’s on track to be better than you.” Ending the sentence with a jab in his direction, she turned and stomped back towards the couch; muttering angrily under her breath, you could only offer her a shallow smile in appreciation. You had filled Jean in on everything that had happened between you and Erik, whatever didn’t sound like dreamful vitriol, anyway. She had simply sighed, shaking her head, “Men.” She had tutted, turning the page in her book. In turn, she had filled you in on her situation with Scott; there really wasn’t much to it, other than the usual will-they-won’t-they denial of feelings on each end. You knew for a fact that Scott harboured similar feelings for her, it was only a matter of time.

Erik had recovered from Jean’s berating easily, simply brushing off her insults with a swallow and a hand through the hair, “Y/N isn’t taking part in patrols and that is final.” 

“Charles,” You had sighed, sending him a pleading look, hoping that your other superior would take some stance against Erik, recognise your need to be useful, “Please?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Charles shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Erik has just as much a say as I do; I’m afraid his decision is final.” 

*

Despite your confidence in Jean and Scott’s mutual feelings for each other, it seemed that the potential couple themselves had been entirely unaware as to this likelihood. 

“Y/N!” Jean cheered, bustling into your room with multiple piles of clothing, you had sprung from your bed; heart thumping from the sudden nature in which she had appeared. She shook off your shock, dumping her clothes onto your bed and spinning towards you, “I need you to help me pick out a dress.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Furrowing your brows, you picked through the masses of colour that now laid upon your bed; clothes suitable for a myriad of situations.

“I’m going…” You waited as she paused for dramatic effect, “On a date!” 

“Oh!” You gasped excitedly, jumping to grasp your friend by the shoulders, “With Scott?”

Jean’s energy died instantly, freezing beneath your hold as she cleared her throat, eyes flickering nervously, “Oh- what? No, why-” 

“Wait- who is it with then?” 

“Um, well, you know Oliver, right?” You nodded, still confused, “We were in classes together and we recently started talking again and, yeah, he seems nice!” 

“Nice?” Grinning, you raised your eyebrows amusedly, moving to sit beside her pile of clothes, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Y/N! Don’t be mean, he’s more than that, I- just,” She huffed, moving to sit beside you, on the other side of the pile, “He’s actually giving me attention whilst Scott,” She shrugged, eyes sad, “He’s not giving me much to work with.” 

You nodded, completely understanding, whilst you were determined in your belief of Scott’s feelings; the theory was based entirely on conspiracy- Cyclops’ nerves tended to evolve into silence when in the presence of Jean. You moved to rub her shoulder; a grin upon your face, “Let’s pick you out something nice then.” 

After a considerable length of time spent rifling through clothes and testing a combination of outfits in your mirror; Jean spoke up, turning towards you suddenly, “Oh! I also have a way this could benefit you; you know how Erik forbids you from taking patrols, well, since I’m going on a date tonight; I need someone to take over my shift-” She practically sung the words to you; her eyes sparkling with glee. 

“No!” You said instantly, shaking your head and hands at her, to which her form drooped; her lips curling downwards, “Erik said no, Jean; not even Charles could dispute that-” 

“Come on, Y/N!” Jean cried, her arms dropping to her sides as the dress within them drooped to the floor haggardly, “I don’t want anyone I can’t trust taking the shift I’d usually have with Scott, and I know you wouldn’t flirt with him.” 

You shook your head, becoming even more steadfast in your refusal, “Jean, I am not hanging out with Scott, I’m sor-” 

“What?” Jean’s face dropped, her eyes resembling that of a kicked puppy, “Why would you not want to hang out with-” 

“And, that.” You pointed directly at her, other hand on hip, “Is exactly why, you’re going on a date Jean-”

“So?-” 

“So?” You mimicked, “I don’t want to be the one that deals with Scott tonight, I have plans-” 

“Plans? What- spying on Erik?” 

Your mouth snapped shut, opting only to glare at Jean; as she cackled to herself. Traitor.  

“Y/N.” Jean’s tone was deadpan, posture straightened, almost stern, “Believe me, patrols are entirely uneventful; I mean, really, you aren’t missing out- but, I know you want to take part so-” 

“Fine.” You relented, allowing Jean a small, genuine smile, “I’ll cover your shift.” 

Later, traipsing through the sloping mud and overgrown grass at the edge of the grounds as rain fell in think sheets, you couldn’t help but curse Jean in that moment- curse her for deciding to go on that date and neglect her obvious feelings for Scott, curse her for being a good friend and prioritising your own troubles in the meantime, curse her for asking you to take over her patrol shift. You were all for a bit of friendly, healthy jealousy- but, oh, this was unbearable. Any joy you had initially had at being able to, finally, take over a shift was long gone. 

“Why would she do it, Y/N?” Scott practically whined behind you, stumbling along behind you; you could feel blisters beginning to form upon your heels, “Why would she go on a date? I mean, I’m right here. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to ask her out?” 

“Keyword, ‘tried’.” You huffed, spinning to watch him as he traipsed towards you pathetically; hair sopping in the rain and lips pouting like an emotionally unregulated toddler, “Scott, if you had asked her out; I would know about it, and I don’t, so you obviously haven’t tried hard enough.” 

To your chagrin, his pout only deepend; his cheeks going rosy with embarrassment, like a forlorn puppy- it made you feel slightly guilty, but only slightly. You ignored the slew of stuttered, random words that followed, opting to turn around and, physically, get to the portion of the shift that would take place beneath the canopy of trees across the field. 

Whilst you were at it, you decided to curse Erik too; curse him for forcing you to exercise such desperate measures and take whatever shift became available to you. If it had been up to you, the two of you would have shared a sunny evening shift- filled with banter, good conversation and maybe even some light flirting, if you felt brave enough. But instead, he had decided to end your friendship and had shared a shift with Raven the previous night, according to the schedule pinned up upon the notice board; to which you could only assume was a great time, seeing as though the two had entered the communal lounge smiling and laughing after it. The page of the book you had been pretending to read had almost ripped in your seething as he had paid you no mind, instead opting to continue his conversation with Raven on the couch across from your own. 

Your night had, effectively, been ruined from that point onwards; as you had been able to do nothing but listen to your so-called ‘crush’ recount memories of his long friendship with another woman. If you had not known better, if you had not known of the hatred he harboured towards you; you would’ve thought he was trying to make you jealous. You definitely did not fall for that metaphorical bait, absolutely not. 

“Did you see that?” Scott’s, grating, voice broke you from your reverie; he seemed to be on high alert- his stance frozen, like a guard dog on alert. 

You turned to him, confused, “No-” 

“Shhhh!” He hissed, moving you both to a crouch below the grass-line; he seemed to be staring at something just past the tree line, his hand poised at the ready. 

‘Scott, what the f- '' You were instantly silenced by a loud, jarring clatter; a shout following it. You squinted your eyes, attempting to spot whatever had made the noise through the dark of the night. Before you could register what was happening; Scott shot upwards, taking off towards the trees, you could only scramble after him, parting the thick reeds with your powers as you followed. Scott reached the trees before you did; instantly throwing himself head first into the darkness. You could only follow, stumbling blindly as you stretched your powers forward; making any attempt to identify what exactly was unravelling before you. 

“Scott, Scott!” You hissed, the thick bushes procuring your sight as you peered into the darkness of the canopy; nearby leaves rustled alongside the clattering beat of your heart, your powers at the ready. “Scott, answer me.” Whispering as loudly as you could, you begged him to answer, to show some indication as to what the hell was going on. 

Before you could call for him again, a beam of light flashed before you, sending you tumbling backwards from your crouched position, your pants instantly becoming drenched in mud. Scott appeared then, panting; his goggles askew, barely concealing his eyes- you gasped at the sight of him, leading him to spin around; his head flitting side to side as he desperately searched for you. 

“Y/N? Y/N, was that you?” It was his turn to hiss now, the sound quickling turning into a squeak as you wrapped a branch from the bush around his ankle and yanked; usually, you would’ve laughed, cackled even, at the sound he had made whilst falling, but instead you had dragged him backward and placed a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing any further sound. As soon as he was tucked into the overgrowth, an entourage of armed men emerged from the dark; armed to the teeth, guns drawn. As they appeared, you felt Scott’s breath quicken against your palm, your own heartbeat hopping in tandem. 

“Was that Cyclops?” One of the men called to the others; flashing his light into the trees, not far from the bush you crouched in, “Do any of the others use laser beams?” 

“Can’t be sure…” Another man replied; cocking his weapon. The entire entourage were on alert, their torches flashing dangerously close; you didn’t allow the fear to swallow you, the adrenaline and the buzz of your powers rendering you silent, aware. 

Slowly, carefully, you slid your hand away from Scott’s mouth; pressing a finger against your own in demand. He nodded, lips trembling as he kept his hand held aloft; ready to shoot if necessary. Shaking your head, you turned towards him, hoping to convey the necessary declaration within your gaze. When you spoke, your voice was barely there; lower than a whisper, each word spoken slowly, “You need to go.” 

You widened your eyes incessantly when Scott opened his mouth in protest, shaking your head firmly- eventually, he broke past your protests, managing to hiss out a word, “What?” 

“Scott,” You gripped his arm; clasp firm and angry, “You need to leave, now-”

“-I’m not leaving you here.”

“Scott, please,” You were begging now, eyes filling with tears as you sniffled at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Look at their weapons, Y/N-” 

“Scott, listen to me. We both know that if they manage to get those goggles off, you are a liability to everyone, to me.” You watched his face fall, his mouth falling ajar slightly in despair; his head shaking adamantly all the while, “I need you to go and get help-”

“Y/N, please, I can’t-” 

“You can.” You nodded, gathering him by the lapels of his shirt; jostling him slightly, “You can, Scott, please.” 

He nodded then, understanding. He was visibly stricken, breath laboured, traumatised by the thought of leaving you there. He spared you one last look, one last squeeze of the hand, before he took off; crashing through the bushes and onto the fields- sending any stray laser that he could towards the men. 

“Shit-” They yelled, aiming towards him and beginning to make chase, though before they could, you shot your hand forwards- the branch of a tree effectively impaling three of the men at once; connecting them all by the same gaping hole as they instantly hung limp. The remaining men froze, guns held half-aloft in shock as they stared up at their comrades hanging above. Rising from the bushes, you cocked your fingers; summoning roots from underground and wrapping them around the ankles of the men, dragging them through the mud and back into their place of origin; silencing the velocity of the men’s screams as they suffocated. The rain was blinding, falling in thick slashes, your hair clung to your neck as you manipulated any semblance of nature you could grasp; the roots, vines, leaves, branches- all elements moved in tandem, fighting back against the weapons of the men. You walked into the clearing, untouchable, unobtainable; your powers bursting at the seams as you discovered the potential you had withheld from yourself. 

As a lone soldier sprinted towards you, baton held high above his head; you spun your wrist, leading a nearby tree to reach forward, plucking him from the ground and flinging him into the air. You could almost have laughed, your powers unvanquished even by the sheets of unforgiving rain. In that moment, you felt yourself channeling Erik, the way his face hardened in the pursuit of revenge; the harshness of his stance and the cool of his metal. For the first time, you didn’t see yourself as weak compared to him, as not good enough- you felt like him. Like him in the essence that you could manipulate whatever you wanted, as long as it tuned to the rhythm of your powers. 

Though, your reign was short lived as a flash of light beamed upon you; you squinted, hand held aloft before your eyes as you looked up at the helicopter above you; it allowed only a second of thought before a heavy force knocked you to the ground, the abject press of an electrified baton burning into your side; leaving you convulsing and screaming beneath its hold, face down within the trenches of mud. A hand instantly clasped the ends of your legs, sharpened nails digging into the bare skin of your ankles, and begun to drag; your face and hands and hair sliding in the choking thick of the mud- you knew in that moment that something was going to happen, that you were going to die, even. The thought shot through your rambling brain as you heaved at the mud filling your mouth and eyes, desperately trying to blink it away. With every ounce of your being, you attempted to utilise your powers as you had been only moments earlier, stretched your convulsing fingers forward, nail beds thick with mud; but it was to no avail, the electricity having dulled the receptors within that allowed your powers to course through your bloodstream. 

To your abject relief, your perpetrator dropped your ankles, leaving you moaning and gasping in relief, a smile almost gracing your face as the pain almost stopped. You laid there, face down in the mud, unable to do anything but comply as rough hands fastened a collar around your neck; any semblance of hold you had on your powers vanished- for a long moment, you felt human, normal- no longer were you attuned to the grass bristling upon your legs and the tree branches dancing above you. They simply became fixtures of nature, living bodies unrelated to your own; the tether snapped. 

“We need to get out of here.” A voice rushed above you, the sound of a gun clicking in the deafening drum of the rain, “Leave the other one, this one’s a real freak- I mean, look at this place, look at how many we just lost-” 

The voices around you blurred as raindrops soaked the side of your face; your sopping hair strewn across the base of your neck and chin- your body could only attune to a constant shiver, your teeth chattering against the mud and the blue of your lips. You could only watch through bleary eyes as the helicopter landed beside you; men instantly jumped from it, armed to the teeth, and running to where you laid prone upon the ground. You knew that you were losing consciousness; your human body no longer strong enough to fight your injuries. 

As your eyes fluttered, your body and mind sinking into the mud; you could only watch in confusion as the helicopter’s rotors began to spin, the base of the vehicle lifting clumsily and sending soldiers scattering. It was apparent that had been the warning signal; as the clearing instantly exploded into chaos above you- gunfire and mutant force alike thrashing upon the night’s quiet. The ground below you reverberated as something fell beside you; as it did so- the pressure of the collar upon your neck eased, the device being torn from your neck as a hand shook your shoulder, turning you on your back. Warmth overtook the shiver that had embedded itself within you as a hand landed upon your cheek, calloused touch brushing the sodden hair from your face and caressing the skin that remained in its place. You knew that someone was talking, encasing your body in their hold as the chaos surrounding you continued. Allowing your head to roll to the side, you watched bleary eyed as Scott mowed down the soldiers with his lasers; his finger not straying from the button upon his goggles. A voice sounded above you, causing Scott to spin and immediately sprint towards you, he took over the hold upon you then; lifting you effectively into his arms and breaking into an immediate sprint. The jostle of his movement was the last straw; the final source of pain your body could handle. As you slipped away; slipped from consciousness, from the forest- you watched as a figure stepped further into the clearing, brandishing nothing but a long dark coat and a raised hand. The last thing you saw was the raising of hell; every last man brought to their knees as the force of the dark figure beckoned upon them.

AFTER

Thistles sung as you awoke; their tune long and drawling, carrying upon the wind that fluttered into the room. Trees just beyond the windowsill waved and chattered, their leaves basking within the midday sun. 

You awoke to their calls with a start- an intake of breath so sharp that your chest caught, a sharp strike of pain ricocheting through your belly. Cringing at the light that shone through the crack created by the stretch of curtain that didn’t quite meet the hook upon the wall, you formed your eyes into slits, peering at the room you had awoken in. It was the infirmary within the house- small, cozy but adequately equipped for the petty injuries that students with mutant abilities tend to acquire. You had accompanied a number of students to the infirmary yourself, the gardens with their thorns and brambles tended to be somewhat of a hazard to inquisitive students. 

The room was empty save for yourself; the resident healer was nowhere to be found. Even Hank, who tended to occupy the room with his technology and experiments, was absent. Adjusting the duvet upon you, you used the opportunity to unscramble your mind, to attempt to recall the events that had led you there. 

Rain, mud, light, gunfire, a dark effervescent figure. 

Sounds about right. 

Shaking your head, you moved to sit up; wincing as your body ached and creaked, your back in particular procuring a sharp burn that shot up your spine. Twisting slowly, you lifted the gown you were wearing and picked at your bandages, only to gasp. A grizzly red mark sat at the cusp of your back, tendrils of bruising and burns spanned from the focal point; the wound spread like spiderwebs, eventually meeting in identical patterns spanning over your back and hip. You could feel the pain, the burn of the baton as if it were still happening, the base still prodding upon your back as electricity coursed through your veins- muting your ability to think, see, to feel the very base of your mutant gene. 

In that moment, you struggled with that thought; turned it over and over within the palms of your hands, the reality of how easily, how simply, your mutant gene could be dulled, could be practically removed, rendering you silent, unable to think of anything but that. Before the school, before your new life, you would have jumped at the chance; burned your body until the gene that had ended your life, sent everyone you had ever loved fleeing, was gone. 

But now? 

Now, your mutant gene had given you everything; the lessons you had learned, the friendships you had made, your place within the very house you healed upon. The thought didn’t pleasure you now, it terrified you. 

Would the X-Men, the students, your friends, your family, still accept you even without the gene? If you had emerged from the attack powerless, unable to exercise your main purpose? You wondered if that was why Erik had turned such a sour note towards you, had he realised that your existence within the X-Men was fruitless? You shook the thought from your head, willing yourself to remember the way you had held those men aloft; each incapacitated by the branch that tore through their chests and left them practically dangling from your hold. 

If only Erik had been there to see that. 

Thoughts of Erik lead you directly to that cloaked figure in the clearing, the person who had saved you (alongside Scott, of course). Had it been him? Your mind whispered insidiously, the dark depths of your mind that harboured your feelings for Erik secreting poison into the, well, rational parts of your brain. 

Stop, you chastised your own mind, mentally batting away the insidious thoughts. Erik hadn’t paid any form of positive attention towards you in months, he wouldn’t drop that facade in a heartbeat just to come to your aid, surely? 

But then, no one else in the house had that form of presence. Nobody could step forward and brandish a hand, fortifying the fates of countless men, all armed to the teeth, other than Erik. His presence was always breathtaking; with his lithe, long legs and perfectly coiffed hair. Though that wasn’t the Erik you had fallen in love with, that Erik had shaggy hair and rumpled plaid shirts, pushed up to the elbow. That Erik, your Erik, kissed the girl in the garden; intertwined her petals into his own arms, clutching them between his fingers ever so gently- allowing her into the fortress made of metal. He was your own to keep, to cherish, because he lived in the safety of your own mind, locked away behind thorns and brambles never to be touched again. 

Sighing, you allowed the sadness to fill your gut for a moment, allowing yourself to bask in it; alone in that room, in an unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar clothes. 

That is how Jean found you. 

You had scrambled at the click of the lock, sitting up straight in bed and staring wide-eyed, slightly terrified at the door. A series of events had transpired then. Jean had entered, a mug of coffee balanced on one hand and a book stored beneath the same arm, and had made direct eye-contact with you, very much awake for the first time. She gasped, freezing in place for a moment before remembering the cup balanced on her hand- which was by then falling to the ground. Luckily, her telekinesis caught it just in time, leaving you staring, wide-eyed at one another as the cup and its contents hung precariously in the air. 

Jean was the first to break the silence, essentially crushing it by immediately bursting into tears, the cup finally smashing against the ground along with its contents and the book as she raced towards your bedside. “Y/N! Oh my g- I am so sorry-” 

Confused, you shook your head, moving to face her; your voice croaked brokenly before you eventually managed to speak, “Sorry? Jean you have nothing to be-” 

“No!” She interrupted you, eyes shining and tears coating her cheeks; her lips trembling all the while, “If I hadn’t have gone on that date-” 

Instantly, you shook your head, silencing her by grasping her by the hand, shaking it until she looked back at you, “This isn’t your fault, if anything, it’s Erik’s for stopping me from going on patrols in the first place.” 

Jean’s eyebrows lowered instantly, her eyes crinkling as she looked at you, confused, “Well-” 

“What is going on in here?-” Scott burst into the room then, having been summoned by the crash of the cup; he seemed ready for battle, though his fight-or-flight immediately withered upon seeing you, a grin instantly gracing his features, “You’re awake!”

“Hey Scott,” You smiled tiredly, lifting the hand that wasn’t clutching Jean’s in greeting.

“How are you feeling?” He smiled kindly, moving to pull a chair beside Jean- interestingly enough. 

Nodding, you sighed; feeling the pain within your once petrified muscles and the chill that seemed to sit within your bones. “I’m- I’m okay.” 

Both Jean and Scott looked upon you remorsefully, their eyes forlorn and mouths twisting with emotion. Scott was the first to speak, breaking eye contact and staring down at his hands, “Y/N, we-” He chewed on his lips, flexing his fingers, “We thought you were dead, I- when we got to you, you were just laying there, face down and unmoving.” 

The breath that left your nose was gusty; heavy in its weight and volume, you found yourself tearing up at his words, “Thank you for listening to me.” 

His breath resembled that of a meagre chuckle, his head shaking all the while, “That’s alright.” 

“And thank you for saving me-” 

Scott looked up immediately, his forehead creased beneath his goggles; he shared a silent look with Jean, she too opted not to speak. “Y/N-” Scott began, his posture going straight, awkward, ‘I can’t take credit for that.” 

“Sure you can. It’s the last thing I remember, you carried me-” 

“No-” Scott spoke stubbornly, refusing to take any credit, “I wasn’t the only one to help.” 

“Oh,” You spoke, shocked, despite the memory of the hand upon your face feeling all too familiar. 

“Erik was the first to reach you Y/N.” Jean spoke, her voice low, almost apologetic. 

Oh. 

You remembered then, not just the hand that had lingered upon your skin, perforated your everlasting pain with warmth and, just maybe, something akin to love. Your mind healed, and what had seemed to be poison; welling at the once-dormant temperaments of your mind, receded- the waves crashing and swelling before dissolving into a calm flow. 

Erik had saved you. 

But why? 

Had he been so furious at your inability to comply with his orders that he had taken his anger out on those soldiers before (conveniently) saving you? A job well done, a well-due pat on the back from the rest of the team for making the right call, before he inevitably celebrated his victories by screaming the walls down in your favour. 

Great, you shuddered, practically awaiting his presence; red and pulsing with fury as you had laid there, vulnerable and pained. 

All in your own stupidity. 

Jean and Scott seemed to sense your discomfort, sharing a look before both turning towards you; practically disagreeing with what they knew your internal thoughts entailed. 

Scott spoke first, his tone impeding and determined, “Y/N-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously, “I’m sorry but- you didn’t see him. He was furious.” 

Chuckling, you moved to sit up, shaking your head, “Nothing new there-” 

“No, Y/N.” Jean interrupted you, her own tone identical to Scott’s severity, though her voice lowered to a whisper, “Not at you.” 

You shook your head confused, Scott spoke; cementing the gaps that Jean had created, “He almost tore the place apart whilst you were under, when he found out that you had taken Jean’s shift,” He shook his head, breathing heavily, only calming when Jean intertwined her fingers with his own, “We thought he was going to tear the house down-” 

“What?” You gasped, shaking your head, throat clogging, “Why- he doesn’t-” You paused, collecting your thoughts; the truth gaping in its clarity, “Erik hates me, he wouldn’t-” 

“I think you need to talk to him Y/N,” Jean’s tone was firm, almost angered, “I know what he did to you but- something isn’t right. A man doesn’t act like that when someone he hates almost dies.” 

Jean and Scott didn’t stay much longer than that; the confusion and the clarity of almost dying rendering you exhausted. Jean left with a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, a command to heed her advice. 

Despite being allowed short walks throughout the house, you didn’t leave the room until your discharge a week later; with only your thoughts, and the occasional visitor to accompany you, you utilised them a lot that week. That long, drawn-out week. The days limped by, minutes feeling like hours; yet still, your mind allowed no time for outside entertainment. On the second day, Jean bought you a collection of your own clothes, smiling sadly as she saw you slumped against the headboard, eyes misty as you watched the trees beyond the window. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your own room?” She had whispered, stroking the hair away from your eyes, ‘I made sure your favourite sheets are on the bed..” 

Shaking your head, you turned your eyes to her, mustering your best reassuring smile, “No, I’m okay here.” 

He’ll be able to find me there, you had thought to yourself, watching Jean’s back as she left; eyes latching upon the door even after it had been pulled to a close. 

Eventually, the week came to a close and you were fully healed; physically cleared to embark on X-Men missions whenever you wished. As you walked to your own room, a bag of dirty clothes tucked securely beneath your arm, you found yourself eyeing every corner, waiting for Erik to turn it; practically creeping through the house, the necessity of not making a sound hanging over the creaks of your movements upon the floorboards.

Part of you, that insidious part of your brain that sung at the worst of times and had apparently grown and swelled in your solitude, hoped that Erik would turn one of those corners; crash right into you and be forced to speak to you- finally, after all these months. 

It took you two weeks to muster up the courage to go back to your garden, Jean sneakily having slipped the state, or lack of, of the plants within your garden; no student able to match your own power. With a huff, and many puffs, you pulled on your dirtiest clothes and trekked down to the garden. The scent of jasmine wafted upon you like a fresh breath of air as you pulled off your shoes, hand clutched against the gate of the garden for balance. After a number of pairs had been lost to the swell of the bushes with many an evening spent searching for them, Erik had eventually rolled his eyes and forged a small metal shelf; just big enough to safely slide your shoes into them. You had kept it there, beside the gate, even after his rejection, its convenience too precious to your time in the garden. 

However, when you went to slide your shoes into place; another pair of shoes already sat there. 

“I see you kept my creation.” A voice behind you spoke; your breath immediately sped, heart thundering in your ears. Slowly, carefully, terror filling your veins and pulsing at your fingertips: you turned, immediately coming face to face with Erik. Erik, with his broad-shoulders and messy hair; lips turning upwards discreetly beneath his crooked nose; his gorgeous, beautiful crooked nose. As the usual residual shock mellowed, the love you felt for him receding slightly; the anger took over; teeth gritting and fist curling anger. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your time-”

“What do you want Erik?” You spat, lip curling in anger; your own torrid emotions instantly combatting his calm front as he tensed immediately; his eyebrows lowering in confusion, his hackles raising slightly. 

“Well-”

“What are you doing here?” Voice lower than a whisper, your words were almost a replica of your previous demand, almost. The tremble of your voice manufactured a shell of your anger, cracking and splintering at the seams. You found yourself trembling; staring straight at him, fear, dread, something awful prevalent in your eyes. 

Erik’s eyes widened, his lips pursing; he looked as if he was on the verge of retreating, waving the white flag, calling the truce. You knew that wasn’t him though; if Erik was going to do one thing, it would not be backing down from a fight. You watched as he visibly rebuilt his walls, composing himself before speaking, “I wanted to see how your recovery is going,” He paused, visibly attempting and failing to string his words together, “So that you can get back out onto the field.” 

Truly, you could have laughed; a hacking cough right in his face, right at his words. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The anger burning the back of your throat and fizzing in the air, lingering upon the garden’s roots, stopped any semblance of amusement, procuring only venom; only white-hot anger. Shaking your head, malice filling your tastebuds, you spat in his face, the sound of it echoing against the walls of the garden, “Back in the field?” Your amusement returned immediately, but it was manic; frenzied, “Your refusement to put me on patrols; your adamance that I be benched? That is what put me in this position.” 

You only felt slightly guilty as he slowly reached upwards, wiping the saliva that had landed directly upon his chin. “Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-” He seemed desperate, voice almost pathetic, his hands clenching at his sides; seemingly stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“We were supposed to be equals, Erik.” You interrupted, voice calm; frighteningly collected. 

“We were!” He objected, his own voice now seeming frenzied. You could only shake your head, unable to face him, unable to face his willingness to lie. 

“Then why? Why did you treat me that way? Why the sudden change?” Demanding, you fired off the questions in a spitfire manner, allowing him no true chance to procure an appropriate answer. 

“I had good reason-” 

“Good reason, my ass. This is the first time you’re not yelling at me in-” 

“Will you let me speak?” Erik’s words shocked you to the core; his voice abrupt and loud, nostrils flared and chest heaving. You could only muster a nod, silenced in the face of his outburst. He too nodded then, scratching at the stubble upon his jaw nervously; his demeanour changed entirely, almost shrinking within himself. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” The question shocked you; you expected anger, fury- but his eyes remained soberingly soft, gaze sad. He continued in the wake of your silence, “I knew something was wrong before Scott even reached the house; but when Charles told me that he couldn’t hear your thoughts anymore and then-” He swallowed thickly, his gaze straying from yours to the ground, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Then I saw you face down in the grass and-” 

“I’m sorry,” You whimpered, sniffling into the palms of your hands as they moved to cover your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m so useless-” 

“No.” Erik’s tone was demanding, his grip severe as he moved to lower your hands from your eyes; his face was stricken, lips downturned and jaw trembling as he looked down at you. His hands moved upwards then, cupping the skin of your cheeks,  “You were, are, incredible; you were a fighter out there Y/N, so so strong; and-” 

Moving from his grip, you shrunk into yourself, finding any semblance of comfort, respite from your own conflicted mind, within the embrace of your own arms, “Then why- why did you treat me that way?” Harried, hagged breaths heaved from your chest as you stared at him, confusion and shock and disgust prevalent within your demeanour, “You were awful to me, ever since-” 

“No, Y/N, please-” 

Stepping forward, coaxing the shock he made available to you forward; you went straight for the kill, voice lower than a whisper but sharper than a knife, “Why did you leave me here?” His inhale was sharp, lips quivering and wet; eyes sheening with tears. He incessantly attempted to hide his sadness, his fear; but you could see it clear as day. Stepping directly into his orbit, you rubbed your nose against his jaw, lips brushing against the base of his neck, “What are you so afraid of, Erik?” You repressed your shock masterfully when you felt his hands encase your waist, his head lowering to the crook of your neck; you waited, waited for him to lay his lips there, waited for him to devour you whole. Though he only cried, quiet shudders as the skin of your neck grew clammy from his tears and the moisture of his breaths. Instincts succumbed to hunger, rendering you silent as you simply stood there and practically drank the affection; the linen of his shirt brushing against your chest, your mouth against his hair, the smell of his musk and the oaky shampoo he had always used. You were being greedy, overindulging on the touch he was offering you in his lowest moments- you never wanted him to let go, wanted him to raise his head and- 

He did exactly that. 

You could only gasp against his mouth as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands moved to cup the sides of your neck as he practically devoured you. With greed and hunger and lust still residually pumping through your veins, you could only thread your fingers through his hair; desperate to reclaim what you had lost all those months ago. He seemed to not know exactly what to do with his hands, too indecisive to choose a specific spot; you gasped and moaned as his fingertips skirted your sides and front and back, his tongue entering your mouth at the opportunity you allowed him. Any semblance of apologies or hatred had vacated your mind by the time his hands reached the bottom of your thighs, only able to gasp as he effectively lifted you against a nearby wall; the cold of the concrete against your back was nothing compared to the warmth in your mouth and chest and unsurprisingly, your groin. Just as you had mustered the confidence to reach down, to pull at the ends of his shirt; he pulled away, lips red and shining, eyes hooded. 

The only word he seemed to manage to gasp was your name, the syllables spoken wetly into the space between your lips; you stared into his eyes, not blinking, not breathing. Erik seemed to be at war with himself, his eyes flitting conflictingly from your lips back to your eyes. Allowing him the time, you simply stared back, blinking owlishly as you awaited the confession that seemed to be brewing. Finally, he came to a conclusion; his eyes clearing, gaze taking a sense of clarity you had not yet seen in him before. Shaking his head, he chewed at his lip, moving his hand to cup the back of your head; allowing it to tilt back slightly, you were prone beneath his gaze.

“I was just trying to protect you.” His lips curled as he spoke, blue eyes brimming with tears. 

You moved forward at his words, pressing a kiss to the crinkle of emotion at the side of his mouth, “What from?” Your voice was quieter than a whisper, more of a movement of lips rather than a true form of speech. 

Once again, Erik shook his head; tears now spilling from his cheeks, “I’m sorry.” 

“What from, Erik?” 

“Myself.” 

He whispered the words immediately, his eyes closing in turn; his head bowing into your awaiting palm, the course points of his stubble creasing against your fingertips. 

Shaking your head, you watched him, “You were so mean.” 

Swallowing visibly, Erik met your gaze; his eyes doughy beneath a stray hair breaching his forehead. He, almost, grinned; teeth flashing and lips curling, “I don’t know how to be nice.” 

“You were nice to me.” Nodding, you moved your thumb to trace his lips; dragging along the sharp points of his teeth, breaching the jaws of the wolf. 

“I destroy everything I touch Y/N-” 

“Well, I can revive things,” Smiling, you removed your thumb from his lips, placing your own there instead for a chaise kiss. Pulling away, you repeated your words, “I can revive it, Erik.”

Grinning, truly now, Erik lowered his stance before rolling his forhead against yours, brushing your noses together in a dance only known to yourselves, “Let me help you,” He smiled, voice mellow in its tone, “Let me help you fix us.”

[me-writes-prompts]

:-Ways to describe one’s personality-:

(Please add more if you have any in the comments or in the reblogs!|| Requested by: Anon)

By @me-writes-prompts

Positive:

Brave

Adventurous

Affectionate

Determined

Generous

Intelligent

Authentic

Amicable

Considerate

Confident

Bold

Self-motivated

Reliable

Loyal

Hard-working

Ambitious

Curious

Dedicated

Sympathetic

Empathetic

Diligent

Charming

Optimistic

Cheerful

Negative:

Arrogant

Boastful

Aggressive

Impatient

Selfish

Deceitful

Manipulative

Cruel

Dishonest

Hostile

Bossy

Boring

Careless

Egoistic

Vain

Domineering

Stubborn

Possessive

Obsessive

Irresponsible

Cowardly

Grumpy

Vulgar

Obnoxious