#also i am incapable of writing snippets apparently i just have to give you a full story

[sssammich]

💘 supercorp bc its on brand for them

omg ok i finally have some time to write the rest of these so we're gonna tackle this one!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

ask meme

---

Lena has to chew on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, forcing her face muscles to stay absolutely still. She covers her face with her hand, pressing her palm up to her lips as she attempts to make sense of what Alex is saying to her...to them.

She drops her hand down on her lap and is about to respond when Kara, having been equally quiet beside her on the couch, rests her elbows on her knees and asks the question that's on the tip of Lena's tongue.

"You want us to be in a pretend relationship?"

"I don't just want you two to be in a pretend relationship, I need you two to be in a pretend relationship."

"That's--"

"It can't be that hard," Alex reasons, almost talking to herself, her hands on her hips as she stands across the coffee table of Kara's apartment staring at them with a completely serious face. Lena and Kara share a shocked look with one another.

"And why not?" she challenges, unable to help herself.

"Because you two are best friends," Alex responds smoothly and stares at them expectantly. Hard to fault Alex about that. She and Kara are best friends with each other.

"Run it back again," Kara interrupts. "Explain one more time why we need to be dating."

Alex huffs, though by the way she drops to her knees in front of the coffee table, steepling her hands as she rests her elbows on the wooden surface, Lena suspects that Alex thinks that she's hooked them.

"Because the entire operation hinges on the fact that you're already in a relationship. And since this is so last minute, the most believable option we have going for you is your best friend who you already spend so much time with."

Lena tilts her head. It all makes sense, all things considered. She already spends almost all of her free time with Kara whether at her penthouse or at Kara's apartment (which, for the record, is where they are currently, and where she had been for the better part of the last three hours since finishing up some work earlier that afternoon).

"It makes sense," she says out loud, as if considering Alex's words.

"I knew you were the best Luthor out there," Alex quips, leaning forward. Lena can guess that Alex feels so close to attaining what she needs from the two of them, but Kara beside her doesn't sound as sold.

"I don't know, Alex. Don't you think we've done our fair share of deception and lying?"

Alex rolls her eyes, her hands pressed flat on the table in front of her. "Kara. You are a superhero vigilante with a secret identity. Deception and lying is literally part of your everyday life."

Kara turns to Lena for support, the corners of her lips tugged down and strained. Lena gives her a supportive albeit apologetic smile. "She has a point, darling," she says finally.

The pout on Kara's face is worth a hundred kisses to make go away, Lena thinks, but she doesn't move. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am on your side. But so far, your sister is making good points. Even though the why is still a bit flimsy."

"I just said the operation--"

"But why does this supposed operation require Kara being in a relationship? Can't she simply be unavailable or that she's not currently in the headspace to date?" she asks, her hand placed on Kara's back, rubbing soothing circles between Kara's shoulder blades. She resists smiling when Kara leans a bit closer to her, as if Lena can't reach her. There's literally no space of distance between them already on the couch.

"Because," Alex starts. "There are going to be relatives and family friends from Kelly's side that'll be relentless--" and this is where Lena is baffled by how Alex is acting, "--to insist that they will have the best and most suitable eligible single daughter or son that's perfect for you, Kara. And you too, Lena. Don't think you'll get out of this scot-free."

Her face furrows in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes! They will, undoubtedly, ruin the wedding by trying to set both of you two up with other people, and we honestly can't have you two distract everyone from our big day."

Lena's eyes narrow at Alex whose own gaze is fixed in staring at her sister. It's an odd request, and her suspicions are raising alarms inside of her mind. Still, she keeps quiet, especially when Kara leans forward, her strong hand somehow landing on Lena's knee as she does so.

"You think we'll be distracting you and Kelly on your guys' big day?"

Lena pretends to scratch at her chin to try and cover her mouth knowing that she can just about hear the pout in Kara's voice.

"God, no. That's not--" Alex takes a deep breath as she straightens herself up from where she's kneeling by the coffee table. "Kara. It's not you two I'm worried about, it's them. They are going to make a big deal and I'm just trying to protect the both of you. And, of course, my wedding day with Kelly. And the truth of the matter is that there's no reason to wait for things to happen when we can prepare and cover all of our bases. That's all."

The truth of the matter. That's an interesting choice of words, Lena ponders, but she keeps those thoughts to herself.

Kara worries her bottom lip between her teeth even as her hand stays on Lena's knee. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Alex's gaze dropping to Kara's hand and Lena's leg, no doubt making a mental note of what she's seeing. But Lena's attention is pulled back to Kara who has now twisted her body to better look at Lena beside her. For her part, Lena stays in her exact position, hand on Kara's back, and waits for Kara's lead.

"What do you think?" she asks, her face serious, though something flashes in her eyes before Lena could really read what it had been.

"I think..." Lena begins to say, weighing every word that comes out of her mouth. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

Kara stares at her for a long moment, like it's just the two of them in the room, before sighing and leaning back, suspending Lena's hand between her back and the couch. Lena doesn't mind in the slightest, instead lets the tips of her fingers gently scratch Kara's back.

"That's all?" Kara asks, this time the question directed to her sister.

Lena turns her face enough to witness how Alex strains from smiling too wide when she nods emphatically and says, "That's all. That's it."

The longest five seconds seem to pass over all three of them until Kara sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

Alex struggles to keep her fist pump under control and Lena wants to roll her eyes.

"Great. Figure out whatever cover story you two think will work the best. Remember, closer to the truth works best."

"I think we'll figure it out just fine, Alex," she comments, her voice taking on an airy tone. "It's not the first time we've had to give a cover story."

Alex nods again before rising to her feet. "Right, right. Okay, I'm gonna go home to the missus, and you two can work on your cover story."

Kara's just about to get up when Alex stops her. "You stay put, I'll let myself out. Have your story figured out by brunch this weekend. Sound good?"

She and Kara glance at one another before returning their focus on Alex. With her free hand, she offers a mock salute just as Kara nods up at her sister.

When Alex shuts the door behind her and leaves the two of them still on the couch, it's Kara who breaks first, tugging at Lena's arm from behind her so she can perch it around Kara's shoulder, their fingers tangled by Kara's bicep, before slumping further down on the couch with a loud exhale. She rests her head on Lena's shoulder, and Lena places a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You know, she used to be so much better at lying. Like I didn't even know she worked for a shadow government organization."

Lena chuckles, despite herself, and pulls Kara closer to her. "She was laying it on rather thick, I thought."

Kara tilts her head up, her ear resting on Lena's shoulder as their faces sit only a few short inches apart.

"Good work on the pouting, though. I think you really sold it."

The sleepy smile on Kara's face widens into a proud one. "You like that? I was really considering the waterworks but I think I would have given it away if I did."

"Mm, probably."

"You're a little actress yourself, Luthor," Kara comments with barely contained laughter. "Better safe than sorry. Pfft. You were practically having Alex eat out of the palm of your hands with how much you were agreeing with her. So devious."

"If there's anything Lex ever taught me, it's having the theatrical range."

Kara snorts before shuffling to sit back up. "How mad do you think Alex will be when she finds out that we're already dating?"

Lena shrugs, thinking about all of Alex's possible reactions. "Oh, I'm sure she'll never let you live it down."

"Us, babe," Kara says, leaning forward, the tips of their noses brushing with each other. "She'll never let us live it down."

"She shouldn't assume then," Lena answers before closing the remaining gap between them. Their lips slotting perfectly in place pressed against each other. It's still new, this feeling, but Lena thinks that she'll never tire of it.

Her breath hitches when she feels Kara's strong hand release her fingers only to grip her nape, followed by the smirk she knows is on Kara's lips.

"Wanna figure out our cover story in bed?"

She raises a brow, but Kara just shrugs. "So is that a no?"

Lena rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Kara's neck as Kara carries her towards the bed.

"I was thinking we tell people it was love at first sight," Kara muses.

Lena throws her head back in laughter, just in time for Kara to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She thinks love at first sight is not too far from the truth at all, and didn't Alex say the closer it is to the truth, the better?

[biscuityskies]

3 4 7 :)

tyvm for the ask <33 sorry it took a bit for me to get back to you (tysm for asking when i requested!!!!) but i am here now!!! (also. also while i've got you. i love your handle. it brings me joy every time i see it.)

3. do you share fic ideas or keep them to yourself?

I am apparently physically incapable of keeping things to myself and i have to immediately share ideas with other people - both to gauge if it's a viable idea to write (i.e. if there are any holes in my plan) and to see if it's something that people would actually read. (the kicker is... i don't really write plot?? so i have a couple of fics that are directed by plot that have yet to be written. they're still outlined, but i'm sort of saving them until i become a better writer lmao.) the frustrating second part of it is that if i share with too many people, then i'll be like "well the idea is already in the world, no need for me to write it" so if it's something that i REAAAAALLY want to write then i try to share as few details as possible while still maintaining the writing viability and the reading interest. (this doesn't always work.)

4. how do you choose which fics to write?

the fics that i write - especially of late - are generally prompted by either events hosted on tumblr.com in which case i try to do my 45-hour-a-week job and instead come up with ideas, or they're canon fix-it or additions. mostly it's stuff that haunts me, that sticks around in my head even after i, say, sort of attend a beach boys concert, or total my car (two events mostly unrelated).

7. post a snippet from a wip.

behold! a wippet! this is from chapter 2 of admiring from afar! (proof that i'm working on it i AM i PROMISE)

And Cody - sweet, kind Cody - knows him so well, can probably hear him overthinking, even over the waterfall. “How are you doing?” is his first question.  Obi-Wan nods slowly, his brow furrowing with it. “I’m okay,” he replies.  Cody just levels a look at him. “And how are you, really?”  Damn it all to hell, they’ve been working together for too long. Cody knows all of his tells at this point, clearly. It may be a boon on the field of battle, but it’s not great for Obi-Wan presently. Cody’s lovely warm eyes search his, scanning for any hints that Obi-Wan may give.  “I’m fine, my dear, honestly,” he says, a little dishonestly. “In the span of two days I got married and moved to a new home with my new husband, so I’m a little disoriented, but otherwise genuinely fine.” He takes up Cody’s hand. “And how are you?”  Cody snorts and breaks eye contact, instead watching the water cascade down the precipice. “Same as you, sir, disoriented as all hell. I’m living a life no vod can have without deserting.”  “Oh, Cody,” he muses. He brushes his thumbs along the back of Cody’s hand. “I am sorry, darling. I have no basis of knowledge for married couples, and I still genuinely believe that you and I are the best set for the job.”  Cody’s brow furrows, and he looks back at him with an expression Obi-Wan can’t quite describe. “You do know about… Skywalker? And his senator?”  “Allow me to rephrase: I have no basis of knowledge for normal married couples who aren’t trying - and spectacularly failing - to keep things secret.”  Cody’s responding grin cuts through whatever farce he’s put on. There he is.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

you mentioned your headcanons on when and if other finweans forgive maedhros... if you wanted to share some (or all) of them I'd be very interested!

Okay, wow, I have a lot of thoughts on this….it basically covers large parts of a fanfic that I’ve had broadly plotted out in my head for a long time but am completely incapable of actually writing.

This is going to be very long (EDIT: extremely long, apparently) - and rather messier and more scattershot than my usual posts - so I’m putting it under a cut.  This one only covers events in the Halls of Mandos; I would need another one to lay out post-Mandos headcanons, if I can put it together.

Fingon is deeply conflicted and unhappy about Maedhros; he’s horrified by Maedhros’ actions, but he can’t stop caring about him even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t know what’s happened to him after death and isn’t sure he wants to know. For at least the first couple hundred years that Maedhros is in the Halls, he’s in extremely bad shape and is not communicating with or visible to anyone. (This is not unusual for elves who are wrapped up in their own thoughts or deliberately avoiding others.) And between Maedhros’ actions, and the manner of his death, and the Oath, Fingon can’t be sure of whether he’s even in the Halls, or if he refused the Halls and is a lost spirit, or even if he’s in the void.

Fingolfin is sympathetic to his son’s pain but doesn’t really see any hope for Maedhros, and tries to say that it’s hard, but that sometimes you have to accept that you’ve lost someone you love to evil and they’re not coming back. Fingolfin’s lost his brother (who he still has complicated feelings about. Aulë has lost people. Even Manwë has lost his brother -

That comparison doesn’t go over well and from that moment Fingon isn’t speaking with his father anymore.

When Fingon decides that not knowing is worse than anything he could know about Maedhros’ fate, he goes to Námo and asks whether Maedhros is in the Halls, and Námo tells him that yes, Maedhros is.

He looks for Maedhros. He seeks quiet corners of the Halls, and sings, and hopes Maedhros will hear him, and one day he senses in his spirit that someone else is present near him. He continues to sing, simple things, and then moves to the song he sang at Thangorodrim -

- and Maedhros is there, ragged and shaking and trying with all his might not to look at Fingon. Stop he says. Please, stop. Why must you torment me?

The last thing Maedhros wants is to be reminded that once, he had a chance to do right, that once, he had a chance to recieve mercy and he has thrown it away, to be reminded of the gaping gulf between the person he wanted to be and person he is. You still think you can rescue me? he says with a twisted smile, and holds out his hand. Across the entire palm and to the first knuckle of the fingers, it is charred black. Fingon’s expression goes stubborn and he takes Maedhros’ hand in his own - and then releases his hold in shock. The hand is hot - not as with fever, but as metal newly withdrawn from a forge. Maedhros gives a bitter laugh and disappears.

Fingon cannot find him again.

This brings the story roughly to the start of the part I wrote in response to your last Ask, where Maedhros goes to Nienna and recieves, beyond his hope, mercy and forgiveness and help and healing. That’s not the endpoint of his journey to recovery, but it’s the beginning; it gives him the knowledge that there is someone who can love him absolutely unconditionally, that he’s not beyond redemption. And that gives him the foundation he needs to start facing the people he knew and the people he’s harmed and answering to them and seeking their forgiveness.

The Halls have a will of their own, if you let them; their geography is as much spiritual as physical, and they’ll lead spirits to the people whom they need to resolve things with. Fingon isn’t the first person Maedhros talks to, but he’s one of the first.

*****

FIc snippet

It would have been easier if the Halls had brought him to the Teleri, or even the Sindar. He could bear condemnation from them.

He did not know how to bear it if Fingon turned him away. As he had every right to.

He wanted to flee to some abandoned corner of the Halls and never face Fingon again.

He wanted to lay at his friend’s feet for a year, for a yen, for an Age, and beg Fingon not to despise him forever.

He forced himself to do neither of these things.

Fingon had still not seen him; his eyes were shut, his head bowed to his knees and his lips moving wordlessly, and it was the evident misery in his hunched shoulders that gave Maedhros the courage to kneel down beside him say softly, “Fingon.”

He did not seem to hear. “Fingon. Fingon.” Fingon looked up, made a choked noise of surprise, and grabbed Maedhros by the shoulders, staring into his eyes for a long moment, and then pulled him into an embrace. “Thank you,” Fingon said, low and fervent, and Maedhros knew it was not him that Fingon was addressing.

“You’re all right. I mean - not all right, but - better.” A spirit’s appearance in the Halls drew on both their true condition and their perception of themself. Maedhros was clothed in rags, his hair matted, but his hand no longer burned and he could meet Fingon’s eye with a look that, though still deeply ashamed, was no longer tormeted.

“The Lady of Sorrows has been very kind. Far more than I could ever deserve. Though in truth even to be in the Halls is better than I deserve.”

“Maedhros, surely you cannot believe that you deserve the Darkness?”

Maedhros’ laugh was rueful. “Deserve it? I believe I specifically requested it. Demanded, even! What does it say, that the very worst anyone could do to us would be to take us at our word? But by the end I earned it more in keeping the Oath than in breaking it.”

The question refused to be suppressed. “Maedhros, why? We beseiged Angband for over four hundred years without attempting regain the Silmarils, and the Oath did not trouble you then, yet the moment one was in the hands of Elves - ” Fingon paused. “Maedhros, please tell me it was not because of my death.”

Maedhros’ words came halting. “I blamed myself. I blamed the Valar. I blamed the Doom. I told myself that abandoned you again, this time to your death. I told myself that if this was how I was repaid for trying to win the war, if the Powers had mandated that any attempt to do good could only turn to evil and the destruction of all that I loved, then they had no right to judge me for doing ill.  I told myself that I had chosen war on Angband to avoid war on Doriath, and if they were going to punish me for that choice, well, then they were in no position to complain when I made the other.

“I was wrong. We were not wrong to fight Angband, but on my part the Fifth Battle was waged in service of the Oath, and everything done in its service turns to ill. Good becomes evil. Evil becomes…worse. The words we intended to drive us against Morgoth turned to his service, and we did his work.

“I am sorry for what I have done. I will spend the rest of Time being sorry for it. We should have thrown ourselves against the walls of Angband and died there rather than ever again raising our swords against our kin. You have every right to despise me.”

Fingon, lacking words, took Maedhros’ remaining hand and lifted the burnt palm to his lips. “I will not leave you. I hate what you have done - I would rather have seen you dead on my blade than do any of, though that would have killed me - but I will not leave you.” He wrapped his arms around Maedhros again. “Please don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t.”

The dead have times of rest of thought, even if it not what the living would call sleep. A little time later found Fingon resting with his back against a pillar and Maedhros curled on the floor, his head pillowed on Fingon’s feet and an expression of deep contentment in his face.

*****

My thoughts on Aredhel and Maedhros are in the Halls are largely covered in this post.

*****

Turgon, in contrast, is exceptionally angry at Maedhros, especially about the Third Kinslaying, and not at all inclined to forgive or to care for apologies. This is also wrapped up in Turgon’s own guilt about the Fall of Gondolin. He feared that he had left the remnant of his people defenseless against Morgoth, but Ulmo found a way to protect them through the waters at the Mouths of Sirion; instead, they were defenseless against Maedhros and his brothers. And to Turgon, Maedhros’ renunciation of both the Oath and the Silmarils after his death is meaningless, because he did so only after he had lost any possibility of achieving the Oath or obtaining the Silmarils. How can it mean anything to renounce evil only after you’ve lost the ability to commit it or to gain anything from it?

Maedhros and Turgon have an intense conversation on these points (well, intense on Turgon’s part) while Maedhros is in the Halls. Maedhros, for his part, while he does want to apologize and beg forgiveness, does not really have any expectation that Turgon will forgive him; his hope in his early conversations with both Turgon and Fingolfin is mainly to arrange a detente where the Nolofinwëans can get back on good terms with each other by dint of all of them agreeing to just not talk about Maedhros (who is the primary subject of contention between them). This, he does succeed at.

[goldenmeme]

Untitled Sanders Sides fic!

My fic got Jossed hardcore, so I’m just throwing up the first chapter as a stand-alone instead. It was originally titled “Five Time Deceit Told Thomas His Name (and One Time He Didn’t)” but like... obvs that’s not going to work now. So just imagine this snippet takes place sometime between Intrusive Thoughts and Putting Others First. No spoilers for POF.

Untitled, 2,200 words, PG-13 (Virgil says a swear), no pairings.

Summary: Thomas can’t sleep. Deceit wants to help.

 "--then you'll say, 'Well, when you've seen one, you've seen them all,' and Patton will say, 'Yes but this one's eating my pizza!'"

Roman paused for the inevitable roar of laughter and adulation. None came.

"Thomas? Thomas. You're not writing this down. I'm giving you comedy gold and you're letting it fall through your fingers like sand through your... fingers…"

Thomas rolled over just enough to unbury half of his mouth from the pillow. "Roman. Buddy. It's almost 5 AM."

"Well we could have worked on scripts earlier, but you insisted on watching Parks and Rec until inhuman hours again. I need opportunity to create!" The bedsheets rustled behind Thomas with the force of Roman’s gesticulating.

"What happened to 5 PM, when I specifically set aside time to write and then spent an entire hour staring at a blank word document?"

The mattress dipped in a way that, even with his back turned and his eyes closed, somehow managed to convey the haughtiness of Roman’s shrug. "I wasn't feeling inspired at that time."

"Could we maybe try being inspired tomorrow morning instead?"

"I can't control when the muse strikes me, Thomas."

"You’re my muse," Thomas said. He rolled onto his back to starfish out, smacking Roman on the shoulder with one floppy arm. All he wanted in the world was sleep, but apparently Roman wasn’t going to let that happen. "Does my muse have his own muse? How does that even work?"

To Thomas’s right, Logan cleared his throat. Logan thought beds were no place for anthropomorphic personifications of facets of personality, so whenever they congregated in Thomas's bedroom his customary spot was sitting primly beside the bed in a utilitarian office chair he'd conjured from the Dreamscape.

He said, "As amusing as this musing on muses may be, I must remind you how essential it is to maintain a consistent sleep schedule for the--"

"Yup!" Thomas half-shouted. "Thanks Logan, I got it. We go over this at least four times a week."

"And yet you--"

Patton blindly batted a fuzzy paw at everyone and whined, "Nnnnnnnnn, s’sleepy time now." He was cuddled in a ball at the foot of the bed in his cozy kitty onesie. At night he also jammed an old-fashioned long stocking cap over the hood because he thought it made him look more, as he put it, "bedtimey", though the kitty ears distorted the hat and made his head look weirdly lumpy.

“Patton is correct,” Logan said. “It is, unequivocally, sleepy time now, so Roman, if you’ll just put a pin in your ill-timed inspiration--”

"But my witty dialogue…" 

"--I promise we'll write your script first thing in the morning--" 

Thomas squinted at Logan's silhouette in the darkness. Something seemed... off...

"—when we all have a fresh perspective and Thomas has gotten seven-to-eight hours of restful sleep.”

"… Deceit?" Thomas said.

"Hm," Logan said.

Like a flower blooming in fast motion, his silhouette sprouted a shadowy shape that coalesced into a bowler hat. Deceit pulled off Logan's glasses and threw them behind himself, where they crunched against the wall.

Roman smacked Thomas on the shoulder three times before pointing frantically, as if Thomas may have missed the transformation.

Deceit said, “I just love how much easier it’s gotten for you to spot my little dress-up games. What gave me away this time?”

“I always forget any ideas I have right before I fall asleep,” Thomas said. “Logan would tell me to write it down in my phone’s notes sooner than later, because if I just try to remember it Roman will keep me up for hours badgering me about it, and I’ll forget by morning anyway. If I make myself a note, Roman can be secure in the knowledge that his work won’t get lost in my brain over the next eight hours, and he’ll let me sleep.”

They’d worked that one out years ago. Thomas still had problems remembering the system if Logan didn’t pop in to explicitly remind him, because in the moment Thomas just wanted to sleep and it felt counter-intuitive to get out his phone and start writing instead.

“Curse that fool and his established systems,” Deceit said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t just stop by?”

“Um. Can you?”

“I know you don’t believe that I have your best interests at heart,” Deceit said, “but I do. You wanted sleep. I came to shut the Prince up so that you could get it.”

“Hey!” Roman said.

“You didn’t have to impersonate Logan to do that,” Thomas said.

“Didn’t I? Would you have even considered heeding my advice, had I appeared to you as myself?”

Well…

Across the room, the closet door swung open with an ominous creak.

When Virgil had first started showing up in Thomas’s room, he’d lurked in the closet like the monster they all thought he was back then, glaring out of the barely-cracked door, only ever speaking when Thomas was on the very edge of sleep, and only then because he couldn’t stand to let the important questions the others never asked go unsaid. Questions like, “If you died right now, how long would it take someone to find your body?” and, “Where is your wallet? Do you remember having it when you got home today?” and, “Remember that time in chorus?”

Now that he and Thomas had found a workable equilibrium, Virgil still hung out in the closet (yes, the joke had been made several dozen times) because it was small and dark and comforting. Except now instead of hiding behind a mostly closed door, when the others were feeling chatty he’d sprawl in the open doorway, back propped against the frame and one boot braced on the other side.

He still liked to make an entrance, though. Thomas’s closet door didn’t creak when anyone else opened it.

Instead of sprawling in the doorway, today Virgil appeared sitting aggressively crisscross applesauce in it. “No. He’d have told you to fuck off, like he’s doing right now.”

Deceit smiled bitterly. “Oh good, Anxiety is here.”

“Guys,” Thomas said. “Come on, no fighting. I’m--just--I’m just trying to sleep…”

“And I am just trying to facilitate that,” Deceit said. “I had hoped to do so with as little fuss as possible, but evidently you’re getting much better at spotting me. I may have to retire that tactic.”

“Wait,” Thomas said, horror dawning. “How often have you impersonated the others without me noticing?”

“Why, never!” Deceit said. “You’ve managed to catch me at it every last time! Brava to you.”

“Somehow I do not find that reassuring,” Thomas said.

“Trust issues,” Deceit said, nodding sympathetically.

Roman said, “Only when it comes to you, Deceit. Are you even capable of telling the truth?”

“Oh I assure you, I am very… capable.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Say one true thing, right now.”

“Fine,” Deceit said. “RENT is overrated.”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

Thomas had to physically stop Roman from launching himself across the bed. “Okay, woah, hey, eeeeeasy big guy.”

“Thomas, did you hear what he said about RENT?!”

“Yes, immediately after we’d established that he in incapable of telling the truth. Think of everything he says as like… backward-land.”

“So… when he says RENT is…” Roman couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “What he meant was that it’s an incomparable masterpiece of theatrical genius soiled only by the somewhat questionable staging choices of the cinema adaptation?”

Deceit caught Thomas’s eye from behind Roman’s back. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “That’s definitely what he meant.”

“It’s as if you took the words right out of my mouth,” Deceit drawled. “Playful ribbing aside, of course I’m capable of speaking the truth. Why, I’ve made five true statements within this conversation alone. I simply prefer to play my cards closer to the chest than the rest of you bleeding heart goodie-goodie-goobers.”

Thomas said, “You understand that the constant lying makes it really difficult for us to trust anything you say.”

Deceit, surprisingly, actually seemed to think about that. He pressed his steepled fingers to his lips. After a moment’s thought, he said, “You’re right. How about, as a show of faith, you may ask me one thing, and I promise I will answer truthfully.”

Roman rushed out, “Say one nice thing about RENT!”

Deceit said, “Thomas may ask me one thing and I promise to answer truthfully.”

“Really?” Thomas said.

“On my word as a construct of your imagination.”

“What’s your name?”

“… That’s it? You get one, single, honest answer from me, and you waste it to ask my name?”

“Well sure. I know the names of all my other sides, and I can’t very well make you a Christmas stocking with your name on it if I don’t know your name, now can I?”

“Dear god. Your moral side is asleep, how are you still this unbearably saccharine? Fine. My name…” he took a deep breath and gathered his pride, “is Ethan.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. “Huh.”

“What?”

“No, nothing, it’s a good name! It… goes with everyone else’s names?”

“Naturally! Logan, Patton, Roman, and Ethan. Derived of course from Logic, Pathos, Romance, and Ethos.”

Roman gasped. “Thomas, you named me for romance?”

Thomas said, “I don’t… think I named you? You told me your name. I don’t really know how this works.”

Deceit said, “That’s right, Casanova, he did! Did you catch the emphasis I put on the no there? Casa nooooooo va… Anyway, yes, we’re all one big, happy family, all with names that fit tidily into one single convenient naming convention. Well. Except Virgil, of course. Ah, Virgil. Our little eternal outcast. Even his name doesn’t fit in with the rest of us.”

Virgil said, “What do you mean the rest of us? You’re not like them.”

“Hey, you can’t argue with etymology. It’s science.”

Thomas said, “That’s not—a science…”

“Um, it ends in -ology, sooo, yes it is.”

Virgil said, “Remus doesn’t fit that naming convention either.”

Deceit’s smile froze. “Ah. Remus told you his name, did he? I should have known the embodiment of zero impulse control wouldn’t be able to keep privileged information to himself.”

“If you think about it,” Virgil said, “only Thomas’s Good Sides fit that pattern.”

“So nice of you to finally acknowledge the fact that I am one of Thomas’s Virtuous Sides, and not an Evil Side like you, Anxiety.”

Patton thrashed suddenly in his sleep, swiping a velvety, kitten-pawed fist at an invisible enemy before mumbling something mostly illegible that might have ended with, “me or my son again,” and settling back into stillness.

Virgil had to force the fond expression off his face before turning back to Deceit. “Do you really think Thomas is going to buy that you’re supposed to be the embodiment of ethos?”

Roman leaned close to Thomas to whisper-shout in his ear, “Thomas, what’s ethos?”

“Uhhh,” Thomas said. He’d definitely known that once. Logan probably still knew it, but Thomas hadn’t consciously retained much of the Communications course he’d taken in college. “I think it has to do with… the ideals of a society as a whole?…”

“And isn’t that just me to a T,” Deceit said. He was already sinking down as he rushed out the final words, “Okay well it was nice to officially be known by you, good night now—”

“Wait,” Thomas said.

Deceit reappeared, already glowering.

“Your name isn’t Ethan, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Deceit said, voice dripping with… something. Whatever it was, it was not sincerity.

Thomas should have known. With all his other sides, learning their names had felt right, like it was knowledge he’d already had that he’d only needed to be reminded of. Deceit just didn’t strike him as an Ethan.

Roman said, “Why, you’re… lying!” like it was only just dawning on him. “But you promised Thomas an honest answer!”

“And there’s no possible way I could have been lying about that, too,” Deceit agreed. “Are you not understanding this—” he gestured to encompass all of himself, “--whole thing yet? It really is a good thing you’re pretty.”

The ire drained out of Roman in an instant. “I am pretty, aren’t I?”

“And so very quick-witted,” Deceit said. He gave Thomas a tight smile and sunk out of the room before anyone else could protest.

“You know, I think he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” Roman said.

Thomas rolled onto his stomach and buried his face back into the pillow. With Deceit gone, exhaustion was making itself known again, darkening the edges of his consciousness. It was sooo past his bedtime. “Good night, Roman.”

“Good night Thomas.”

“Night, Virg.”

Virgil’s response was the click of the closet door closing. Thomas couldn’t sleep if it was open, on account of monsters.

Sleep came quickly after that.

 ***

 The next morning—well, afternoon, but Thomas had just woken up—Logan scrolled through Thomas’s phone while Thomas puttered around the kitchen singing breakfast songs to the appliances.

“This is my jam, this is my jam, this is my toast, this is my knife, and this is my jam…”

“Thomas, where did you put Roman’s idea?”

“Hmm? What idea?”

“My records say that Roman had an idea last night, but I don’t see anything in your notes. You couldn’t have forgotten. We have a system.”

Oh. Oooooh no.