#alternatively titled: this was my best attempt at drawing a leaf

[jagcedes]

brick!!!!

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3,  MasterPost,  Chap.2,  Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them. 

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging. 

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not? 

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem. 

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over. 

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries. 

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain. 

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless. 

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though. 

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react. 

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera. 

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears. 

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin. 

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight. 

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak. 

“Oh, hey-” 

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion. 

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily. 

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!” 

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it. 

You need to say something, goddammit. 

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with? 

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again. 

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.” 

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding. 

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.” 

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment. 

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile. 

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really. 

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-” 

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry. 

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is. 

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.” 

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you. 

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

“I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence. 

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly. 

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably. 

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if. 

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win. 

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion. 

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening. 

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?” 

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.” 

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut. 

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

  “Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately. 

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” 

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird. 

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s  already standing, taking your arm to help you up. 

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.” 

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you. 

Things will be okay. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again. 

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil. 

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once. 

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week. 

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you. 

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?” 

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you. 

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them. 

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind. 

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one. 

It doesn’t. Logan notices this. 

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his. 

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.” 

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up. 

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

 Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!” 

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less. 

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird. 

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression. 

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it? 

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman? 

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble. 

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

 It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one. 

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area. 

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’). 

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you. 

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it. 

“Virgil!” 

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you. 

“Something got you excited, Ro?” 

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe. 

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot. 

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you. 

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.” 

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck. 

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore. 

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely. 

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway? 

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences. 

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. 

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines). 

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established. 

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this. 

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly. 

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold. 

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull! 

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even. 

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not. 

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you. 

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.” 

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it? 

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him. 

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately. 

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!” 

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved. 

You feel secure. 

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs. 

“You’re worth it.”

[samotchkaficrecs]

My Hero Academia Fic Recs! #1

Hola!

i’m finally making an actual mha fic post... yay!

since most of these fics are suited to my fanfiction tastes i will be making another in the future with many different ships (to float anyone’s boat). 

[Also if there is a star (★) next to any fic, it’s one of my highly recommended]

Anywhoo, let us begin! 

TodoDeku

before the world catches up  by -  silent_academy (white_silence) 

Shouto was promised the world when he was born. Unfortunately, fate isn't kind, and he's left with nothing but a broken heart and blazing scars.

Izuku was never "destined" for greatness, but he was sure as hell going to make his mark on the world. With determination and a will to protect, he sets out on the hero's path.

Or, the one in which Shouto is born Quirkless, and Izuku... is not.

Somehow, things work out anyway.

(currently on hiatus)

 ★ The Wooing of Todoroki Shouto  by -  crispykrimi

He clasps his hands together and presses them to his forehead. “Please teach me how to seduce someone!”

What follows is the most awkward fifteen minutes of his short life. His friends volley suggestions at him, everything from suggestive comments to practically crawling into Shouto’s lap and kissing him. His head is starting to feel a little fuzzy when someone (goddamnit Kirishima) suggests a strip tease, and really, he has to draw the line somewhere.

“A-ah… Maybe seduce was too strong a word. I don’t know if I could actually do any of those things… I think a better word would be- woo? I want to woo him. P-please teach me how to woo someone.”

(complete)

★  If I'm Being Honest....  by -  I_dont_know_man 

Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself.

In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

(complete)

i feel your warmth, and it feels like home  by -  orphan_account 

The five times where Shouto remembers that Midoriya is more buff than he lets on.

(alternatively titled the-one-where-shouto-internally-nosebleeds-and-tries-to-act-casual)

(complete)

Trust Fall  by -  Esselle 

' "So, on my signal then."

Midoriya laughs. "No signal. You just fall, and I catch."

"What?" Shouto asks. "But how will you know? What if you're not ready? What if—"

"It's about trust, Todoroki-kun," Midoriya says. Shouto can't see his face, but he senses there's a grin on it. "Do you trust me?" '

(complete)

KiriBaku 

Can't Hear the Fireworks of Your Art  by -  cereal_whore   

Bakugou's hearing is slowly deteriorating due to being in close proximity of his quirk, and his constant usage of it. After a visit to the doctors, it's concluded they can never reverse his hearing.

Everyone else: hol y sh ti hes dying (excluding Shinsou, who's too tired to care anymore and is at peace with the idea of Bakugou being the local cryptic)

Or: Bakugou literally disappears for one day, and everyone suddenly thinks he's dying even tho he just rlly needs a hearing aid. none of these hormonal teenagers have basic communication skills. Todoroki is also really trying his best in spite of Bakugou continuously calling him "Canadian Flag Fucker".

(ongoing)

kiss me on the lips  by -  Lulatic

“So, you’ve really never kissed anyone? Really?”

“No, okay? You fucking happy now? What does it even matter--”

“Would you like to?”

(complete)

★ The Beauty of a Beast  by -  starofjems 

Once upon a time a lonely beast lived in a manor deep in the forest. He dreamed of the day his true love appeared to break his curse... When a beauty finally appears in his life, it is not quite as he imagined. For who could have thought a beauty would be more of a beast.

Or

The beauty and the beast AU nobody asked for but here it is.

(complete)

Ghost Hunters  by -  PoutyBats

“What, like a ghost sex hotline?” Sero snorts.

“I mean, she was kinda cute-”

“I swear on my life if you don’t shut up I can guarantee that there will be three new ghosts in this house come morning!” Bakugou rubs his temples, aging by the minute.

-

Kirishima, Bakugou, Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero are part of a ghost hunting squad.

[kiribaku isn’t really the main focus, but it’s here anyways]

(complete)

Love Potion No. 9  by -  I_dont_know_man

"It's alright bro, I get it. Not everybody can handle all this pure manliness." Kirishima flexed a hardened bicep facetiously, grinning like the idiot he most certainly was.

...

And Bakugou - Bakugou blushed.

For the mere second time in 17 years of life, no less, and he was pretty sure that blushing over accidentally calling All Might ‘dad’ that one time didn’t count. Bakugou was an aloof, detached, analytical sort of person. Bakugou didn’t fucking blush, alright?

Just what in the ever-loving fuck was going on here?!

In which Bakugou finds himself victim of a love spell, Kirishima tries his Best, and the entirety of Class 1A waits for the other shoe to drop.

(ongoing)

Multi/ Misc/ Minor Ship 

★ Blue Monday  by -  Adox    [multi]

Eight years ago, three boys went missing, only remembered by their disappearance. Unless you’re Izuku Midorya. After his (arguably) best friend Katsuki Bakugou vanished, he’s been searching. Hoping. Even after the investigation was closed. Three names ring clearly in his head.

Eijiro Kirishima.

Denki Kaminari.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Jiro loves her new family, they’re the only fosters who seem to give a shit. However, she can’t help but notice the picture frames turned on their side, and the child’s bedroom that hasn’t been touched in years.

Todoroki just wants to help his new friend, even if that means endangering his many, many scholarships.

And Bakugo waits.

(ongoing)

Karma in Retrograde  by -  Mistystarshine, ohmytheon    [misc]

When Dabi is struck by a de-aging quirk that regresses him to the most influential part of his life, he finds himself turned back into a sixteen-year-old U.A. General Studies student with lots of self-esteem issues, parent problems, a destructive quirk that he can't manage, and no memory of the years that he's lost - not to mention the fact that his little brother is now the same age as him and one of the top students in the U.A. hero course. In U.A.'s attempt to make up for what they missed and help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with the only students that know him and have yet to find out what truly makes the difference between a hero and a villain. There, they must face the question of whether he can change or his destiny is already set in stone.

(ongoing)

A Night to Remember  by -  hanwritesstuff (hannahkannao)    [multi]

“Huh?” Izuku narrows his eyes and looks at the poster. It doesn’t make sense when he first reads the words, when they first roll off his tongue. “‘Yuuei High School’s 24th Annual Future Heroes Gala’? What... is this?” He feels like he should know, but he can’t think straight after staying up so late last night.

“Well.” Kirishima grins. “When I saw the poster, I texted Amajiki-senpai and he told me all about it.”

There’s something particularly mischievous in his smile that has Izuku worried.

“Long answer, it’s pretty much the only school dance Yuuei has and it’s third-years only,” Kirishima continues, “It’s supposed to be a celebration of everything we’ve done over the past three years, so it’s super fancy and formal and there’s slow dancing and and stuff like that -”

“Short answer, it’s hero prom!” Hagakure interrupts, barely getting the words out before at least four people erupt into cheers.

(complete)

★ I want to kiss (your dumb fucking face)  by -  gingerbreadshinsou    [shinsou/ monoma] 

Monoma develops a big gay crush on Shinsou from afar and his life descends into absolute chaos

[The Monoma Neito coming-of-age fic absolutely no one asked for]

(ongoing)

[i know i have already put this one on another list, but it’s just so amusing!]

tell your boyfriend if he says he's got beef that i'm a vegetarian and i EAT LEAF  by -  hanwritesstuff (hannahkannao)    [misc]

“Which one of you fuckers just AirDropped me loss?”

(complete)

★ shock your soul  by -  montparni    [kamisero]

Twelve years of Halloween; or, Kaminari Denki grows up (but not too much), makes some memories, and learns to look right in front of his eyes.

(complete)

Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!  by -  xX_KUUHAKU_Xx    [kamisero]

"I could wear just my boxers and I'd win every round. Now let's play."

---

In which Sero and Kaminari decide to face off on a rock, paper, scissors game with beer and stripping being a part of it.

(complete) 

Thus With a Kiss, I die  by -  DomineeringScarves

Kaminari finds himself head over heels for the newest addition to their class, Shinsou Hitoshi. Normally the flirty blonde would just present himself with open arms but there's a major problem with his infatuation. There's unspoken rules in 1-A and Kaminari is part of the Bakusquad...whereas Shinsou is a part of the Dekusquad. The two can't be together. It's just not possible. There's no way Bakugou would ever allow one of his extras to date Deku's friend.

There's only one thing left to do, give up and move on. Too bad Kaminari can't seem to escape Shinsou.

Aka the fic where Kaminari is Romeo and Shinsou is Juliet and they have to secretly date so their squads don't fall into an all out war.

(complete)

★★★

Aaaand thats a wrap! thanks for viewing and i hope you all found some fics that intrigue you! 

Au revior!   

[theflashdriver]

Meet The Father

There are a bunch of fanfics I haven’t posted here but of them, I think I regret not posting this one the most? This is a oneshot centred around Gardon first being introduced to Silver, giving the koala’s character a little bit more meat to its bones as a guardian to Blaze in more ways than one. I feel like Gardon gets weirdly little play, all things considered, granted the same could be said for Marine but then she does get some attention (though to be fair she was more of a focus in rush adventure than he has ever been). I plan to do a little more with Gardon in the future so this was more of a proof of concept, I hope folks enjoy!

Hat? Dusted and perfectly set between two washed and fluffed ears. Vest? Freshly washed and neatly buttoned, bright blue with shining golden loops. Sword? Polished, sharpened and sheathed, only to be used in the direst of circumstance yet to be on his person at all times. Gardon was stood before his bedroom's full-length mirror, scanning his personage for the slightest of inadequacies. Were his gloves clean; was there a hint of sleep in his eyes? No, he was fully prepared for this meeting, in body if not in mind.

Blaze wasn't one to call meetings; on the rare occasions, she had information to share she'd come straight to Gardon and deliver it with bluntness comparable to a closed fist. For her to call upon him for, as she put it, a formal introduction was most bizarre. Granted; the Princess had been more open as of recently, ever since her adventure in that alternate dimension, but her stance on formal traditions and practices hadn't changed. Who in the world could she want to introduce to him? For who had she pulled not only him but also herself away from her duties, merely so that they could meet him? He reached into his vest pocket, drawing forth the note she had written. No names were given for this person, the only details the letter gave was a time and place. Her exact wording had been; "I wish to formally introduce you to my partner…"

The Koala's eyes widened in realisation, he watched his reflection's jaw drop. No, it couldn't be; she'd been so isolated until recently! She was only fourteen, that was too young to be dating… wasn't it? And to call this person her partner, she couldn't have known whoever it was more than what… a handful of months? Yet to call someone partner, to arrange this kind of meeting, was it so wrong to assume? He could feel something swell within him, the paternal nature restrained by chains of loyalty and servitude; those bonds were to be strained today. Well, that was assuming he was correct about the meaning of partner… of course, there were other meanings, another guardian perhaps, someone to lessen the weight on her shoulders? But even then that implied the princess had someone she trusted head and shoulders above all others, for Blaze to find such a person so quickly was bizarre at best. Catching his expression in the mirror Gardon brought a hand to his forehead, pushing himself back to a reserved and professional posture. He focused himself on thoughts of prior generations, successful guardsmen and guardians; regardless of his fatherly position rank came first.

Returning the note to his pocket he drew forth his stopwatch, ten minutes remained; he should be early and await the princess and this partner. A last glance to the mirror, he wasn't as steeled as he'd like to be but this would have to suffice. He left his room, arms straight at his side and standing tall, maintaining a wide stride as he made his way through the palace. Bottom floor, the meeting room; it'd been an inch thick in dust but as he closed the door behind himself he was politely surprised; the table was newly polished.

Guiding his fingers over its varnished surface, an aged and wooden round table, he took in the room. It was painted sage with great brown corkboards, hung on the three back walls; matching pillows on each of the seats, four of the chairs were plainer while the fifth had been carved with excruciating precision; depicting the sol emeralds and the jewelled sceptre. That chair sat higher and weighed twice what the others did, naturally Blaze hated sitting in it; not only did it isolate her from the group but it was, in her own words, regardless of how important or ancient it might be it was unbelievably uncomfortable. He wondered if she'd sit in it today, she'd called this meeting after all.

That's right; this was the first meeting Blaze had initiated herself, things had to be perfect. Beady eyes scoured the surfaces, eyes to the floor he wandered the small room; ducking beneath chairs and scrutinising the underside of the table; all the while taking the utmost care to keep his outfit clean. Rising from his knees he took in the walls; it was too late to do any paintwork, and fortunately, there were no clear scuffs but he wasn't content with the straightness of the boards. He scrutinised all three; down to the millimetre, but from the last, an ugliness reared entered the frame. A spider, more than an inch long, ran out from beneath the edge of the board and sought sanctuary in the upper right corner of the room. The koala sighed, his attempts at perfection had exposed a flaw; a flaw that now hid well outside his reach.

Checking the underside of his shoes, making sure they were clean, Gardon lifted one of the standard chairs to the corner and stood atop it. He pulled off his left glove and turned it inside out; in one swift movement the creature was captured, sealed within its confines. There were no windows to this room, his hands were busied bundling the spider; he couldn't check his watch, nor could he pull back the chair. He'd have to be fast. He pushed through the door with his shoulder, attempting to keep his stride as he made for the closest exit… only to realise, if the princess were to come that way he'd have to apologise not only for his lateness but also for seeing this partner before the meeting. He turned on his heel; the gardens were further away but avoiding such a faux pas took president; he'd apologise regardless but he could stomach being a moment late if it meant the meeting ran uninterrupted.

Making his way out to the garden he made toward the first bush he could see, opening the glove to release the arachnid only for it to clamber onto his hand. Sighing he tried to release it with a flick of the wrist but the spider held fast, it took prying the bug loose with a leaf to finally be rid of it. The goal achieved he turned; ready to dawn his glove and speed walk back to the room when something caught his eye. Had his senses not been heightened by this tension he likely would not have noticed but out the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure… no… two figures making their way across the sky. He pushed back against the wall, attempting to use the outcropping of the castle roof to hide.

He'd only catch the pair for a moment longer, not much more than a second, but immediately he identified Blaze. Blaze who was afraid of heights; to the point that, as a child, she'd insisted her board her bedroom windows for fear she'd fall from them, now flew through the sky… in the arms of a bizarre teal form. He'd heard no cry for help but immediately Gardon grew worried, his hand reached to his sword's hilt. What kind of partner would ignore her fear of heights? That was, assuming the second figure truly was a partner and not some kind of threat. If he truly was nefarious, rather than foolish, then had Blaze already been bested? Again that assumed this figure had ill intent, rather than being stupid, but the thought sent a shudder down his spine. He pushed his way back into the castle; glove replaced and conviction in his step.

As he rounded the final corner he heard the heavy door of the meeting room shut; he had been too slow. Gardon took a moment to compose himself; releasing a sharp breath he straightened his vest and dusted his gloves. Was he overreacting? He was certain he was, he hadn't seen this person clearly let alone met them, but given his position, it was only natural to worry. His parental nature was forming an unsteady alliance with his loyalty; he had to face this person, friend or foe to Blaze, and uncover any sinister intentions. Gardon was duty bound to do what was best above all else.

He pushed open the door and, before he could even lay eyes upon the pair, bowed to his fullest and dropped to one knee; staring at the wooden floor. "I apologise for my lateness your majesty, a matter in the gardens required my attention. Please forgive me, Princess Blaze."

His head still lowered he heard a sigh; even in this formal meeting she clearly detested those titles. Before she could speak up though there was another voice, pubescent and a little loud, "Oh, should I call you stuff like that too? I think it'd be a little weird…" The voice was male, not particularly surly and certainly not adult; perhaps close to Blaze's age. His dutiful side loosened, he didn't sound like a threat… improper sure but then Gardon was rapidly finding himself the last bastion of traditions.

The princess' words followed, "Silver, nothing would bring me more displeasure, please don't." Silver; so that was the name of this partner. Gardon's immediate thought was pirate though not a second later he knew he was being too harsh on the boy, the royal guard hadn't even seen him properly yet.

"Oh okay, you make more sense to me as Blaze anyway. I'm still not really used to all this royal stuff." Silver responded, rather perplexing Gardon. Had Blaze not told him of her status until recently?

"Gardon please stand; you're not late, and please no more with the titles. I know I called a meeting but, in truth, it was simply to secure time and space. There is no need for formalities." There was an edge to her voice; making it clear Blaze wouldn't budge on this point. She had arranged this meeting; even if it meant breaking tradition he would try his hardest.

"Thank you Blaze." He slowly rose to stand straight, he tried to remain professional but… he felt himself pause as he sighted this Silver. Gardon was quite certain he was a hedgehog, a white-grey hedgehog; with bizarre teal symbols on his hands rather than being naturally cloaked the colour. His quills were unlike that of Sonic, five thin quills pointed from his forehead while two thick ones hung from the back of his head. The shear fluffiness of this figure was throwing him off, was he truly a hedgehog? He was wearing jewellery, four giant rings with more of that cyan colour, and boots. Gardon knew he couldn't simply stare at the boy, he extended a hand to him; "It is nice to make your acquaintance Silver, I hear you are Blaze's… partner?"

"Oh yeah, we're partners." That was all the explanation he gave. There was a wide smile on his face, bright amber eyes that seemed to radiate excitement and kindness… that was far more suspicious than even a neutral look, why was he so happy? The hedgehog took Gardon's hand; the shake was vigorous and incredibly informal, despite the koala's tight and professional grip Silver's seemed light. "It's nice to meet you Gardon, if you're Blaze's guard you must be really strong right?" His eyes seemed to light up suddenly, following them Gardon found the hedgehog looking at his sword. "Oh! Oh! Can you actually use that? That's amazing! I've never met a swordsman, most people seem to just punch stuff. Blaze is the strongest person I know, so you've got to be real strong to right?"

The hedgehog released Gardon's hand only for Blaze to chime in, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to pull him away. Such gentle physical contact was an oddity for the princess. "It's more of a ceremonial position Silver, I can't remember the last time Gardon had to fight."

"I keep my skills honed, just in case, but I concede that Blaze is far stronger then me." Gardon conceded as he overcame the rending of what little pride he had. "Thank you though, Silver. Prin- Blaze, shall we take our seats?"

"I suppose but Gardon I said to drop the formalities, we don't have assigned seats and I'm not sitting on that rickety thing." Blaze responded, drawing a regular chair and sitting upon it.

"Of course not, my apologies." It took everything within his person not to ask for forgiveness. He went to the opposite end of the table, the seat closest to that old chair, and pulled himself in. Looking across the table however Gardon's eyes would widen, his jaw would drop and his right hand would slip from the top of the table to rest on his sword hilt. The chair he had used to catch the spider was floating, coated in that teal glow he'd sighted before; it moved from the corner and with a small hop Silver sat atop it, the chair pulling itself into the table. Dangerously close to Blaze, were their chairs touching? If they weren't they couldn't be far from it.

"As you've just seen Silver is psychokinetic, he's able to manipulate objects and people with his mind. It's a powerful tool but he uses it too casually, rather naively." She shot Silver a look, brows furrowed… yet there was a small smile to her face and pinkness as well, what was that expression? Her ears had lowered forward, Gardon only ever seen them twist backward in anger. He hadn't seen this from Blaze before and, even though it exuded positivity, it troubled him.

He laughed a little under her stare; "It's hard to stop, using it for mundane things is just so fun." It was a tiny interaction, miniscule, but from it Gardon could expunge a lot. Most notably from Blaze, the way she acted around this hedgehog was quite different, but there was something beneath the surface. Blaze had always had trouble fitting in not only due to her heritage but the flames she could produce. Pyrokinesis. Was the why he was her partner, because he was like her? Had he won trust through their similarity? Did he plan to abuse that trust? "Do you want tea?"

He was torn from his thoughts by the question; looking down at the table he hadn't even noticed the tea set, a simple flask with some plastic mugs set next to a bag of biscuits. Realising he'd stalled he responded quickly, attempting to straighten his face. "Yes, please." He should have seen it coming but as the thermos rose into the air, wrapped in teal, and began to pour into a cup. He looked to Blaze only for her to gently nod. Bringing both hands back atop the table Gardon accepted the fact that without asking he wasn't going to get any answers. "So, when did you two meet?"

Despite its simplicity Silver's seemed to get a little lost in that question; Gardon could practically see the cogs turning in his head. Blaze too seemed to pause at it but quickly responded; "We were recently reunited after a long separation, we met as children."

That set off a number of red flags in Gardon's mind; if Blaze had truly lost a childhood friend he was certain he'd had known about it. Not only would he have likely seen this child but he also couldn't recall a time when Blaze could have made a friend only to be suddenly separated from them. "Really… I don't remember seeing a hedgehog before Sonic arrived, let alone a psychic one."

"It's… complicated, but essentially I visited Sonic's dimension before my more recent venture. It was then that I met Silver." Blaze exposited, "I only remembered him recently."

"I guess that's true, I never tried to put it into words before, are we not going to tell him about the future and Iblis?" Silver asked, seeming to overcome his delirium only to spout what sounded to be complete nonsense. What was Iblis? Could he also see the future?

Blaze turned to him and, as though he'd spoken sensibly, responded; "Well certainly not today, I think it might be a bit much to understand. We should probably keep that to ourselves, for now at least."

Gardon allowed himself to push in; "I will not pry if you are unwilling to disclose such matters, though I am surprised you'd been to Sonic's dimension before; without my knowledge and as a child no less." None of this made the slightest sense to Gardon, he resumed eying Silver as he poured the last of the tea; a cookie floated from the bag into the white hedgehog's grasp, taking an overly large bite he seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the flavour and slid to slouch in his seat. Psychic powers… could he do more than had been explained? Could he affect people's minds? He couldn't see teal on Blaze anywhere…

"As I said it's complicated. I'm sure when you're better acquainted we can have that conversation in full." Blaze waved away that conversation, taking a long sip of her tea. By the frown on her face and the way she'd put emphasis on certain words, it was clear that she'd noticed Gardon's distrust.

With that in mind the koala decided it was best to define the fact that confused and troubled him most; assuming there was no foul play afoot then Blaze clearly wanted him to trust this fellow. "Forgive me for being so blunt your Maj- Blaze but when you two say that you're partners, in what sense do you mean? Are you two involved…" It was outside his jurisdiction as guardian to ask this but fatherly instinct had long broken free from its chains; "…Romantically?"

The response was immediate, both of them were awash in red; eyes snapped from him briefly to each other and then as far from one another as possible. Silver seemed to choke a little and was now looking at the cookie in his hand, his excited chewing had halted; the smile was still on his face but it was incredibly shaky. Blaze's eyes had gone to the upper corner of the room, her hands held together she released a sharp sigh and spoke; "I-I… I'd say we're closer than friends but we don't have that kind of relationship… we don't…"

"Y-Yeah…" Silver finally spoke up, "We've fought together a lot and w-we look after each other but it's not like we…" His tongue seemed to get lost in his mouth; he made a sound like a stuttering sigh. "K-kiss and stuff."

"I see, I apologise for prying once more Blaze." This wasn't an emotional state he'd observed in Blaze before, and he hardly trusted this boy let alone knew him, but there was clearly something there they either weren't telling him or weren't telling each other. He'd never seen Blaze like this, not just this embarrassment but she said he was closer than a friend and in all of the little actions it showed. It would be wonderful if he weren't so worried. Gardon finally sipped his tea; it was a little sweet for his taste, the concoction of distrust and happiness tending more toward the latter.

To his surprise Blaze continued, pushing through the embarrassment. "There are things I can do with Silver I am incapable of on my own. A lot of my fears and anxieties are alleviated by or through his presence, for example, my fear of heights vanishes whenever I'm with him." And then, eyes locked with Gardon's own, she put extra emphasis on those next words; "I trust him more than anyone else." That stung a little but Gardon knew it was an attempt to further hammer home that he was to trust Silver, what she had said about heights gripped him slightly more, however; the idea that around Silver she grew more comfortable and confident struck a cord within the guardsman.

The hedgehog's eyes finally rose back to Gardon, "I'm basically lost without Blaze. She's a whole lot smarter and tougher than me, I feel a lot stronger when I'm with her! She's the best." It was far simpler than what she'd said but in its wake, there was a smile on the princess' face, fangs peeking out as if noticing she took a sip of her tea… but something bizarre happened. Blaze's tail was usually rather still but Gardon could see it, rather than hanging behind her it lay along the back of his seat.

That had instilled some confidence in the old guard, he finally felt comfortable enough to take a biscuit. "Well I'm glad to hear it, I may not understand all of this but it seems benign and I'm glad Blaze has made such a close ally. I trust you to guard one another to the fullest."

Between mouthfuls of his biscuit Silver quickly responded, "Of course, she's my partner after all! She doesn't really need me to look after her but if she does I'll be there. I'm just really happy I'm with her again, I wouldn't trade it for the world." The smile on Silver's face was wide, what had once been a confusing yet alien presence was slowly warming to Gardon. Well… not significantly, putting blind trust in him so soon would be a failure of his position, but he couldn't help feeling glad his little girl was growing closer to others. If she fully trusted this Silver then Gardon was sure he would with time. If they were dating, however, or if things ever came to it, he'd have to far better his manners; he could foresee an exhaustive talk in the hedgehog's future.

[witch-of-time-and-letters]

Fantasieherz, schöner Verstand. Pt XVIII Veröffentlichung.

Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics

As well as his fiction, Tolkien was also a leading author of academic literary criticism. His seminal 1936 lecture, later published as an article, revolutionized the treatment of the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf by literary critics. The essay remains highly influential in the study of Old English literature to this day. Beowulf is one of the most significant influences upon Tolkien's later fiction, with major details of both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings being adapted from the poem. The piece reveals many of the aspects of Beowulf which Tolkien found most inspiring, most prominently the role of monsters in literature, particularly that of the dragon which appears in the final third of the poem:

As for the poem, one dragon, however hot, does not make a summer, or a host; and a man might well exchange for one good dragon what he would not sell for a wilderness. And dragons, real dragons, essential both to the machinery and the ideas of a poem or tale, are actually rare.

Children's books and other short works

In addition to his mythopoeic compositions, Tolkien enjoyed inventing fantasy stories to entertain his children. He wrote annual Christmas letters from Father Christmasfor them, building up a series of short stories (later compiled and published as The Father Christmas Letters). Other works included Mr. Bliss and Roverandom (for children), and Leaf by Niggle (part of Tree and Leaf), The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, Smith of Wootton Major and Farmer Giles of Ham. Roverandom and Smith of Wootton Major, like The Hobbit, borrowed ideas from his legendarium.

The Hobbit

Tolkien never expected his stories to become popular, but by sheer accident a book called The Hobbit, which he had written some years before for his own children, came in 1936 to the attention of Susan Dagnall, an employee of the London publishing firm George Allen & Unwin, who persuaded Tolkien to submit it for publication. When it was published a year later, the book attracted adult readers as well as children, and it became popular enough for the publishers to ask Tolkien to produce a sequel.

The Lord of the Rings

The request for a sequel prompted Tolkien to begin what would become his most famous work: the epic novel The Lord of the Rings (originally published in three volumes 1954–1955). Tolkien spent more than ten years writing the primary narrative and appendices for The Lord of the Rings, during which time he received the constant support of the Inklings, in particular his closest friend C. S. Lewis, the author of The Chronicles of Narnia. Both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are set against the background of The Silmarillion, but in a time long after it.

Tolkien at first intended The Lord of the Rings to be a children's tale in the style of The Hobbit, but it quickly grew darker and more serious in the writing.[159] Though a direct sequel to The Hobbit, it addressed an older audience, drawing on the immense backstory of Beleriand that Tolkien had constructed in previous years, and which eventually saw posthumous publication in The Silmarillion and other volumes. Tolkien's influence weighs heavily on the fantasy genre that grew up after the success of The Lord of the Rings.

The Lord of the Rings became immensely popular in the 1960s and has remained so ever since, ranking as one of the most popular works of fiction of the 20th century, judged by both sales and reader surveys. In the 2003 "Big Read" survey conducted by the BBC, The Lord of the Rings was found to be the UK's "Best-loved Novel". Australians voted The Lord of the Rings "My Favourite Book" in a 2004 survey conducted by the Australian ABC. In a 1999 poll of Amazon.com customers, The Lord of the Rings was judged to be their favourite "book of the millennium". In 2002 Tolkien was voted the 92nd "greatest Briton" in a poll conducted by the BBC, and in 2004 he was voted 35th in the SABC3's Great South Africans, the only person to appear in both lists. His popularity is not limited to the English-speaking world: in a 2004 poll inspired by the UK's "Big Read" survey, about 250,000 Germans found The Lord of the Rings to be their favourite work of literature.

Posthumous publications

The Silmarillion

Tolkien wrote a brief "Sketch of the Mythology", which included the tales of Beren and Lúthien and of Túrin; and that sketch eventually evolved into the Quenta Silmarillion, an epic history that Tolkien started three times but never published. Tolkien desperately hoped to publish it along with The Lord of the Rings, but publishers (both Allen & Unwin and Collins) declined. Moreover, printing costs were very high in 1950s Britain, requiring The Lord of the Rings to be published in three volumes. The story of this continuous redrafting is told in the posthumous series The History of Middle-earth, edited by Tolkien's son, Christopher Tolkien. From around 1936, Tolkien began to extend this framework to include the tale of The Fall of Númenor, which was inspired by the legend of Atlantis.

Tolkien had appointed his son Christopher to be his literary executor, and he (with assistance from Guy Gavriel Kay, later a well-known fantasy author in his own right) organized some of this material into a single coherent volume, published as The Silmarillion in 1977. It received the Locus Award for Best Fantasy novel in 1978.

Unfinished Tales

and

The History of Middle-earth

In 1980, Christopher Tolkien published a collection of more fragmentary material, under the title Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth. In subsequent years (1983–1996), he published a large amount of the remaining unpublished materials, together with notes and extensive commentary, in a series of twelve volumes called The History of Middle-earth. They contain unfinished, abandoned, alternative, and outright contradictory accounts, since they were always a work in progress for Tolkien and he only rarely settled on a definitive version for any of the stories. There is not complete consistency between The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, the two most closely related works, because Tolkien never fully integrated all their traditions into each other. He commented in 1965, while editing The Hobbit for a third edition, that he would have preferred to completely rewrite the book because of the style of its prose.

Mr. Bliss

One of Tolkien's least-known short works is the children's storybook Mr. Bliss, published in 1982. It tells the story of Mr. Bliss and his first ride in his new motor-car. Many adventures follow: encounters with bears, angry neighbours, irate shopkeepers, and assorted collisions. The story was inspired by Tolkien's own vehicular mishaps with his first car, purchased in 1932. The bears were based on toy bears owned by Tolkien's sons. Tolkien was both author and illustrator of the book. He submitted it to his publishers as a balm to readers who were hungry for more from him after the success of The Hobbit. The lavish ink and coloured-pencil illustrations would have made production costs prohibitively expensive. Tolkien agreed to redraw the pictures in a simpler style, but then found he did not have time to do so. The book was published in 1982 as a facsimile of Tolkien's difficult-to-read illustrated manuscript, with a typeset transcription on each facing page.

The Children of Húrin

More recently, in 2007, The Children of Húrin was published by HarperCollins (in the UK and Canada) and Houghton Mifflin (in the US). The novel tells the story of Túrin Turambar and his sister Nienor, children of Húrin Thalion. The material was compiled by Christopher Tolkien from The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, The History of Middle-earth, and unpublished manuscripts.

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, which was released worldwide on 5 May 2009 by HarperCollins and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, retells the legend of Sigurd and the fall of the Niflungs from Germanic mythology. It is a narrative poem composed in alliterative verse and is modelled after the Old Norse poetry of the Elder Edda. Christopher Tolkien supplied copious notes and commentary upon his father's work.

According to Christopher Tolkien, it is no longer possible to trace the exact date of the work's composition. On the basis of circumstantial evidence, he suggests that it dates from the 1930s. In his foreword he wrote, "He scarcely ever (to my knowledge) referred to them. For my part, I cannot recall any conversation with him on the subject until very near the end of his life, when he spoke of them to me, and tried unsuccessfully to find them." In a 1967 letter to W. H. Auden, Tolkien wrote,

Thank you for your wonderful effort in translating and reorganising The Song of the Sibyl. In return again I hope to send you, if I can lay my hands on it (I hope it isn't lost), a thing I did many years ago when trying to learn the art of writing alliterative poetry: an attempt to unify the lays about the Völsungs from the Elder Edda, written in the old eight-line fornyrðislag stanza.

The Fall of Arthur

The Fall of Arthur, published on 23 May 2013, is a long narrative poem composed by Tolkien in the early-1930s. It is alliterative, extending to almost 1,000 lines imitating the Old English Beowulf metre in Modern English. Though inspired by high medieval Arthurian fiction, the historical setting of the poem is during the Post-Roman Migration Period, both in form (using Germanic verse) and in content, showing Arthur as a British warlord fighting the Saxon invasion, while it avoids the high medieval aspects of the Arthurian cycle (such as the Grail, and the courtly setting); the poem begins with a British "counter-invasion" to the Saxon lands (Arthur eastward in arms purposed).

Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary

Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary, published on 22 May 2014, is a prose translation of the early medieval epic poem Beowulf from Old English to modern English. Translated by Tolkien from 1920 to 1926, it was edited by his son Christopher. The translation is followed by over 200 pages of commentary on the poem; this commentary was the basis of Tolkien's acclaimed 1936 lecture "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics".[171] The book also includes the previously unpublished "Sellic Spell" and two versions of "The Lay of Beowulf". The former is a fantasy piece on Beowulf's biographical background, while the latter is a poem on the Beowulf theme.

The Story of Kullervo

The Story of Kullervo, first published in Tolkien Studies in 2010 and reissued with additional material in 2015, is a retelling of a 19th-century Finnish poem. It was written in 1915 while Tolkien was studying at Oxford.

Beren and Lúthien

The Tale of Beren and Lúthien is one of the oldest and most often revised in Tolkien's legendarium. The story is one of three contained within The Silmarillion which Tolkien believed to warrant their own long-form narratives. It was published as a standalone book, edited by Christopher Tolkien, under the title Beren and Lúthien in 2017.

The Fall of Gondolin

The Fall of Gondolin is a tale of a beautiful, mysterious city destroyed by dark forces, which Tolkien called "the first real story" of Middle-earth, was published on 30 August 2018 as a standalone book, edited by Christopher Tolkien and illustrated by Alan Lee.