#i accidentally drew roman too small but then i was like

[scooterpengie]

I told myself "no weird Succession AUs" but then I realised I wanted to see the Roy siblings as kids get lost in a creepy forest 😭 So anyway Succession Over the Garden Wall AU! They wouldn't survive a week

The first drawing without text under the cut because I drew a whole ass background 😳

Let me know if you wanna see more of this!

[justanotherblonde23]

I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay? 

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty. 

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it. 

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way. 

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart. 

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him. 

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert. 

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was. 

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself. 

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out. 

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you. 

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise. 

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered. 

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it. 

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check. 

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next. 

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred. 

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers. 

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever. 

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.” 

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish. 

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.” 

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life. 

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago. 

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you. 

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure. 

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe. 

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian. 

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him. 

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core. 

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward. 

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close. 

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath. 

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars. 

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.” 

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s. 

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.” 

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him. 

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.” 

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going. 

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face. 

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot. 

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.” 

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share. 

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved. 

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes. 

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind. 

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you. 

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.” 

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy. 

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second. 

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt. 

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you. 

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him. 

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy. 

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.” 

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality. 

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair. 

“Like what, cyare?” 

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face. 

“You mean it?” He breathed out. 

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home. 

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three. 

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[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Home

A great big special thank you to @peachy-mags for the full version of the fantastic companion artwork for this piece! (https://peachy-mags.tumblr.com/post/654049235542622208/)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings:  Smut, Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Summary: After years of service to Angelo Bronte, who would have thought that the arrival of little Jack Marston could change your life forever?

Notes: My submission for @rdrbigbang! Be sure to check out the AMAZING companion art for this fic from @peachy-mags!

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Another beautiful morning in Saint Denis. You breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm peace that so rarely enveloped the town. There was a slight nip in the air that you knew would fade away as the morning drew on, the sun rising and casting everything in a pale-yellow light, before the city itself awakened. It was your favorite time of day.

A cup of coffee steamed in your hands as you slowly made your way through the gardens at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. One of the perks of being a live-in servant, you supposed, was unfettered access to the (admittedly slightly ostentatious) statue garden out back - given that Signor Bronte himself wasn’t occupying the space. After a few minutes of slow, calm pacing, you found yourself standing in front of a marble statue of some Roman goddess, Aphrodite?, and taking a sip of your coffee. 

It was hot and bitter, the perfect juxtaposition to the cool morning that you would allow yourself to enjoy for a few moments longer. Soon, you would need to make your way inside and ready the table for breakfast, but for now you could enjoy this moment. This peace.

Unfortunately, that peace was almost immediately broken by the sound of terrified cries coming from inside the house. It was not all that uncommon to hear screams and sobs from inside the building, due to the scrupulous nature of your employer, but these sounded different. Almost childlike.

Curious, you made your way back indoors, trying your best to steady your pace so as not to draw unwanted attention. Setting the coffee cup in the kitchen next to the large washbasin, you nodded to the cook, Giovanni, before opening the door to the servant’s stairwell. 

The crying was louder here. Anguished and frightened sobs broken only occasionally by cries for “Mama”. 

So it was a child?

Quietly, you crept up the creaky stairs to the hallway, where several of Bronte’s more scrupulous henchmen, Gene, Alfonso and Irvin, were gathered around a door. The crying was even louder now, and most certainly coming from the room where the henchmen were standing guard. Above the desperate sobs, you could just make out the sounds of your employer trying to shush the child, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Now, now, my boy,” he soothed, his accent unmistakable. “There’s no need to be upset, I’m sure your family will come after you soon enough.” The boy continued to cry for his mother in between sobs. Signor Bronte’s tactic wasn’t exactly working.

The men standing guard had spotted you, and closed their ranks tighter. You knew how this went - you were never allowed to see Bronte’s victims. In fact, as far as you were supposed to know, Bronte participated in no underhanded dealings whatsoever. Which was, of course, completely wrong, and you had figured that out long ago. But for the most part, you tried your best to ignore the dealings - for the sake of keeping yourself alive.

But this was a child.

You had to do something. 

Carefully, you moved closer to the line of henchmen standing in front of the door. They were larger than you, Signor Bronte had a habit of finding and employing practical giants to act as his henchmen, but they were also silent.

“Signor Bronte?” you called, standing nearly face-to-chest with one of the large men. “Is everything alright? Can I be of service?”

The men in front of you reddened, irritated at your immunity to their intimidation tactics. They stayed silent, however, and maintained their position as a wall of flesh between you and the crying child in the room. 

After just a few moments, you heard your name being called with a familiar Italian lilt . “Come in, come in. We could use your help,” he hailed for you over the steady sobs from the room. 

The three men at the door reluctantly parted to let you enter the brightly lit room. A fire was burning low in the hearth, likely more of a symbol of comfort than to actually provide any heat, and your boss sat on the side of a large, gaudy bed. 

The boss of the largest crime syndicate in San Denis was a feared man, but if you met him in the street, you would never know. He was small, with a prominent nose and dark eyes that never overlooked anything. At home, his dark was hair slicked back under a floral headband, and his red housecoat opened in the front to reveal an unbuttoned white collared shirt. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could have passed as any rich, european immigrant.

But you knew better. In the middle of the luxurious home, beneath the extravagance of his clothing, sat a cunning, intelligent man who had clawed his way up from hell itself. He was cutthroat, manipulative, and would not hesitate to sell out his closest comrade for a step up the ladder. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise you to see a small boy curled up on the large, gaudy bed, his clothes muddied and his light brown hair in tangles. He couldn’t have been older than four or five, and was screaming adamantly for his mother. 

Instinctually, you rushed to the bed and sat next to him, taking the spot that had been occupied by your boss. “Now, my dear,” he said as he stood, clearing his throat and adjusting his housecoat, “this young man is Jack, and he will be staying with us for a while.” You looked sympathetically at the boy, still sobbing and curled up in front of you, before giving your boss a solemn nod. 

You hated this; seeing the boy in such a familiar state. A state that you, yourself, had been in for years upon your arrival in San Denis. Hopefully his parents, unlike yours, could pay off whatever debt they had soon. “If you could stop his screams, I would appreciate it. He’s giving me a headache,” Signor Bronte continued, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose with one hand as he headed toward the door. “Get him some breakfast. I’m sure he hasn’t been fed since those hillbillies in Rhodes took him.”

Without another word, he walked from the room and the three henchmen followed closely behind him. As he entered the hallway, you could hear him speaking to them in Italian, “Let’s hope these bastards come for him soon. I want to have the little shit out of here as soon as possible.”

The door closed behind them, and you were left in the room with the poor, frightened child. You sighed and slowly moved closer to the curled up figure on the bed. Making sure you were as gentle as possible, you reached out to place a hand on his tiny shoulder. “Jack?...” you said his name, low and calm, as if you were trying to tame a spooked horse. He curled even further into himself, but you noticed his sobs had started to die down to exhausted whimpers. “Jack?” you tried again, pulling your hand back to yourself and placing it in your lap. Calmly, you gave him your name before continuing, “I’m very sorry about all of this, Jack. I know it’s very scary…. I-”

What could you tell him? That you had been in the same situation when you were just a few years older? That your parents had never been able to come back for you? That you had spent the majority of your life in service to Angelo Bronte, notorious mafioso, in order to pay a massive debt that had been racked up by your father when you were eight?

No. He didn’t need to know those things. He didn’t need to know the likely reality of his situation.

It was rare that Signor Bronte dealt in child kidnappings, but when he did? The poor kids were lucky if their parents were able to retrieve them.

“I’m sure your ma and pa will show up for you soon,” you soothed, hoping it was the truth.

The poor boy, whose sobs had now turned into quiet sniffles, stayed curled up with his back to you, unmoving. You reached out a hand gently, brushing his dirty hair away from his forehead, only for him to flinch from your touch. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Alright, Jack,” you said quietly, standing from the bed. A nearby armchair held a throw blanket that you spread gently over him. “Why don’t you get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and some soup in a bit, I’m sure you’re starving.” The floor creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t look up at you. He just stayed on the bed, a shaking, sniffling bundle. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind you. You didn’t think he would run away, he seemed far too exhausted and overwhelmed for that, but you have seen desperate people do crazier things. The least you could do was make sure he wasn’t accidentally hurt trying to make his way past Gene, Alfonso and Irvin trying to escape.

You made your way quickly back to the servants stairwell and down to the kitchen, where Giovanni was waiting for you with bated breath. A joyous, loving man, an immigrant from Italy alongside Angelo Bronte several decades ago, Giovanni was one of your closest friends - possibly the next thing to family that you had had since coming here. Over the years, he had taught you as much as he could about Italian cuisine, all the while boasting about the restaurant that he would surely open one day. 

At first, you had scoffed. Hardly anyone in Angelo Bronte’s service managed to leave and start their own life. And, with as much as Signor Bronte boasted about Giovanni’s food, it wasn’t likely that he would be let out of his repayment contract that easily. 

Hardly anyone actively sought out Angelo Bronte as an employer. In fact, you suspected that the only actual well-paid employees were the contract killers he sometimes took out to keep his hands clean - but again, you weren’t supposed to know that. The rest of you were given room and board and a pittance of a salary, in exchange for paying off whatever debt was owed to Signor Bronte. For you, it was your father’s sizable gambling debts. For Giovanni, it was the cost of keeping his nieces and nephews alive after their father, his brother, had suddenly passed. Bail, loans, gambling - every one of his employees had a past, and every single one of them owed their future to Angelo Bronte.

“And, my dear, what is the news?” he asked, turning from the freshly baked bread that he had just taken out of the oven to face you. 

You gave him a somber smile and picked up a slice of tomato from the cutting board in the center of the kitchen island. “A boy,” you explained, leaning against the island and taking a bite of the vegetable. You glanced over at the washbasin and saw your coffee cup had been cleaned. Giovanni was a saint. “Maybe four or five? Small, either way. I…” you trailed off, but the both of you knew what was going through your mind. You felt bad for him, you didn’t think he deserved this.

Giovanni nodded, and turned to the stove. “Well, my dear, let’s give the boy a warm welcome, shall we?” he responded before pulling a large pot from the back of the stove and looking inside. “We have some leftover minestrone from yesterday, why don’t you warm some up for him while I finish Signor Bronte’s breakfast? There’s some stale bread in the pantry you can add to it. I’ll call in Anne to set the table,” he handed you a wooden spoon and was out the kitchen door, where you heard him calling for the older woman.

Your smile was significantly less downtrodden after speaking to the man, but you still could feel anxious, worried butterflies in your stomach as you collected a bowl, spoon and glass. After a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, you also slipped a small chocolate bar into your apron pocket, hoping it would help cheer the boy up, even a little. Within just a few minutes, you were headed back up the creaky stairs to the room where Jack was housed, hot soup and cool water in hand, and armed with a secret chocolate bar.

Quietly, you opened the door, balancing the soup and a glass of water with your left arm as you entered. The room was silent now, except for the low breathing of the boy on the bed. If it weren’t for his red-puffy eyes and the chapped rings around his nostrils, he would have seemed peaceful. Like nothing was wrong at all.

You stood for a moment, looking at the poor boy. Should you wake him? He was bound to be starving, but you were sure he was exhausted as well. You hesitated, but decided against it. You could leave the soup and water on the bedside table and check on him throughout the day - he deserved his rest.

Slowly, quietly, you crept across the room to the side of the bed and set the soup and water down, followed by the chocolate bar. You glanced quickly at him, relieved he didn’t wake, before making your way back to the door.

Just as you were about to leave and go about your duties for the morning, you heard a small cough and a hoarse, timid voice from the bed. “Wait…” he said. You turned to see the boy propped up on his arms, looking at you with puffy, shining eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Looking at him made you want to cry. How could anyone hurt someone so small, so fragile, so helpless? How could someone be so cruel as to take him away from his family and thrust him into this god awful world?

He was already so exhausted, so frightened, so sad, you couldn’t leave him to sort his feelings out on his own.  You could convince Anna and Giovanni to take your duties for the day. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded at him and moved back toward the bed to sit with him. “I won’t.”

---

Slowly, Jack began to settle in. Although he was still obviously upset, the boy proved to be far more flexible and resilient than you had expected from someone so young. Whether from his natural resilience or from your constant reassurance that his parents must be doing everything in their power to get him back, you weren’t entirely certain. You spent plenty of time with him, making sure he was doing alright, and eventually he chose to sleep on a small cot in the servants quarters, next to your bed. 

He was prone to constant chatter during the day, and you soon learned quite a lot about him and his family. He apparently had plenty of aunts and uncles, who all moved together around the country. They had been down near Blackwater for a long time, where Jack had apparently left his favorite storybook, but then something brought them north to a small ghost town “with lots of snow, it was real cold!”. Luckily, they hadn’t been there long before heading south again to “a place by a river with lots and lots of trees” where, notably, his Uncle Arthur had taken him fishing. Most recently, they had moved down to Lemoyne, once again near a river, but this time Jack described it as “really hot and nothing ever dries and it always smells like fish.”

An accurate description if you had ever heard one.

In the meantime, although he wouldn��t talk much to the others, most of them couldn’t help but dote on him. Giovanni had a habit of slipping him sweets throughout the day. Anna and the other maids would occasionally bring him books or toys that they had found around town - he was amassing quite a collection. And from Signor Bronte himself, Jack received a brand new outfit made from the finest cotton. You suspected it was most likely to keep the worn rags out of the man’s sight than to actually please Jack.

But, despite the gifts and the treats from the others, Jack clung to you. On laundry days, he would help sort and fold. When cooking, he would clean the vegetables without a second thought. During cleaning, he happily carried supplies around after you, handing you what you needed whenever asked. Although you had told him multiple times that he was more than welcome to sit and read his new book, he preferred staying by your side. 

Almost as if he was afraid that, if left alone, he would be taken again.

And at night, it always came to a head. In the dark and left with no distractions, you could hear his whimpers from the cot next to yours. You could hear his murmurs and quiet cries for “Mama” as he dreamt. And it hurt. You couldn’t bear to see him so miserable.

After the third or fourth night, you reached down and brushed the hair from his head. “Jack?” you whispered, looking at the small boy with all the affection of a loving mother. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t wake. Instead, he sleepily lifted his hand to yours, and held it in his until the sun rose.

--

The first few weeks went by similarly. Working during the day, with Jack at your side, helping you out as much as a child could, and comforting the poor child during the night with reassuring words. Soon, the reassurance and affirmations turned into stories -  tales about dragons and castles, about magic and the sea. 

About two weeks into his stay, you spent the day preparing for a large feast alongside Giovanni, Anna and with plenty of help from Jack. 

“You didn’t finish your story last night,” he said, pounding away at a ball of bread dough with his tiny fists. 

“Oh yes I did,” you teased, looking the boy dead in the eye with a grin. “You were just too sleepy and fell asleep before the end.” As you joked, you set down the knife and pushed aside the tomato you had been chopping to poke him lightly in the side.

His joyous laughter lit up his face. “Hey!” he whined in between bouts of giggles. “That tickles!”

“I know, silly,” you returned not relenting your tickle torture. “That’s the point!” You did acquiesce after just a few moments though, not wanting to actually cause him any pain.

“Alright you two, calm down, now,” came Anna’s voice from across the room. She was a lovely, portly older woman, with graying hair and a smile to light up a room. If Giovanni had been your father figure since coming here, she certainly took the place of your mother. “We’ve got plenty to prepare for tonight. Signor Bronte is having the Mayor over to talk about his party.”

You let your giggles die down, and nudged the red-faced child next to you. “Now look what you’ve done, Jackie,” you teased softly, ruffling his hair before going back to chopping vegetables.

“Nuh uh,” he responded, giving the bread dough a thorough punch before looking up at you again with a childish grin. He had lost a tooth recently, which only made it all the more adorable. “Can you tell me the end of the story?” he asked after another moment, turning back to the mound of dough on the table. “It was so good, I wanna hear the end. Pretty please?”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Alright, alright,” you chided, picking up yet another tomato. It wasn’t a particularly good story, just a thinly veiled version of… well, you didn’t want to dwell on that, but if he wanted to hear it, you would oblige. “Where were we?”

“Hmmm…” he mused, stopping kneading the dough for just a second to recall. “Well, the king and queen had just sent the princess to talk to the mean dragon, and then he caught her in a trap, remember?”

“That’s the beginning of the story, Jack.”

“Well, that’s as far as I remember,” his giggles echoed through the room and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned irritation that he definitely could see right through. “Well, the princess had been caught in a trap by the mean dragon, but he didn’t hurt her. He… he just wouldn’t let her go home. He wouldn’t let her see the king and queen again so she could be happy.

“‘Your king and queen need to send a knight to come get you,’ the dragon told the princess. ‘Little girls cannot roam the forest on their own.’

“And so, the princess waited, and waited and waited and waited. She learned to read, and write, and she even learned to speak Dragon, which were talents unheard of for princesses in those days. 

“She had lots of friends who came and went, and even though she couldn’t go back to the king and queen, she... she wasn’t so lonely… and she learned to find happiness in the small things, like the smell of coffee in the morning, or turning the page of a brand new book, or even the glow of the sunrise on spring dew. 

“After a while, she finally realised that she didn’t need the king and queen to be happy. She could make her own happiness… And she did…” you trailed off at the end, returning your focus once again to the vegetables. The other two adults in the room remained silent. You couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious. “The end.”

Jack was quiet for a moment as well, hands stilled on the dough as he looked at the ceiling in thought. “That wasn’t a very good ending,” he said quietly, looking up at you.

You had been caught.

“The princess should have run away, or she should have asked one of her friends to take her when they were leaving,” he continued, determined.

You chuckled solemnly. “You’re probably right, Jack,” you murmured. “I think she was just… scared. The world was dark and scary for her, and she weren’t a very brave princess, and she was worried about what would happen to the king and queen if she left.”

“But that’s not true,” he interjected, throwing one final punch at the bread dough before Anna came to collect it from him. “She was real brave! She lived with a dragon! And dragons are real scary!” He was handed another mound of dough which he immediately proceeded to punch with all his might. “And maybe some of her friends come back to save her! Maybe she helped lots of people while they were living with the dragon, and then they come back to help her! That would be an even better ending!”

Another chuckle. He was far too adorable and far too naive for this house. “Maybe, Jack,” you responded, plastering a knowing smile to your lips. “That would be a good ending.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands on your apron and turned to face the small boy. “Alright now, you. Finish up with that bread and then we can get cleaned up for lunch. I think Giovanni is making us spaghetti.”

---

The hot water splashed out of the bucket, spraying suds across the floor. Jack giggled and picked up a handful, blowing it in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The kid sure did know how to make even the most boring of chores into a game. Looking around first to make sure no one caught you messing around, you picked up a handful of bubbles and plopped them onto his head. This brought out a shrieking laugh from the boy. He really was settling in. For better or worse, at least he seemed to be happier. 

Finally, you told him gently that you needed to finish the laundry, and then the two of you could go outside for a walk. This, somehow, convinced him to calm down, left playing with the bubbles and giggling to himself until he was interrupted by a voice calling your name from the hall.

Signor Bronte.

“Get these men drinks,” you heard, his spoken Italian echoing across the hall.

Immediately, you put the wash down and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron before hustling to the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, Jack. I’ll just bring the whisky out and be right back,” you instructed, quickly gathering six whisky glasses and a serving tray.

This had been your job for years, you could practically do it blindfolded. As one of the youngest servants in the house, Signor Bronte tended to like to have you wait on his more esteemed guests. It was degrading, but it kept you in his good graces. You had seen enough servants come and go to know that complaining about your role would get you nowhere. Or worse.

Quickly, you pulled a decanter from the cabinet, and left the room with the tray full of glasses in your hands. Already in the hallway, you could hear the conversation between the men in the room. “Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, John Marston,” introduced one of the strangers, his voice confident.

You brushed past Irvin, who was standing guard at the entrance, into extravagant parlour. Upon entering the room, you could immediately see that these were not the typical guests that Signor Bronte would waste his good whisky on, but you hardly had time to look at them individually. They seemed dirty, rough, and completely out of place in the richly-decorated parlour. 

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, please,” he said, summoning you forward. You warily step between the chairs to place the tray on the table and pour the glasses, handing them to each man in turn. First, to a tall, thin man with dark hair and a frustrated scowl etched into his face. Next, a muscular man with light brown hair and bright teal eyes, and finally, another dark-haired man, his hair slick with pomade and dressed in clothing that looked like it used to be expensive. 

“So, can my friend have his son?” says one of the men - the one who had introduced them all earlier. You nearly froze. Can my friend have his son?

Jack. 

It took you just a moment to gather your wits before you turned to your boss, handing him the last glass. He took it with a nod to you and a chuckle, before looking back at the men in front of him. “Of course, of course!” he grinned, taking a sip of the whisky. You immediately got yourself out of the way, standing behind the couch in case you were needed for anything else, as you had been taught. “But… should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that…”

“No,” answered the man, slightly reluctantly. You noted that none of the other men had yet spoken, this must be their leader.

Bronte seemed satisfied with their response, choosing to ignore the reluctance with a jovial laugh. “No, no no. So, how about this? You perform a simple job for me and you get your son back,” he explained, rubbing his hands together like the villain he was.

Finally, one of the other men spoke.“What is it?” the larger of the two groaned, beginning to stand up, as if he knew he would be assigned to this task.

Bronte, of course, made light of the situation, waving his hands through the air as he spoke, “A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery.”

“That is a fine place for it, the best,” joked the leader. You cringed, but Signor Bronte seemed to enjoy it.

Your boss burst out laughing, from the gut this time. “I love this guy, don’t you love him?” he laughed, looking at you. You nodded, plastering a smile to your face until he turned back to the other man. “I love you!” He paused for a moment to pour himself another glass of whisky before continuing his explanation. “See they’ve taken not only to desecrating the dead, but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you two head off, huh?” he said, indicating to the men on the couch before pouring yet another glass of whisky and handing it to the group’s leader. “And you, Mr. Van der Linde? Why don’t you tell me more about my manners?” he finished speaking and held up the glass to the other man, Mr. van der Linde, for a toast as the other two men stood to leave the room. “Salute.”

“Salute,” parroted Mr. van der Linde, clinking his glass with your boss’s. The other two men exited the room, as your boss and Mr. van der Linde continued conversing. Their laughter was real, but something in the room was tense, fake. Two men cut from the same cloth, both trying to one-up the other without making it completely obvious.

You had seen this enough times to know that this would only end badly for at least one of them - if not both.

The hour dragged on, as you stood in the corner, ready to jump into service if need be. Your mind drifted to Jack - now sitting alone in the washroom - and that you would soon be saying goodbye.

It was bittersweet, this feeling that came over you. You wanted him to be happy, to be home with his family, of course, but over the course of the last few weeks, he had wormed his way into your heart. He was the family, the son, that you would never have. And it broke your heart to have to let him go.

But you knew better. You couldn’t keep him here. Not for you. It was better if he were able to go home, to see his mother and his family, to see his dog that he missed so much. That was the life he needed, the life he deserved.

You felt the tears well in your eyes as you stood, waiting for your orders. A little over three hours had passed, and the men were still away. Signor Bronte and Mr. van der Linde were well into their cups, and you were not surprised in the least when your boss stood and unceremoniously sent his guest on his way.

“And the boy?” asked Mr. van der Linde, standing from his position on the couch and reaching out a hand to shake.

Signor Bronte took it, gave it a quick shake and began to stagger out of the room. “Yes, yes,” he slurred, turning to you on his way. “Bring him down, would you?”

“Yes, Signore,” you nodded, looking from your boss to the other man. It was really happening. It was really time to say goodbye.

--

To say Jack was excited at the news was putting it lightly. He had nearly bounced with joy when you had told him that his Pa was here to pick him up. You had led him down the stairs and out the front door to where Mr. van der Linde was waiting patiently. Jack nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement.

“Uncle Dutch!” he called, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. 

A loud, barking laugh left the man as he patted Jack’s head. “Well hello there, son,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you around camp.”

You smiled, looking at the two of them. This was the right thing to do. But then, Jack did something wholly unexpected. He led Dutch to you, and introduced you.

“She’s been real nice since I got here,” he explained to the older man. “She told me stories and brought me candy, and today she even put bubbles on my head!” his excited giggles echoed across the yard.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dutch said, looking you up and down before reaching out for your hand, which he then pulled to his lips in a theatrical show of chivalry. “And thank you so much for taking such good care of our boy.”

You plastered another smile to your face and gently pulled your hand away, wary of potentially offending the well-armed man. “Of course,” you responded. “I was happy to-” you were cut off by the well-timed sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and a loud, rough voice ringing in your ears.

“Like I said, we’ll see where we’re at once we got Jack,” said one of the men from earlier as their horses came to a halt in front of the gate. They dismounted and were immediately let in by one of the front guards. 

Upon their arrival, Dutch seemed to immediately forget your existence, instead striding towards the two men with an exasperated, “Well, you took your time.”

And then there was Jack, nearly bursting with excitement at the sight of the men, he couldn’t wait until they were through the gate before he ran to them with a cry of, “Pa!”

The sight warmed your heart. Jack was quickly picked up and clutched to the chest of the taller, dark-haired man as the other moved past you to hand something to the guards. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said, rubbing the back of Jack’s head and holding him close. 

However, Jack, completely oblivious to the nature of the situation, wiggled free of his father’s arms and, instead, grabbed his hand and pulled the man in your direction. “Pa, come here, come here, you have to meet my friend!” he said, voice loud and excited, as he introduced you to his father. “She’s been helping me since I got here. She tells the best stories!”

The man looked down at Jack with a loving smile and then up to you. “That so?” he asked the boy, reaching out to shake your hand. “John Marston.” 

You took his and introduced yourself as Jack rambled on, “Yeah! And she taught me how to make bread real good, want to see?”

“Sure, you can show us when we get back to camp,” John acquiesced, still holding tight to the boy’s hand, who then proceeded to drag the two of you over to the one man you did not yet have a name for.

“Uncle Arthur!” he called. The man, having dropped off whatever he had needed to give Signor Bronte, was leaning against a column and smoking. “You have to meet my friend too.”

“Is that right?” he said, smiling at Jack. He pushed himself off the column and snubbed his cigarette on his boot, moving toward the three of you. “Nice to meet you, miss,” for the third time that night, a hand was held out.

You shook it and introduced yourself, “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

John, looking both relieved and exhausted, heaved Jack back into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of him, I-”

Immediately, you stopped him. “It weren’t no problem, really. He’s a lovely boy,” you explained, once again trying to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Taking care of Jack had easily been one of the highlights of your life. Having someone need you, someone that loved talking to you, someone who was simply excited to be around you - it was such a drastic change from how you had lived for so long. And, even if you would never experience it again, you wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for the world.

John nodded, you didn’t have to explain any further. “Comeon, Jack, your ma’s been worried sick.” Jack nodded to his father enthusiastically, a grin on his face, before turning and surprising you with a big hug.

You bent over to hug him back, patting him on his head when you heard your name. “You’re coming with us, right?” he asked, his tiny face buried in your dress. You looked around at the others, Arthur had paused in his tracks, John was frozen in place, Dutch was stopped near the gate. No one said anything for a moment.

You don’t know how to break it to him.

So, you pull his face from your skirt and kiss him gently on the forehead, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “I’m real sorry, Jack,” you say, looking him in the eye, “but not this time.” You felt tempted to say something like I promise I’ll write or You can come see me any time but you knew both of these things weren’t true. He would get home to his family, and in a few days you would just be a stranger from his childhood. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood again, ruffling his hair and turning him to face his father. “Now, you go on back to your family, alright? Teach them how to make some good bread, like I showed you.”

His head was shaking as he looked back up at you, tears welling in his big brown eyes. “But…”

This hurt. More than saying goodbye to a child you had only known for a few weeks should. “I know, but…” you started, still not entirely sure how to explain yourself. “I have to stay here. This… this is my home.” You pull him to you once again in a tight hug and place a kiss on the top of his head. “You be good for your parents, alright?”

You can feel him nod under your chin, but he does not respond. It’s easy to tell that this is a new feeling for him - being so happy and so sad all at once. You wished you could tell him that its only temporary, and he will never have these conflicting feelings again. You wished you could have gone with him, broken free of Angelo Bronte and this life. There were so many things you wished you could do at that moment, but you couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t.

With a light sob, Jack wraps his arms around you one final time until he is gently pulled away by his father. “Comeon, son. We should get going.”

They walked to the gate together, John’s hand on his son’s back, leading the way. Jack was hoisted high onto a horse, and you could vaguely hear them talking to him, trying to cheer him up. “We have a new camp set up, Jack, you’re going to love it,” says Dutch before they ride off down the street.

Finally, you allow your tears to fall.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

---

The days pass slowly after Jack’s goodbye. There is little entertainment to pass the time. No dumb jokes, no begging for stories. It was exactly as it was before. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Early in the morning, a few days later, you walked around the house as usual, coffee in hand. You mused over the tasks for the days ahead: the Governor's garden party was in about a week, so it was time to start preparing. Clothes needed to be pressed, shoes to be shined, and, most importantly, mounds of food needed to be cooked.

Giovanni’s cooking was, although rarely shared outside of Signor Bronte’s home, lauded as some of the best in town. So, of course, Angelo Bronte’s personal chef would be graciously catering the meal.

It was supposed to be a sign of generosity, you theorised, but in reality it was all a show to keep Signor Bronte in the San Denis elite’s good graces - and to worm his way into another favor from the mayor.

You chuckled lightly to yourself as you paced slowly around the perfectly manicured gardens. Marble statues, imported from Italy, gazed down at you, unmoving. Quietly, you began to hum a short tune, not noticing the figure at the fence across from you. 

“Mornin’,” he called, his voice low and gruff, just as it had been when you had first met him.

You look up from the grass to the man, in surprise. He was leaning aginst the fence, patiently smoking a cigarette, and waiting. For you? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you call, making your way to him. He stubs out his cigarette on his boot and turns to fully face you. Only now, in the morning sunlight and away from the stress of Angelo Bronte, do you notice how attractive he is. Light brown hair framed an unshaven face, a strong jawline, light smattering of chest hair showing through the top of his unbuttoned collar. “It’s lovely to see you again. How is Jack doing?”

Arthur smiles at you, and the sun suddenly seems slightly brighter. “Boah’s doin’ good,” he says, leaning forward on the fence, one arm above his head to balance himself. “He’s happy to be home.”

You shoot him a small, bittersweet smile before turning your gaze to your coffee. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Misses you, though,” he continues, once he realises you aren’t going to say anything more. You look up at him, and notice he is fishing something out of his satchel. A small, folded piece of paper is passed through the bars of the fence, and you gently pluck it from his hand. “Sent this. Special delivery.”

You gently unfold the paper, and see a row of several stick figures, several people and what looks to be a dog, standing in front of some trees under a sunny sky. Under each of the figures, you can see several names scribbled in an adult’s hand.

Pa, Ma, Jack, Cain, Uncle Arthur… and you.

“Been told to tell you,” he continues, reaching through the fence with the hand that had been keeping him balanced and pointed at the figures on the paper. “That’s you… with us…”

You laugh lightly, glancing from the paper to the eyes of the man in front of you. A handsome teal, complimented by his, admittedly dirty, blue shirt. How had you not noticed him before? “This is real sweet of him, thank you,” you breathe, slightly softer than you had intended. You turn again to look at the drawing, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that had suddenly stained your cheeks.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise above the horizon. “You could come with us, you know,” he said after a minute, pulling another cigarette from his satchel and lighting it. “The boah would shoa be happy to have you ‘round.”

You smile at the thought. Waking up in the fresh air, telling Jack stories, getting to know his family. It would be lovely. But at the end of the day, it was easier said than done. “That… that’s a nice dream,” you told him, smiling. 

He huffed, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s true,” he tells you, leaning against the fence once more. “The life… well it ain’t pretty. Sure as hell not as pretty as livin’ in a mansion. But it’s free. You ain’t gotta answer to no one you don’t want.”

You scoffed and found yourself kicking at the grass beneath your feet. It would surely be better than what you had here. Hell, it would be easy enough to walk through the gates with the intention to never come back. And, what was even keeping you here? Your family? You hadn’t seen them in years. Giovanni? Anna? They would both leave if they could. 

But, you knew it wasn’t possible. You’ve seen this kind of thing before. One of your fellow servants found a means of escape, only to be back within a week. If they weren’t found and killed onsight. Angelo Bronte had eyes in every corner. Flies on every wall. He would find you.

“I… I wish I could.”

--

You went to bed late that evening, your conversation with Arthur resounding in your head. You could come with us, you know. The boy would sure be happy to have you around. The thought had even permeated your dreams, enveloping you in a fantasy world. A beautiful campsite by a river, a group of people, happy, laughing, free. Jack and Arthur and John and Dutch, and even Giovanni and Anna. They were all there, and they were all happy.

But, of course, the threat lingered. What had started as a beautiful dream quickly turned sour as Angelo Bronte entered the scene, scaring away your friends, capturing you and dragging you back to San Denis, into a mansion that looked more like a prison with every step. You would never escape him. You could never be free.

You had woken early in the morning, covered in sweat and sheets kicked from the bed. Breathing heavily, you glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was early, but not early enough to warrant going back to sleep. Groaning, you stepped quietly from your bed and pulled on your dressing gown. Your morning ritual would begin earlier today.

The air was crisp, but your coffee was hot - the perfect combination for waking a person up in the morning. The birds sang in their early morning chorus as the slowly rising sun cast everything in a calm, light blue. It was earlier than you had been up in ages, and you were fully prepared to sit in the garden, alone, and bask in the peacefulness. 

To your surprise, however, the increasingly-familiar smell of cigarette smoke and campfire reached you. You turned to the fence, the same place as the day prior, to be greeted by the rugged cowboy, leaning casually against the railing. Tired as you were, you couldn’t keep the smile from lighting up your face. 

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, making your way over to him, coffee cradled in both hands. You took a sip, thinking that you may need to start making two cups if this becomes a habit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’s Jack?”

Arthur’s grin immediately made your stomach flip. “Mornin’, miss,” he responded, tipping his hat to you. He lazilly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before leaning against the fence again, his arm above his head, like he had done the day before. “Boah’s doin’ good. Still talkin’ ‘bout you.” His grin never left his face as he looked at you. 

You cleared your throat and maintained eye contact even though you were sure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Well, ain’t he a sweetheart?” you tease, only partially talking about Jack.

He chuckled and reached into his bag, mirroring his actions from the day prior. “I been asked to deliver this,” he said, pulling out a string of slightly crumpled red flowers from his bag. They were strung together, tied at the stems, into a long, vibrant necklace. 

You gingerly took the necklace from him with a smile, examining it. Wild yarrow.  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” you respond, pulling it over your head before striking a cheesy pose for the man in front of you. “How do I look?”

God, you could look at his smile all day. “Gorgeous,” he responds, only slightly teasing, and you are suddenly struck with a feeling of giddy embarrassment. It was rare that you got on with someone this well, this quickly. But with Arthur Morgan, despite his rough exterior, you felt strangely comfortable. 

The two of you stood together, talking through the morning sunrise until you were very nearly late for work. When the sun was almost fully above the horizon, you found yourself giggling and dashing into the house, with one last glance to the cowboy at the fence, eyes shining.

And so it went.

For the next week, like clockwork, you would wake, go for your walk, and meet Arthur Morgan at the fence. Gifts, supposedly all from Jack, were exchanged - a nice rock, a beautiful notebook, a seashell, a fountain pen - and you sent your fair share of notes back, including candy for the boy, and a (stolen) flask of good whisky for your postman.

Soon enough, you found yourself gladly waking earlier in the morning - butterflies in your stomach as you made your way outside to greet him. Your mood was better, despite Jack’s farewell only a week ago, and even your colleagues had taken notice.

“What’s got you walking around here all smiles lately?” Anna had asked on the morning before the Mayor’s garden party, as you sat together, adding finishing touches to several large pies that were to go into the oven. 

You scoffed, still unable to wipe the smile from your face, and looked at her over the stack of pans in front of you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded. “Now don’t distract yourself with me, we need to get this all ready to take this afternoon.” Your chiding didn’t deter her, as she continued pestering you the rest of the day.

Her teasing had very little effect on your mood, however, despite the large amount of work ahead of you. And, so, the day passed quickly, in anticipation of the coming evening. It was well known throughout San Denis that Angelo Bronte had one of the best chef’s in town under his employ, so the household staff was asked to provide a portion of the catering. It was a massive, and time consuming project, but it was well worth the work. 

You finally had the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it were for just an evening, which would be an incredible change of pace. Almost before you could even gather your bearings, you were slipping into your best uniform, and were on your way to the even larger home.

You had been to the Mayor’s home a handful of times, but it still left you in awe. If you had thought that Angelo Bronte lived in the lap of luxury, but this home was somehow even more opulent. Marble pillars, statues lining the hallways, mahogany floors, golden chandeliers, art on every wall. You had to make a conscious effort to not allow your jaw to drop as you walked through the hallways to the kitchen. There was no time to dawdle, guests would be arriving shortly.

With an unintentional grunt, you hoisted the box of chopped vegetables you were carrying onto a table, and got to work helping Giovanni finish up a large pot of étouffée. It took some time, but after some significant effort from yourself, Giovanni, and Anna, as well as plenty of help from the Mayor’s own servants, the food was served and guests were mingling in the garden.

You leaned carefully against a counter and wiped sweat from your brow. Cooking for upwards of 100 people was exhausting, not to mention that the kitchen was absolutely scalding. You could use a large glass of water and a breath of fresh air.

Nodding at your colleagues, you told them as much before stepping into the hallway and taking a deep breath of the cooler air. If you were lucky, no one would be on the upstairs balcony, and you could head out and watch the fireworks for a few minutes. As you made your way to the back staircase, hoping that the balcony would be empty, you spotted a flash of a black tuxedo and familiar light brown hair in front of you.

Arthur Morgan. Now what was he doing here?

With a smirk, you carefully followed him up the stairs, catching a further glimpse of him as he entered the first door on the second floor. You hadn’t been up here before, but with the way he was walking, you could be sure that he wasn’t sneaking off to the toilet.

Glancing around, you saw no one else in the hallway. 

Good. 

Slowly, carefully, you pushed open the door to what appeared to be an office. And there, in all his glory, was Arthur Morgan, rummaging through the Mayor’s desk. As you snuck in and quietly closed the door behind you, he slipped a small stack of papers into his tuxedo jacket. 

You took a moment to look over him. Damn, he cleaned up well. A recent haircut, clean shaven, and a brand new tuxedo made him look like an entirely new man. Not that you had any problem with the bearded, dirt-covered version of him that had been meeting you all week.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” you said quietly, startling him. He turned to you, wide-eyed, his hand instinctively flying to where his pistol was usually holstered. He was red in the face, adrenaline pumping, and you had to admit that it was a very good decision to not allow weapons at this party.

Upon seeing you, however, he noticeably relaxed. Face still red, he glanced quickly around the room before moving toward you, a predator stalking its prey. “Could say the same to you,” he whispered, voice low, as he backed you slowly toward the door.

That familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach rose again as he neared, but you held your chin high in defiance - and then you did something even you didn’t quite expect. You kissed him.

Lunged would be a more accurate description. You closed the distance between the two of you in a second, lips crashing with his. You had only known him for a week, but somehow it felt like you had been wanting to do this your entire life. 

After a moment of shock, he returned the kiss, lips frantically moving with yours as he wrapped his hands around your body. He was warm and strong, and smelled of campfire and cologne and you wanted to get lost in him. You wanted to lose yourself with him. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair until you reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He moved with you, slowly, steps matching yours, until your back was flush against the door. For only a moment, he pulled away. You heard the light click of a key and he was on you again, hands fluttering over your hips as he began to work his lips down your jawline. You had to swallow the moan threatening to spill from your lips as you pulled him impossibly closer, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Then you pulled.

He leaned back with a guttural groan, following your hands as you gently pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips to his.

The taste of him, the feel of him, it was overwhelming and you wished you could be surrounded by him like this for the rest of your life. Silently, lips still on yours, he turned the two of you so that your back was against the nearby bookshelf. You lifted a leg and wrapped it around his, grinding into him without breaking your kiss. 

Before you knew what was happening, his hands moved from your hips to pull up the skirt of your dress and finger the waistband of your bloomers. A nip at the bottom of your lip brought out a groan from you as he slowly made his way into your underclothes, exploring until he found your core. 

Gently, he toyed with your lower lips, ghosting his fingers along the outside teasingly. If you were in any other state of mind, you would have been embarrassed about the way your hips began moving - wantonly, desperately, trying to maneuver his exploratory fingers exactly where you wanted them.

But Arthur Morgan was apparently not feeling cooperative. He pulled away from your kiss and brought his hand out of your bloomers at the same time, leading you to throw your head back against the bookshelf with a desperate groan.

The twinkle in his eyes matched the mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you, your breathing heavy, cheeks flushed. The cocky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying this. This torment.

 With a sudden burst of courage that you didn’t know you had in you, you found yourself pushing him backward. Hands on his chest, you led him roughly to the mayor’s desk, and lunged. Lips crashed once again with his, the taste of whisky and tobacco overwhelming you once again. Your fingers toyed with his tuxedo jacket before slipping underneath and sliding it from his shoulders.

As good as he looked in this outfit, he was far too clothed for your taste.

Next came his vest, unbuttoned with help from him as you both lost your patience. You peeled his suspenders off until they hung loosely at his sides, and finally all that stood between you and his bare chest was his shirt. He yanked it roughly from his pants, the two of you unbuttoning it as quickly as your shaking fingers allowed, and flung it across the room before leaning in for another desperate kiss. 

As his lips met yours once again, you felt him push you back toward the bookshelf as he untied your apron to pull it over your head. Next, his fingers unbuttoned the high collar of your dress, quickly followed quickly by his lips as he placed kisses and nips on your flushed skin. He trailed ever downward - to your collarbone, to your cleavage - drawing moans from your parted lips.

Desperately, you reached for his face and pulled him back up to you, caressing the smooth shaven skin as you kissed. Once satisfied, your hands wandered downward, toying with the hair splayed across the hot, hard panes of his chest. Slowly, teasingly, you followed the path of his hair with your fingers until you reached the top of his pants, and his breath hitched in your mouth. 

Your kiss slowed and turned into a peck as you undid the button and pushed his pants down, revealing muscular thighs framing a growing bulge hidden under his underclothes.  Pushing down the thin cotton finally revealed his swollen member, which you took gently into your hand as you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, growing impossibly harder with each stroke, until he pulled away to look you into the eye. His face was flushed, his hair in shambles, and you swore you had never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. You nodded, and allowed him to hoist up your skirt and slide into you through the slit in your bloomers.

In unison, groans left both of your mouths. You were balanced precariously on a bookshelf, your leg wrapped around his waist as he sank into you, head thrown back in pleasure. Once he gathered his bearings, he slowly, torturously slowly, began to move. 

He thrust in and out, in and out, his face buried into your shoulder. Each thrust was paired with a small grunt and a gasp from you. You reveled in the feeling, the warmth, the intensity. 

His hands gripped your hips through the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him up to you. Your lips met, tongues entangled as tiny gasps swelled up from your throat. It was all you could do to keep in the loud moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.

With each thrust, the bookshelves shook, sending a few trinkets to the carpeted floor with a light thump. You should be more careful. The thought echoed in your mind for only a second before it was whisked away by another thrust that shook you to the core. 

As he grew closer and closer to completion, his thrusts became faster, more frantic, and you found yourself clutching the edges of the shelf for balance. 

Finally, he pulled one of his hands from your hip and wormed it between your bodies to find the place where he had teased you so well before. And then he pressed. And rubbed. And stroked. And finally, in a glaring flash of white before your eyes, you found yourself biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming his name. Your body shook, your breathing came in harsh gasps, until you could finally open your eyes.

Not a second later, Arthur took a few final thrusts and pulled out of you, stroking his member once, twice, and then spilling himself on the floor with a series of loud gasps. A shaky breath followed as he fell onto you, his head balancing on your chest to catch his breath.

Finally, there was silence, only broken occasionally by a heaving breath. The two of you huddled together against the bookshelves, clinging to each other until you could regain your balance.

You found yourself leaning hard against the shelf behind you, running your fingers through Arthur’s mussed hair. “Those last few gifts… the journal, the pen… those weren’t from Jack, were they?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

A low chuckle came from Arthur, still bent forward with his head balanced on your chest. “I s’pose I’ve been caught again…”

--

The party ended with a spectacular fireworks show, which you and Arthur watched together, now fully clothed and hidden from sight on the empty balcony. Shortly after the last firework had lit up the night sky, he left you with a lingering kiss that you swore you felt on your lips for the rest of the evening.

To say your head was in the clouds would have been putting it lightly. You would have never expected such a rough, dirty man to be your knight in shining armor, but here you were. 

Your good mood carried over through the party cleanup, into the night, and even on into the morning during your daily walk. Glancing at the gate where he usually stood, you were slightly disheartened to see his spot empty. Your smile faltered for just a moment, before you reasoned with yourself. He was probably just tired, or hungover, and just because he had showed up every day for the last week and a half did not mean he could keep up that habit forever. 

So, you sat and waited for nearly a half an hour at your normal meeting spot, before heading back inside only slightly disheartened. He had a life outside of meeting you, you reminded yourself, it was unfair to assume he would be there every day when he had never promised this.

Despite your disappointment, your good mood persisted through the day. Through stained laundry, through dusting and mopping, through cleaning a massive pile of cooking dishes from the night before - you couldn’t have wiped the smile off of your face.

And then he didn’t show up again. And again. And again.

For over a week, you missed Arthur’s presence on your morning walks. You found yourself waiting at the fence each day, coffee and the morning paper in hand to pass the time, only to end up disappointed once again. At the very least, there seemed to be a lot of dramatic news to report that week - a trolley station robbery ending with a crashed trolly on main street, a wealthy man on a steamboat robbed for all he was worth - but that information only helped pass the time you spent waiting for him.

Outside of your morning walks, your mood slowly soured. Maybe Arthur had gotten what he wanted. Maybe the dirty, lecherous outlaw’s only goal was to bed you and be on his way. Maybe Jack had forgotten you completely, and with nothing new to deliver, so had Arthur.

You took to writing angrily in the journal he had gotten you, having no other reasonable outlet for your emotions. Originally, you had wanted to toss the damn thing into the fire, but - without someone to vent to, without someone who could understand the depths of your frustration - it seemed like such a waste. Instead, you chose to use the gift for its intended purpose, and wrote down all of your frustrations toward the man who had gifted it to you, before stuffing it underneath your pillow and falling asleep for the night.

There it lay, throughout the day and night until you finally did see Arthur Morgan again. A loud crash, followed by gunshots and yelling in Italian and English from the back gardens, met your ears as you cleaned up after dinner with Anna and Giovanni.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte! Send out every man you got!”

The three of you had no guns, and even if you had it sounded less like a gunfight and more like a massacre. Quickly, you locked the doors, hoping that it would be enough to deter the intruders. And then, huddled together out of sight with your friends, you waited.

The back door was kicked open with a gunshot and a loud bang. More gunshots, screams, and crashes echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. You heard the yells get closer, before the kitchen door was shot and forcefully kicked open. 

This was it, this would be your end.

Only, it wasn’t.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Arthur Morgan, shotgun in hand, eyes frantic… until he caught sight of you. 

“Comeon,” he said, rushing over to where the three of you were huddled together and pulling you up by the arm. “You three gotta get outta here,” he ordered, gruffly, hurriedly, as he opened one of the larger windows. “We only came from the back, so head to the front and go somewhere safe.”

Giovanni and Anna looked from each other to you, and then to the open window, hesitant. Another volley of gunfire reached your ears from inside the house. There was no time for debate. “Go ahead,” you told them. “We can trust him.” 

That (plus another few rounds of gunfire in quick succession) was all it took. Giovanni nodded to you, grabbed Anna by the forearm, and they were out the window and running across the lawn to safety. You breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Arthur. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but there was no time. 

As if sensing your hesitation, he took you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “Go,” he said, face buried into your hair. “Get to the Fontana, I’ll meet you there when this is over.” You could have sworn you felt a light kiss atop your head before he pressed a crumpled ten dollar bill into your palm and lightly pushed you in the direction of the open window. “Get outta here.”

You nodded, mouthing a quick “thank you” before climbing through the window. In the distance, you could see Anna and Giovanni, silhouetted against the night sky. They were running as fast as they could, to safety, and you felt a pang in your chest. They had been the closest thing you had had to a family for so long. The three of you had been forced together by fate, and had come out a team. But… where would you end up if you followed them? 

Likely back in the service of another rich man. But, maybe it would be better. Maybe the freedom you found yourself longing for was to be found in the familiar, the known. Could you really abandon your friends, your way of life, for the promise of a man you had known for little more than a few weeks?

Quickly, you glanced in the opposite direction, toward the city. Toward the Fontana. Toward the promise of freedom. The clock was ticking, you needed to decide. Now.

Torn between what was and what could be, you took a deep breath and took the advice of a child who was far too wise for his age. You ran toward the Fontana. You ran as fast as you could to a new life.

The sound of gunfire and screams followed you to the gates, where it then became overwhelmed by the shouts and sirens of incoming police. Luckily, you were able to slip outside of the gate and get partially down the street before they stopped in front of the house.

Bowing your head, you quickly made your way down the cobblestone street and into the city, away from the violence. By the time you reached the Fontana Theater, the gunshots had all but faded into the hustle and bustle of the city center, and you became acutely aware of how much you didn’t belong. It had been years since you had been anywhere outside of Signore Bronte’s mansion other than the grocery and occasional trip to the tailors. It had been even longer since the last time you had been to a Magic Lantern Theater. And you knew, with your hair mussed and maid’s uniform, you must stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, if your memory served, the theater should be dark enough that no one would notice. You slowed your pace, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and proceeded to the ticket counter, purchasing one ticket to the three upcoming shows. That should be more than enough time, you hoped. 

You entered the dimly lit room and practically collapsed into one of the seats. Now that you had managed to escape, now that you were in relative safety, the adrenaline you had felt earlier had completely vanished. You were exhausted. You were confused. You were scared. 

Now, you could only wait, and hope that Arthur would be back for you as promised.

In front of you, the film started with a flicker. The recorded voice of a man telling the story of several forest animals as a series of images were projected onto the screen. The room was silent, except for the recording, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open.

What must have been a few hours later, you were shaken awake by an unfamiliar man. You were startled for only a minute before you realised that he was the same man who had sold you the tickets earlier. “That’s the last showing for the day, miss,” he was saying, quietly, pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be on your way, now.” 

You blinked and looked around the room, now flooded with light. It was empty except for the two of you. “What… what time is it?” you stammered, voice cracking lightly.

“‘Bout 11:30,” he responded, looking quickly to his pocket watch to confirm. You had been asleep for a solid 4 hours, and Arthur hadn’t yet arrived. “You should get on home.”

Home. Where was that? 

You stood, nodding abashedly at the man. “Thank you,” you murmured before making your way out of the theater and into the dark streets. 

It was quiet, the same kind of quiet you had grown so used to on your morning walks. However, instead of finding it calm and refreshing, you found yourself longing for the noisy streets. The hustle and bustle of San Denis that would overpower your thoughts, that would drown out your anxieties. 

Instead, you were alone, left to mull over your current situation on the steps of the theater. The long, dark tendrils of doubt crept into your mind as you waited. Did you make the right choice? Did Arthur abandon you? Was all of this some horrible trick? Tears spilled silently from your eyes as you waited. Exhausted. Frustrated. Sad. The only thing to break you out of your thought spiral was the occasional drunk would wander by, heading home for the evening.

Eventually, the ground where you sat grew cold, and you found yourself falling asleep against the wall of the theater, huddled up like an abandoned animal. You could sleep here tonight, in case he did show up, and head … somewhere … in the morning. A hotel, maybe? A workhouse? You didn’t know where, but that was a thought for the morning.

It was only when the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horse hooves made their way down the dark street that you willed yourself to look up. Coming slowly into view through the darkness was a lone rider on a horse. He looked exhausted, frustrated, as he stopped his horse in front of the theater and dismounted, glancing around the area until he spotted you.

You stood on legs that were strangely both stiff and shaky and made your way over to him, where he pulled you into a tight hug. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, once again burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to leave you so long.” You nodded against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as tears of relief threatened to spill. “Let’s get you home.”

--

The ride went by in a blur. Not that you were moving fast, but rather because you were so exhausted that everything was a bit of a haze. You must have arrived at the large, dilapidated mansion early into the morning, before anyone was up to disturb you, because you could not remember the journey into Arthur’s bed for the life of you.

There was no crunch of the grass as you slid off the saddle, no creek of the stairs, no groan of the bed as the two of you lay down together. Nothing. All you could remember was that you were here. You were safe. You were home. 

You awoke around midday, sunlight streaming through the broken windows of a small-rundown room overlooking the swamps of Lemoyne. It was sweltering hot, but you found yourself cuddling closer into the strong arms that were wrapped around you. The scent of the swamps mixed with whisky and tobacco, campfire and gunsmoke, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He was breathing deeply, soundly, as you lifted your head from his chest to look around. The room itself was old and dilapidated, it would barely serve as a shelter during any storms that may strike. In the far corner stood an old shelf, filled with photos and trinkets. Next to it, a small table with a map, and across from that, a larger table, stacked to the brim with weapons and ammunition. 

Arthur’s room. 

You stood, intending to make your way over to examine the trinkets across the room, but were instead gently pulled back to bed by the man behind you. “Mornin’,” he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he held you close.

You acquiesced, leaning back into him and basking in his presence. “Mornin’, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back to him, gazing over his face. His eyes were still closed, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming as you spoke. Gently, you brushed hair away from his forehead and planted a light kiss to the revealed skin. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. You could have melted in the soft, loving look that came your way. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, reaching up to run his thumb along your cheek in admiration. “Just needed to get you out alive, is all.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I feel like that deserves thanks.”

A scoff came from the man beside you. “Nah, it was all selfish, really,” he explained, his gaze travelling over every inch of your face as if he were committing it to memory. “I just wanted to keep you ‘round.” With that, he planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up, turning to his satchel that had been tossed to the floor by the bed. “It weren’t pretty last night… ‘n’ I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”

“What happened?” you asked, watching as he pulled the satchel to him and began to rifle through it.

“Bronte… well he done his best to screw us over,” he explained. “Set some traps for us… ‘n’ Dutch made sure he paid for it.” You figured you knew what he meant, but let him continue anyway. “Bastard’s dead - some poor alligator’s breakfast.” 

To your surprise, you felt incredibly conflicted. The man had essentially kept you hostage for the last few years, but he had at least taken care of you. He had by no means been a good person, but… you had grown some sort of strange affinity for him over the years. And yet, you didn’t find yourself shedding a tear for him. If anything, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe freely after so long. 

You didn’t know what to say.

“I did manage to get hold of these, though,” he said, pulling several items from his satchel. You gasped when you saw them, and felt the tears that wouldn’t fall for Bronte begin to well up. In Arthur’s hands were a child’s drawing, a flower crown, a very special rock, a beautiful journal, and a fountain pen. 

Now, the tears did fall as you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you, Arthur,” you said, burying your face into his neck. “Thank you so incredibly much.”

With a small chuckle, he set the momentos down on his lap, and wrapped his arms around you as well. “‘Course.”

The two of you stayed like that, reveling in each other’s embrace, for a few perfect, blissful minutes. So this is what it felt like to be wanted. This is what it felt like to have someone really, truly care about you. This is the feeling you had been waiting for for so long.

It wasn’t a minute later before there was a tentative knock on your door, and Arthur pulled himself away from the hug. “I think someone might be excited to see you,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You looked over, calling for the visitor to come in. As the door swung open, you were greeted with the sound of your name excitedly being called, and the sight of a child, red with excitement, standing in the doorway. Jack. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaimed, darting over to you and jumping into your arms. He was followed by a smiling, dark-haired woman, and a man who you recognised as John. “I knew it! I knew you would come live with us!” 

“Of course, Jack,” you childed, squeezing him tight. “I could never leave you.”

He squeezed you back, before pulling away and grabbing your forearm to lead you out of the room. “Come on!” he said, leading you forward. “You have to meet the rest of our family!”

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2.5k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Swearing, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: i like this chapter a lot :) the stage has been set.

...

The next morning, Virgil had an opening shift at the knitting and sewing supply store he worked for. He'd found it the first week the three of them had moved to this town for college, and immediately took a liking to it, likely thanks to his long-lasting hobby of clothing alteration. He'd made some good money to save up in high school from making and selling custom hoodies and other clothing, even having taken a few commissions over the years.

It wasn't rare occurrence, that he was opening the store, and on this particular morning it wasn't so dreadful (once he'd pried himself away from his half-asleep boyfriends, who both vaguely grumbled protests at the incomplete cuddle pile as Virgil was getting ready). Virgil had gotten to his favorite coffee shop, where Janus' brother Patton worked, in time that it would be open and he also wouldn't be late for his shift, which was rare. It only worked out that way if Virgil's bus commute was perfectly timed.

Now caffeinated, and somewhat less-pessimistic-than-usual about the day ahead of him, Virgil retrieved the keys to the shop from his pocket, fumbling for a bit before finding the right one. He let out a breath as he found it, unlocking the door as he'd done a thousand times before and stepping in, shutting the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Virgil noted the clock on the wall, reading 5:02 am. The shop opened at 6, and he had more than enough sorting and stocking to do before then.

The next hour passed rather quickly. His co-worker Emile showed up shortly after him, and they both spent the rest of the time before the shop opened restocking and organizing the horrendous amounts of yarn and string and such supplies throughout the store and in the back room.

Shortly 6 am arrived, and it was time for the two of them to draw straws to decide who would man the register and help customers while the other continued stocking. Typically Virgil enjoyed the latter while Emile enjoyed the former, but their manager had insisted that they make the odds more random in order to get them both more comfortable in their unpreferred positions.

True to their manager's sentiment, Virgil drew the register stick. They both sighed at each other, and Emile returned to sorting through some cerulean yarn balls. Virgil made his way to the front of the store, unlocking the doors and flipping the sign to open, before making himself at home behind the register.

Generally, customers were rare at this time of morning, save for a few early-riser regulars. The bell at the top of the door chimed. Virgil didn't look up, expecting to see Margaret in her usual morning power-walk getup, coming in to check up on whether they'd gotten a shipment of lavender yarn yet.

"Morning, Marge. We still haven't gotten any lavender in, if-" Virgil halted his speaking upon looking up, feeling his throat constrict as he realized who had entered. At any rate, this person was certainly not Margaret.

The first thing that caught Virgil's attention about this new customer was their eyes. They were a burning blue, with small subtle mushes of gray here and there. Through their vaguely foggy colors, those eyes cut sharp like ice shards. The customer seemed entirely calm and stoic, however that did not extend to the ferocious - however not hostile - intensity with which they were staring Virgil down. Of course this intensity did not extend past their eyes, as the very slight twinge of a polite smile was seated at the corners of their mouth. Virgil briefly noted some seemingly familiar physical characteristics (although he was extremely wary to assume anything - what would be the chances of him and his boyfriends all meeting the same man individually, completely perchance?); shining black hair, square-framed glasses, the freckles, the pale and sunken nature of their face. Or, as Virgil certainly noticed, the subtle pronunciation of his cheekbones and jawline. They wore a black coat and a navy patterned scarf that appeared to be hand-knitted.

Virgil stumbled his way over to the closest register to the door - he wasn't sure why they even had two, they never needed to use them both simultaneously - and leaned haphazardly on the counter, propping his chin up on his palm.

"Sorry, hello, I thought you'd be someone else. Marge is usually the first in. What can I do for you?" His face felt really hot, and he was pretty sure that much was obvious to the newcomer, but he tried his best not to think about it.

The stranger didn't speak for a moment, merely leaning forward slightly with a furrowed brow. Virgil panicked for a moment, but followed their line of sight to the name tag on his hoodie. It was quite scuffed up, and the name "Virgil" was scarcely discernible through various smears of odd substances. Virgil quickly unpinned the name tag, beginning to rub away at the gunk with a sweater-covered thumb.

"It's Virgil, sorry about that," He spoke, hiding his hot cheeks behind his bangs as he scratched at his name tag feverishly. He quickly decided on just setting it down, wanting to give the newcomer his full attention.

"Good morning, Virgil," they spoke, and wow, was Virgil gay. The strangers' voice was deep and smooth, and reminded him a bit of Janus'. But this had a tactful, almost clinical and calculated sincerity, whereas Janus' was far more lilted and drawly. Regardless, Virgil felt his throat constricting a bit. He tried subtly coughing the feeling away. "I am in search of some high quality yarn, as a gift for a dear friend of mine. It is my understanding that this establishment is highly regarded for its products' quality?" Virgil tried not to stare. The stranger was running their fingers down and up the inside of one of the lapels of their coat very slowly, and that reminded Virgil terribly of Janus. He felt like he was in high school all over again, ogling over a tall pretty boy.

Regardless of his gay panic, Virgil cleared his throat. "Yeah, we try," His voice cracked slightly, and he tried clearing his throat again. "I mean, we have some pretty awesome suppliers, and we have a really, uh... Big selection of stuff. Do you, do you know what it is you want to get for your friend, exactly?" Virgil thanked any gods that existed had allowed him to formulate a coherent sentence, and he was glad to have the expectation of speaking temporarily off himself.

The customer tapped his chin with the side of his index finger, - which again, reminded Virgil painfully of Janus - humming as he continued surveying his surroundings. "I think he'd appreciate a selection of soft or pastel colors, and he adores the color blue. I think white would be a suitable addition as well. Do you sort your yarns by color?" he inquired, returning his heavy gaze to Virgil and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Virgil tried not to audibly gulp.

"Yeah, we do. here, let me show you to the right aisle," Virgil stepped away from the register, and tried to get out from behind the counter, only to completely trip over a cardboard box and fall directly onto his face.

"Goodness, are you alright?" the stranger paced quickly over to where Virgil was groaning on the floor, attempting to pull himself up onto his elbows. They reached a pale-white and very bony hand down to Virgil, who stared at it for a little too long before taking it gingerly.

The customer pulled firmly, and Virgil did too, and they both slightly miscalculated how much strength they needed to apply in order for Virgil to stand. Virgil stumbled forward just a bit as he rose. He looked up slightly and found himself nose to nose with the now wide-eyed man. Virgil yelped slightly, jumping away like a startled cat.

"Sh-shoot, sorry about that," Virgil took to fidgeting a bit aggressively with his hoodie strings, curling them around and between his fingers. "Uh, this way," he pushed a bit awkwardly past the man, looking at his shoes as he walked and willing away the burning heat he felt in his cheeks. Of course the first cute guy he encounters besides his boyfriends is right there when he falls on his face.

He paced over to the aisle with hues of blue and purple yarn, spotting Emile still working with a large box of cerulean. After a momentary panic and trying to wave Emile's attention without making any noise, the stranger turned the corner into the aisle Virgil had led him to. Virgil sighed to himself, annoyed at an in-no-way-at-fault Emile who still hadn't noticed their presence.

Virgil cleared his throat. "Hey, Emile, could you take register while I help this... customer?" Virgil had to take a moment to recall a phrase to describe him besides 'very beautiful man'.

"Uh-" Emile went to say he could help the customer for Virgil, since they were meant to stay in the vicinity of their assigned roles, but Virgil was looking at him with an intensity that blatantly said 'I am begging you to let me help this very gorgeous man to find his yarn and if you don't so help me god I will impale your severed and rotting skull on a rusty metal pole'. Emile chuckled a little shrilly. "Yeah, sure Virge," Emile slid past the two of them, making his way to the register as the chime of the door sounded again. "Welcome in, Margaret! Do-you-how-do?"

Virgil turned his attention back to the man looming slightly over him, leading him down the aisle to the softer and lighter shades. The customer was already scanning the shelves with a tactful intensity that made Virgil almost as anxious as it did further attracted to him.

"This variety is more than adequate," he spoke, almost under his breath, and Virgil tried not to shudder at the rumble in his voice.

"Um, great," Virgil piped up after a moment, and the icy gaze of the tall boy was on him once again. His cheeks felt real hot. "I can, get you a bag for... what you pick out? Er, a gift bag, if you'd like?" Virgil tapped the side of his fist into his hip a few times, trying to expel some of his nervousness. The stranger smiled softly.

"That would be excellent. Thank you, Virgil." He turned back to examining his options, and Virgil scurried off to find a gift bag.

The bags were all by the front register, and he grumbled a bit to himself on the way, preparing for some relentless teasing from his coworker for the next century at minimum. Emile was just waving Margaret off when Virgil rounded the corner, stepping behind the counter to rummage through some boxes for a gift bag.

"Sooo, Virgil," Emile started, tone entirely teasing as he leaned a little too far on the counter, tapping his orange pen on his lips.

"Don't. Say. Anything." Virgil hissed through clenched teeth, glancing up to give Emile another pointed glare for good measure. Emile chuckled lightly, leaning back on the counter a bit.

"Whaat? I won't! I'm totally innocent, see?" Emile puffed out his bottom lip and made his eyes look big. Virgil scoffed.

"Is that a cartoon reference?"

Emile grinned, shrugging. "Probably."

Virgil found the gift bags - finally - and began scampering off and away from the prying gaze of his overly curious co-worker.

Virgil helped the customer to find and collect the proper amount and variety of yarns that he wanted. As it turned out, it was a relatively easy task; aside from being impossibly and unintentionally charming, the stranger was mindful and courteous, and working with him was proving to be relatively easy. They bantered a bit, falling into a casual conversation as they searched for yarn, as well as while they walked back to the register for Virgil to ring his items up.

Emile gave Virgil a pointed look as he approached, trading him places as he walked with a skip in his step back to his yet unstocked shelves. Virgil rolled his eyes at him, stepping extra carefully behind the counter so as not to trip on any stray cardboard boxes. He leaned against the counter in front of the register, beginning to type numbers into it as though he knew the yarn prices like the back of his hand.

the customer stood at the counter before Virgil, vaguely examining his purchase as he watched Virgil slightly through his peripheral. He noticed the way Virgil bit at the inside corner of his mouth, worrying the flesh between his canines as he focused on adding the prices.

"Alright... your total is 82.53," Virgil said slowly, looking up at the stranger, who had - oddly enough - already been looking at him. The stranger glanced away momentarily, clearing his throat and reaching into an inside pocket of his coat for his wallet.

He produced a pristine black leather wallet, pulling a shiny navy blue debit card from between its folds and setting the wallet on the counter as he handed off the card. Virgil took the card and charged it, the customer punching in his PIN through the keypad.

A faint buzzing sounded from within the man's coat, and he reached in once more with knitted eyebrows. He pulled out what seemed to be his phone, eyes widening as he saw whatever was on the screen. Virgil couldn't see, but he figured someone must be calling him.

"My apologies, I must depart," The man spoke quietly, grabbing his gift bag of yarn and bringing his phone to his face as he made hastily for the door. Virgil didn't hear what he said when he answered the phone, but his brow was still furrowed when Virgil caught a glimpse of his face walking down the sidewalk out the store window.

"Bye..." Virgil said to the empty store front.

He looked down, seeing the customer's debit card still in his hand. "Shit." He saw the wallet set on the counter before him as well. He grabbed it, opening it to return the debit card to its proper place and see if there was a way of contacting the man within the wallet.

As he opened it, a white card similar in shape and size to the debit card fell to the floor. Virgil retrieved it, flipping it over to see what it was.

"No way..." Virgil was holding a driver's license. The name it was registered under was too familiar for it to be a coincidence.

He'd need to be giving one Logan Lattimer a call on his break.

[delimeful]

Wibar Extra: Patton’s Charms

A short WIBAR piece that takes place mostly before the first installment, commissioned by @kieraelieson​ ! Enjoy!

warnings: emotional distress, mentions of smugglers/trafficking, PTSD -

The first time Patton gave away his feathers, it was an impulse. 

He’d been running errands for Logan at market; even with the extra limbs, that goof tried to take on more than he could handle. Patton figured that the least could do was lend a pair of hands, even if that meant ducking and weaving through the occasionally precarious crowd. 

Still, his task wasn’t urgent enough that when a loud wail split the air, he couldn’t turn right around to investigate. He sidled along past a few clumps of bargaining patrons and came to a gap in the market’s flow, where people were putting space between them and the source of the racket: a Pataruan child in tears. 

By the spiraling horns and left-folded robes, a little girl. By the hearts-wrenching cries and skin color shifting to the blue-grey of sea stones, a very upset little girl. 

Patton offered the harried father a sympathetic trill as he approached, and was happy to see the man seemed relieved, rather than opposed to a stranger’s aid. Most species didn’t see him as a threat, since Ampens were small and as a whole rather friendly, but it was always better to get permission before interacting with others’ fledgelings. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted in Common, lowering his antenna to a friendly-safe angle. She probably wasn’t old enough to be familiar with Ampen body language, but it was the thought that counted. 

Her sobbing slowed slightly as she looked down at him with slitted pupils, cheeks pinching inwards and skin turning to lemon-yellow confusion. “Huh?”  

He let his eyes crinkle into an encouraging smile. “I’m Patton! What’s your name?” 

After a few sniffles and a glance at her dad, who was rushing through a transaction with a textile merchant, she blinked slowly and answered in a small voice. “I… I’m Neri.” 

Patton noted absently that she had the same type of translucent third eyelid as Logan, and nodded politely to her. “May the stars greet you, Neri! Now, I came over because you sounded a little upset. Is something wrong?” 

Neri’s skin immediately darkened back to that dark ocean grey, and she reached up to grip her horns, probably a self-soothing gesture. “No, I don’t want to! I don’t want to see the seamster! She’s got sharp itty-bitty things and she yells at me when I move. I like my normal clothes! I don’t need new ones!”  

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay, kiddo. Can you breathe with me?” Sensing an imminent breakdown, Patton held his hands out to her in an offer of comfort. Neri clutched at his hands with her own smooth, scaly ones, taking deep, shuddering breaths in time with Patton. 

“You’re doing great! That sounds like a rough time, but you must be a very brave one, to have been to a fitting before.” Patton beckoned her closer, into a crouch. “Do you want to hear a secret?” 

Neri shuffled close, pupils growing large and round with intrigue. “Mhmm.” 

“I have a secret power, that keeps your darkest days all lit up. If you see it, you’re guaranteed to have a good day no matter what tries to get you down. I think having a little extra glow will help you keep on that tough face while you’re at the seamster, yeah?”  

She seemed a bit doubtful, but leaned in anyhow, undeniably curious. “Yeah… I wanna see.” 

Patton fluffed up the feathers along his arms slowly, and Neri gasped as they flushed a bright, luminescent blue. Patton’s cheeks started to hurt as his eyes squinched up happily at the astonished look on her face. “Pretty neat, huh?” 

She ghosted her hand over the glowing feathers, careful even before Patton warned her that they were sensitive, her face slowly turning sun-warm orange. “You change colors like me?” 

“Only a little,” Patton admitted, “but this color is for making people happy! Do you think it will help you be brave?” 

Neri hesitated before blinking slowly, eyebrows furrowing in determination. “I’ll try really hard not to forget.” 

Patton cast a glance at her father, still haggling, and made a quick decision. He ran his hands through the ruff of feathers around the back of his neck, until he found one that had come loose after his nap earlier. He offered it to her with a flourish Roman would have been proud of. “How about you keep a little feather? Whenever you start feeling upset, you can hold it in your hand and remember.” 

It was as though he’d offered her the whole planet. She took the feather gingerly, and cradled it in her hands, flushed verdant green with happiness. “Thank you!” 

By the time Patton got back to his crew, he had completely forgotten that he’d been in the middle of running an errand at all. 

That was alright; Logan was only fondly exasperated when he explained. 

-

The second time Patton gave away his feathers, it was to help a friend.

The lighting circuit had gone out on almost the entire ship, and while the flight and grav controls weren’t affected, it was still startling to suddenly be plunged into the darkness. 

With how they’d all been doing different things at the time, it had taken them a little bit of stumbling around to find each other. Patton hadn’t been particularly concerned until they finally reached Roman.

Roman, who looked up at Patton’s glow with a desperate sort of hope. Roman, who’s tail had remained curled against his leg for what seemed like the rest of the cycle after the lights came back on. Roman, who had the worst darkvision of them all. 

He hadn’t offered an explanation, and Patton hadn’t pushed. They knew more about Roman’s past than most, but there was still a lot that remained unshared. There were probably some things he’d never share with anyone else, and that was okay. 

What wasn’t okay was the idea of ignoring the matter and leaving Roman to deal with it all on his own. 

Patton sequestered himself in his room for a few cycles, reassuring Roman and Logan whenever they stopped by that he was okay, just working on something. It was a process, since he didn’t normally craft other than drawing. Things like this were more Roman’s area of expertise, but Patton was ready to do whatever it took to create it himself.

Several snapped feathers and a lot of trial and error later, he finally had a trinket he found acceptable. Another few tics, and he had two, ready to present to his friends. 

“Just a little something for you guys to have that will remind you of me!” he claimed as he held out the somewhat clumsily-made necklaces, the feather charms glowing brightly. Roman’s grateful ear twitch told him that the Crav’on hadn’t missed Patton’s real motivation.

Even the slightly sore spots where he’d accidentally plucked out feathers that weren’t completely shed felt worth it when he saw the way Roman’s free hand fluttered happily as he strung the cord around his neck, the way Logan brushed his hand over the fluffy charm whenever he was attempting a particularly fiddly experiment, as though for good luck. The gifts were a complete success. 

Patton spent the rest of the week feeling lighter than air, barely able to hold in an excited trill whenever he saw the feathers glowing on his friends. 

-

The third time Patton gave away his feathers, it was for profit.

The first compliments and queries about the charms came at one of their usual markets, from strangers and regulars alike. The necklaces Patton had made were hard to miss, especially with how luminescent they were. 

He’d been surprised at the outpouring of interest, but it was nearing molting season and he had plenty of discarded feathers to share. It was a little bit tiring to have the bioluminescence activated all the time, but nothing a little snack couldn’t fix. 

The most motivating reason, however, was how excited his crewmates became at the idea. Roman would invite Patton to come sit with him in his quarters, showing him intricate knotwork that would hold the feathers more solidly, and Logan offered a preserve that would keep the feather’s glow maximized for longer. 

Even after contributing to the new and improved version, his two closest friends stalwartly refused to replace Patton’s original gifts, which made his hearts flutter fondly. He was happy to be helping create revenue for their ship, too. Generally, they were able to get by with their exploratory services and material trading, but putting away a little extra credit took a weight off all of their shoulders. 

He loved to run the booth at market, seeing the way people drew to the glow curiously and getting to greet them with his typical enthusiasm. Children were always the most excited, and he made sure to secretly undercharge any charms bought for them. He even got to implement a “tell a joke, get a discount” rule for a day, before Logan put his foot down after one too many puns. 

Through the market cycles, a few visitors stood out. There was a Bal’t’n who had shyly inquired if it was alright to consume the light of the feather(Patton didn’t see why not!), or a fellow Ampen who had spent half her time at the booth asking after Patton’s moms (Luckily, he was always happy to gush about them), or Neri’s father, who had expressed profuse thanks to the Ampen and then requested materials to help his daughter make her feather into a proper necklace(Patton refused any sort of payment for helping out a dad). 

There were also the less friendly visitors, like the Venefican stranger who had eyed his wares with a cold hunger, and then demanded he prove that he was the one the feathers originated from. He’d never felt so uncomfortable showing off his glow before. They didn’t even end up buying anything.

He saw that stranger only once after that, across the market square, speaking to a cloaked figure in a hushed voice. He only noticed them at all because of the feeling of another’s gaze on him, and he shivered and looked away when the hood of the cloak turned his direction.  

It was a bit unsettling, but there didn’t seem to be any real harm done, and so he put it out of mind soon enough. 

-

The fourth time Patton gave away his feathers, it wasn’t his choice. 

(Lightspans away, his two best friends held the pendants they had encouraged Patton to make and sell, the ones that had drawn smuggler attention to their small friend. 

They had never regretted anything more.)

-

The fifth time Patton gave his feathers away, it was for himself. 

The need proved itself early on in their post-escape travels. His huge new friend moved so much quieter than Roman, and Patton’s darkvision wasn’t anywhere near as good as a Human’s. 

Since they were trying to remain under the radar, they traveled by night fairly often, and recently they had gotten perilously close to losing each other in the fog of a particularly confusing patch of galthe vines. Patton could light up, sure, but Virgil would have to be the one to find and reach him. What if they got separated and Virgil was stuck or needed help? Giving his Human a feather charm was a good, sensible idea.

However, knowing it was a good idea and actually following through with it were two very different things. His feathers had grown back, thanks to Virgil, but the sensation of a slow death by starvation was still ever-present in his nightmares. Even though it wasn’t healthy, he hadn't preened any of his loose or ragged feathers, any attempts to remove them bringing back memories he'd much rather repress. He didn't know what he was going to do when he molted. The very thought of it sent a chill down his spine. He never wanted to feel that helpless and weak again. 

It was like a mental barrier, a bubble of terror welling up in his throat whenever he thought of broaching the topic. It was silly. He knew that Virgil would understand if he ended up being unable to bring himself to actually implement the idea, but the very idea of speaking it aloud suddenly seemed so… frightening. It frustrated him! There was no reason to be so nervous about helping a friend! 

It was while he was sitting at their latest camp, having one of these internal arguments with himself that Virgil approached, whistling a low greeting in Patton’s native tongue. Patton chirped back and released some of the tension in his body by shaking out his feathers, careful not to move too quickly. For a Human, Virgil was easily startled. 

“Hey, Pat.” Virgil crouched down, settling into a sitting position with languid grace. “You alright?” 

“Of course!” he replied, scooting over to press up against the Human’s side. “Are you?” 

Virgil nodded once, and then hesitated for a heartbeat. “So, y’know how we almost got lost for a while on the planet with all the mist and little crab guys?” 

Patton stilled, having spent more than enough time remembering the incident. “Y— yeah, on Hythag, right? With the vines? Lots of plants?” Please don’t ask me to give them up again. I’m scared. 

“Um, yeah,” Virgil replied, gaze looking him over sharply. He’d picked up on Patton’s unease, but was too unsure of himself to press. “I… well, I was thinking about how stressful it was, and, uh…” 

Patton’s antennae flattened against his skull, and he braced himself for the request. 

“I made these.” 

What?

He blinked, and saw that Virgil was holding two small lengths of thread— no, woven bracelets. Patton reached out and carefully picked up the smaller loop of twine, staring at the way the material was purposefully knotted in a pattern. 

“Is this for me?” he asked, looking up at Virgil with unbridled curiosity. “How’d you make them?” 

Virgil was staring off at a nearby flowering plant, avoiding eye contact the way he did when he was nervous. “Yeah, that one’s yours. They, uh, match. Back home, we call them friendship bracelets. A little childish, I know, but I don’t know any other patterns I can weave by hand...” 

It didn’t escape Patton’s notice that he had dodged the other question, and he squinted at the threads again with a growing sense of familiarity. He peered over at Virgil’s pants, one leg of which seemed particularly more frayed than the other. His feathers puffed up a bit, unable to contain all that he was feeling as he looked at the bracelet made from the only clothes the Human had.

Oh, Virgil… 

“... and right now, they won’t really solve our problem, but I figured we could find a source of pigment that glows and apply it? I would have done that part myself too, then it would have been a better surprise, but I wasn’t sure what pigments would be safe for your skin, so— oof!” Virgil’s rambling broke off as Patton launched himself directly at his chest, on the brink of crying as the Human carefully returned the hug. He always felt safest here.

“I take it this means you like it?” Virgil asked, his voice low and amused. Patton nodded into his hoodie, a few affectionate chitters escaping him. 

“I love it. I’m wearing it forever.” He paused, swallowing thickly, and then set his chin stubbornly. “But, for the glow, I have something that might help…” 

He might not be ready to deal with a molt, maybe not even when he was safe on the Mindscape again, but he could at least put some loose feathers to good use. He could start small, and work his way up to being okay again. 

Until then, he knew that Virgil would be by his side with everything he had. 

And that would be enough. 

[brokenkingdom-forgottenempire]

McReigns Series Fic: An Attempt (For His Happy Ending) Part 2

Drew cursed when he noticed Roman’s left arm dangled lifelessly as the Scottish man continued to take bigger steps over the roots and bushes surround them, trying to reach his truck faster. 

He purposely parked his truck somewhere hidden and not at the side of the small road to avoid from getting robbed as he emptied his bladder among the bushes. Drew was about to leave when he heard gunshots rang several times. As if they were shooting at wild animals or monster size boar. Drew was not normally the type to stick his nose in someone’s business but his instinct told him tp climb down the vehicle and see what really had happened. 

The Scot hid behind big tree trunks, trying to see where the shooting was coming from. The further he walked, he realized that he was actually stepping into the gunners’ territory. Drew did not take anymore steps and decided to walk back to his truck. He did not want to meet or even mess with them. Not after what had gone down between them which led him to cut ties with the group. The gunners were nowhere to be seen so he thought to himself that maybe they were just chasing off a wild animal. 

As Drew carefully walked through the forest, his steps faltered when he heard groans and moans as if someone was in pain. He heard the dead dried leaves on the ground being stepped on, the rustling of bushes, and the most obvious sign of the person was hurt was the cry of agony followed by a soft thud. Seemed like the person fell down. Drew cautiously moved toward the sound. Maybe someone really needed help. If it was one of the gunners, he could just leave. He did not have the energy to help them. 

Drew tried to peek through between the trees, and that was when he saw him. The ‘entertainer’, the ‘expensive performer’ for the gunners. What was his name again? Randy? Rowan? Ronald? Ro..-man?  

The Scot moved closer to have a better look at the man and realized the injured man was naked from the waist below, had three bullet holes on his body, two at his thighs and one at the left shoulder, a tad too close to the heart which caused Drew to merge from the shadow. 

“What the hell?” Drew did not mean to say it out loud but his mouth was faster than the brain. The injured man’s head snapped at his direction, brown glassy eyes widened his fear as he tried to pull himself back up using the tree trunk but failed. Drew noticed the amount of blood spilling out of those holes was worrisome so he decided to stop the injured man from moving. That did not end well when the man on the ground suddenly spun around and kicked the side of his knee hard, sweeping him off the ground and knocking him down. Drew was lucky that he was fast enough to stop the fall with his arm. Or he would have passed out if he accidentally hit his head on one of the big roots. 

“Fuck,” Drew groaned as he watched the injured man limped away from him faster than before. Drew quickly stood up and tried to follow the man though his head felt dizzy from the fall. For someone who was shot three times, the man could really move fast. They almost reached the path. 

Then Drew saw them. The men from the sick group. The gunners. Seven of them. The injured man did not seem to acknowledge their presence as he continued to limp his way to the small road. Drew decided “Fuck it,”. He rushed to the man, wrapped his arms around the waist and yanked him down. Drew did not mean to pull him down like he was about to break the man’s skull against the tree trunk but he had to do it. He dragged and slammed the other man against the bottom part of the tree trunk, making sure the roots were covering them. 

The Scot luckily saw the other man raising his fist, ready to punch him off, and instantly moved to catch the fist before slamming and pinning the bleeding man against the tree trunk. Drew reached up and covered the man’s mouth when he saw the group was getting closer. Thankfully, the other man complied. Drew could feel how hard the injured man’s heart was beating, and how he was slightly shaking, probably due to fear or coldness. Drew could not tell. Both men waited silently for the group to be gone before the Scot slowly release his hold against the other man. 

Drew’s eyes wandered down the injured man’s body. Drinking in the sight of the beautiful tribal tattoos covering his right arm. The man in front of him was beautiful. His dark beard. Strands of hair sticking on his sweaty forehead, chest heaving hard probably due to the exhaustion, pain or blood loss, a bit muscular but smaller than Drew. He knew why this tattooed man was the gunners’ favourite. He had seen him performed before, saw him moved from one man to another, chained and caged, and also punished by the sickos for no absolute reason but pleasure. 

Drew shook his head. He did not want to think about that now. He needed to save this man. Drew tried several times to convince the injured man, to help him with the wounds and even giving his only weapon, a butterfly knife, to the other man to protect himself from Drew. He understood why the man, Roman, he was sure his name was Roman, was so scared of him. But he was slowly losing blood and Drew did not want to leave him here to die. After several tries, Drew managed to convince Roman to follow him back home. 

Roman was not too heavy but he was not that light either. Fortunately for Drew, he had been working out a lot these past months, which helped him a lot with carrying the injured man. Drew kept on trying to make sure Roman was still with him, but when he heard Roman’s soft whisper for ‘thank you’, he began to panic. 

When Drew finally reached his truck, he opened the back door with a slight struggle. Then he placed the man in the back seat, and he put the knife next to Roman’s head, just in case the man woke up and thought he was getting kidnapped. Drew grabbed the blankets that he had stored in his truck and tried his best to cover Roman’s bare body. He also tried to hide Roman’s face from outsider, just in case he came cross with the group of gunners earlier. 

Once he had made sure that Roman still had a heartbeat, Drew rushed to start the engine, and drive them home. Drew was on high alert of his surrounding. His eyes darted to the sides, checking if there the gunners were still wandering around the small road, and felt relief once his truck reached the big road. He drove fast but also steadily, and glanced back once in a while to see if Roman was awake or if he needed to step on the pedal. 

The journey back home took almost an hour. The sun was covered by grey clouds but it did not rain. The Scot looked down at his watch and it was only 1:50 in the afternoon. Drew pulled over and turned off the engine once he had parked his truck in the garage. He opened the back door of the truck and froze when he felt a cold steel rested against his throat. Roman was awaked and he probably did not remember what had happened before he passed out in the forest earlier. Drew could see how tired and sickly pale the Samoan was. There was confusion but also anger in those brown eyes. 

Drew did not move and only lifted his hands up, a motion that told Roman that he was not going to do anything to him and waited for the Samoan to calm down. Roman did not pull the knife away from Drew when he began to speak, “W-where am I? What are you doing to me?” and Drew could feel the knife was pushed slightly against his skin but not enough to break and bleed as Roman asked the last question.

“We’re at my place. Far from where I found you. This is my house, and I only want to help you. You’re bleeding quite heavily and I don’t want you to die,” Drew answered calmly. His deep soothing voice actually made Roman almost dropped the knife, but he was not going to fall for it. Not again. 

“You’re one of them,” the Samoan’s breath hitched but he did not back down, “What kind of help are you offering? How do I know you won’t be selling me off like they did? Like he did? You gunners have nothing better to do and killing people is what you do for fun. Why didn’t you just kill me when you found me?” Roman’s voice turned cold and Drew could understand why. He saw the scars on the injured man’s torso, his legs and arms. The burnt marks, the caning and now Roman had three new scars to add on his body. 

“You have the knife and I don’t. How am I going to hurt you when I don’t have anything to protect me? I was once a gunner, but I’m no longer with them. I worked on my own, and I’m working to help and save people,” like you, but Drew did not say the last part out loud. “As I promised and swore on my life earlier, I’m not going to hurt you, Roman-” Drew did not manage to complete his sentence as he felt Roman dug the knife deeper, now Drew could feel his skin began to bleed.

“How do you know my name?!” yelled the Samoan. Roman may be injured, dying and losing blood but he still had impressive energy left in him, and he could attack if he wanted too.

“I know you, Roman. As you said, I was one of them years back. I’ve seen you before, but now I want to help you. I can protect you too,” Drew was unsure if he could make Roman trust him, but he had to try. Even if Roman killed him now, where could he run and hide? Drew knew the organization, he knew the people and he wanted to sur they would never touch or even find the Samoan ever again. 

“I don’t trust you, gunner,” 

“My name is Drew,” 

“I don’t care,” Roman’s hand was shaking. Drew could see how badly the injured man wanted to kill him, to drag the knife and slice his throat, but he was hesitating. “W-why would you help me? I can’t pay you back, and the only payment I can afford for protection is myself, to be another sex slave to someone like you, and I was running from that. I want to be free. If I have to be bonded and chained up to your walls, I rather die right here,” Roman pulled the knife away from Drew and placed the weapon against his throat instead, ready to just end it all. To find his freedom. 

“No, don’t! Roman, please, don’t do this. I swear, I’m not charging you for anything. I’m here to help you, people like you-” 

“Liar,” Roman snarled. Drew was frustrated now but before he could say anything a voice from behind him interrupted.

“Drew? You’re back already?” A female’s voice. Drew turned his head and saw Naomi at the door. The black woman with her beautiful afro hair looked at both of them in shock. “What- Drew, what happened?! You have blood on you! Who’s that inside your truck?!” Naomi rushed to Drew’s side in made Roman jumped and almost dropped the weapon. 

“Na, this is Roman, I found him,” Drew answered, short and simple. Roman was staring wide eyes at the woman standing next to Drew. She looked familiar, like he had seen her somewhere before. Slowly, the Samoan lowered the weapon and hid it behind his back, which made Drew let out a sigh of relief.

“Dear God, why didn’t you bring him in? Look at all this blood- were you shot?!” the woman began to panic when she realized who the man inside the truck was. Roman looked back at Drew but the man did not say anything, as if waiting for Roman to answer her. The Samoan turned back to Naomi and nodded silently. 

“We need to get you inside. Drew, I need to check your neck too. God, it looks like an animal just slashed your throat,” Naomi started to rant about preparing the medical kit and calling the doctor. “Help me carry him inside. The other room is empty, he can stay there. I need to call our doctor,” The black woman quickly moved back inside, leaving Drew and Roman in the garage. 

The Scot sighed and turned his head back to the man inside his car. “Can I help you now or do you want to walk by yourself?” Roman lifted his head and stared at Drew, the defiant look was back on but at least Roman was no longer holding the knife against himself. 

“Sorry about Na, she is our nurse and we have our own doctor too. As I said, I just wish to help you, and Na will kill me if anything happens to you too,” Drew’s  voice was soft and gentle, it made Roman feel bad for hurting him. The Samoan tried to move his right leg but he hissed when the pain shot up. He could feel the pain rushed back now. Everything began to hurt again. Drew panicked and tried to move closer to the other man to see what was wrong. Roman bit his lower lip hard before forcing his leg to move down. The Samoan let out a pained cry and it was enough to make Drew react.

“Don’t move, Roman. Let me carry you instead. We don’t want it to get worst. Wrap your arms around my neck,” Roman sniffled but he did as what Drew told him too. He carefully wrapped his arms around the Scot’s neck and was mindful of his injured shoulder. When Drew scooped him up from the back seats and made sure the blanket was still covering the Samoan’s lower half, Roman had to turn his head and bury his face at the crook of Drew’s neck, muffling his groan against the other man’s skin. 

“I’m sorry, Roman. Let’s go inside, we will take care of you,” Drew slammed the truck door shut with his foot before he walked in to the kitchen area, then through a hallway leading to a what seemed to be a living room, then another hallway, up the stairs, right turn, and they finally reached the room Naomi was talking about. 

“Took you long enough, Drew! The doctor was waiting and he had to make a call just in case it is an emergency. We need to get his blood check and also a surgery to get rid off those bullets,” Naomi was moving quickly from one side of the bed to the another side, preparing all the medical equipment and things. Drew moved to the bed and gently placed Roman down. The once white bedsheet now stained with red blood. 

“Well, he was shot three times, Na. If I moved too fast, he’d be in a lot of pain. And he is nearly my size, how fast do you think I can move while carrying someone almost my size?” Drew shot back at the nurse teasingly. Honestly, he did not mind carrying Roman again if he had to. 

“Fine, whatever. Get out, we need to get him check. And tell Sasha to check your wound too,” 

Before Drew could leave the side of the bed, Roman grabbed his wrist, stopping him. The Scot was surprised when he turned to see Roman’s worried face. 

“Roman? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Drew’s voice was filled with concerned.

“W-where are you going?” Roman unconsciously tightened his hold on Drew’s wrist. Drew was confused by the question.

“I need to go and patch this little cut Na worries so much about,” Drew cut a quick glance at the nurse to see if she reacted, but she had her back turned. “Don’t worry, Naomi and the doctor will look after you. They’re good people,” Drew tried to convince the Samoan that no one in this household was going to hurt him. 

“Drew, get out now! Before I drag you out,” Naomi’s voice made the two man turned their heads. 

“I’m on my way, Na,” Drew smiled and looked back down to Roman. “I have to go. She doesn’t like it when people don’t listen to her. I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” Those dimples appeared again as Drew gave him a comforting smile. Roman wanted to say something but the nurse, Naomi, yanked Drew’s wrist out of his grasp before she pushed the Scottish man out of the room. Roman’s hand was still hanging up in the air. He was not scared of Naomi but he wanted Drew to be in the same room with him. 

Roman was so confused with himself honestly. He did not know what he truly wanted. He still did not trust Drew, an ex-gunner, but the same man also made him feel safe and protected. But trust is what Roman feared. Trust brought him into that hell. Trust almost killed him that night. For trusting another man, thinking he would love him and cherish him, he lost his brothers, his family and his freedom. 

But Drew? He was still unsure about Drew. What was his real intention? Roman wanted to believe every word the man had said to him, but he was too broken and confused. 

Roman slowly turned to look at Naomi and the doctor (who just came in and Roman had no idea when he got there), the two were talking about the procedures and the things that they needed to do to make sure Roman would not bleed to death, having a blood transfusion or something, some medical words that Roman had no idea what they meant. The Samoan slowly leaned back and tried to relax on the bed, feeling headache slowly creeping up on him. He was quite in disbelief still. He was alive. Even with the amount of blood he just lost, and he was still kicking. 

“You’re safe now, Roman. They won’t hurt you anymore,” Roman turned to look at Naomi who was standing next to the bed. The Samoan did not understand how the nurse knew him, but he nodded and whispered out a ‘Thank you’. Naomi pushed the strands of hair covering his forehead before she leaned down and planted a soft peck on his head. Weirdly, Roman did not flinch, he did not try to move away instead he let the woman comfort him. 

The headache was getting worst as he tried to recall who this women was and why did it feel like they had met somewhere before? There was never a female gunner before, but she was a friend to Drew then could she also be allied with the gunners? 

He sighed and glanced at the closed door, silently hoping for Drew to come back soon. 

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Yo this is long ... but are we progressing? Maybe. We have a new character, Naomi the house nurse :3 

Please excuse the errors and all and all. Pleas enjoy. Thank you!

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Happy late birthday! :D In my rereading of dark and bright I was imagining how would be the conversation between Draco and Theo about Hermione's birthday, like "And then Draco you will give her the cards." "But...." "No buts. For the love of all the founders Draco. You just have to give her the cards!" And now I've been laughing for 5 minutes

My hand slipped and 1.2k words fell out: (for those wondering where this fits, it mirrors Chapter Six of ‘Dark and Bright’, but can be read as a stand-alone).

“Draco…” Theo mused, looking up slowly at his boyfriend across their shared bedroom in the dungeons.

Nodding off on his own four-poster after a particularly gruelling Saturday quidditch practice, Draco scowled, and then lifted an eyebrow when he caught the look on Theo’s face. “What?” he asked flatly. “That tone of voice always means you’re plotting something. What are you scheming this time?”

“You know it’s Gr-Granger’s birthday next weekend?”

Draco blinked, clearly taken by surprise. “It is?” That meant she was older than both of them, and Draco was the baby of the lot. His scowl deepened.

“Mmm,” Theo hummed, sitting up from where he’d also been reclining like a Roman on his bed, and he swung his long, slim legs down so that his black socks met the green, woven rug beside the bed. “Scrivenshaft’s is still open on Sundays, right?”  

With a cavernous sigh, Draco nodded, and the very next day, the two boys had made the walk into Hogsmeade in the rain and were perusing the - admittedly limited - selection of magical birthday cards in the poky little shop.  

Theo shoved one under Draco’s nose and he instantly recoiled, lip curling in his trademark sneer, as a cloud of sickly-sweet rose scent billowed up into the air. Draco sneezed. “No,” he spluttered, reeling away. “Merlin, that’s strong.”

Theo just laughed and put it pack in the display before barking a loud laugh. “This one,” he said, and drew out a one bearing a cauldron and a copy of Advanced Potion Making. “It’s perfect.”

He turned to show his boyfriend, but paused when he caught sight of Draco trailing his fingers over the front of one card in particular, and his shoulders dropped. A soft, fond smile crept over Theo’s face and he chuckled, stepping close to Draco and kissing his cheek.

“Also perfect,” he whispered, and Draco flushed predictably. “Don’t get cocky - I meant the c-card!” he added with a grin, dancing out of reach of a smack on the arm from Draco a second later.  

The morning of Granger’s birthday dawned grey and really fucking miserable, but that wasn’t exactly unusual for autumn in the Highlands. “There she is,” Theo said under his breath as they sat at the Slytherin table ahead of the morning rush. He jutted his chin at the Gryffindor table. “Fuck me…” he hissed. “Is it just me or does she look even better in muggle clothing than she does in that blouse?” His eyes lingered on the way her jeans hugged the curves of her hips and arse in particular. ‘That blouse’ was one that was half a size too small, and did incredibly distracting things to her chest when she leaned forwards in Potions.  

“That blouse is bloody perfect,” Draco replied through clenched teeth, staring doggedly into the depths of his stupendously strong coffee. Somehow he’d managed to evaporate off two thirds of the water from a normal mug to turn it into a sludgy approximation of an espresso, with enough strength to give a centaur a heart attack. 

Without looking around, Hermione took her seat alone at the nearly empty table facing them, settling herself with deliberate care, rolling up the sleeves of her hoodie before pouring herself a coffee.  

“I could watch her all day,” Theo half sighed, chin sinking into his hand, elbow propped on the table.

“You said you were going to watch me all day,” Draco pouted.  

With a laugh, Theo picked up a grape and wiggled it in front of Draco’s still-pouting lips. “And I will, darling. Most attentively. You know what the sight of you in that qu-quidditch kit does to me - or perhaps you’d like to find out right now?” he asked, reaching coyly for Draco’s pale hand and pretending to move it towards his crotch. If he’d succeeded in that without Draco yanking his hand back, Draco would probably have found him at least halfway interested; mostly from seeing Hermione’s perfect arse, but being seated next to Draco in his quidditch gear was not helping matters either.  

Draco rolled his eyes but ruined it by laughing suddenly, his icy facade fracturing for just a moment, and Theo chalked it up as a victory.  

He’d been so absorbed in watching Draco’s face change like the landscape when the sun comes out, that they almost missed Granger leaving. Theo dug Draco in the ribs. “Now’s your chance. Remember that you look bloody spectacular at the moment, but try not to be too cold…”

Draco’s white eyebrows pinched into a scowl.  

“No, no, no,” Theo laughed. “Stop that. Go and give her the cards. Right now.”  

“But…” Draco began, his already frayed courage faltering.  

“No buts,” Theo said fiercely. “Oh for the love of all the founders Draco. You have to give her the cards! Don’t you get it? It has to be you. Or she’ll think I roped you into it, and that you don’t care.”

With an indistinct growl, Draco left, and Theo watched him, unaware that he was nearly biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood until he almost tasted it on his tongue.  

He watched with a leaden stomach as Draco artlessly yelled Granger’s name across the entrance hall, then stuck his hand out, proffering the cards to her like they were a dirty handkerchief she’d just accidentally dropped.  

“Oh Merlin, Drake,” Theo groaned, dropping his head to his hands and running his fingers through his raucous curls. “Please don’t fuck this up. Where’s all that pureblood class and poise now for fuck’s sake…?”

To his surprise, however, Draco appeared not to fuck anything up too severely, and Hermione even shot Theo a warm look over Draco’s shoulder. He grinned at her, ignoring the nervous, acrid flutter of doxy wings in his stomach, and prayed to all the Founders that Hermione wouldn’t think them insincere.  

Draco turned and fled almost the very moment she had the cards in her hand, looking so pale Theo thought he might pass out, but Hermione’s eyes were on his delectable backside, so Theo allowed himself the luxury of a smirk. When Draco took his seat beside him, he let out a long breath and cursed something colourful involving Salazar’s underthings that Theo hadn’t wanted to think about, and downed the rest of his coffee.  

There was no point in hiding their interest in her reaction, and when she looked up from reading the cards, the soft, delighted, almost tearful expression on her face made Theo’s stomach swoop like he’d pulled off a Wronski Feint. It was a wonder he didn’t lose his breakfast entirely.  

Her lips articulated the words ‘thank you’, and Theo inclined his head, too pleased for anything else. Draco had frozen beside him, looking like he’d swallowed a flobberworm, and he clutched his long fingers tightly for a moment.

“That wasn’t so bad?” Theo asked as a great whoop from the stairs made them look back to find Ginny Weasley and half the Gryffindor team piling in around poor Hermione until all that as visible of her was a few corkscrews of hair sticking up out of the pile of red and gold. Theo ached suddenly to be able to touch her like that, but he schooled himself to patience.  

“She asked me if they were howlers,” Draco said flatly, and Theo nearly spat his tea across the table as relieved laughter burbled up inside him. 

___

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[inky-duchess]

History Bites: What a Wonderful day for some disaster Weddings

In History Bites, I pick the best moments of history and the antics historical figures in order to give you inspiration for your WIP. Think of History Bites like prompts, only juicer and 90% accurate (results may vary).

We shall begin this ceremony with probably one of the most awful weddings of all time. George, Prince of Whales (Wales)/King George IV got himself into a bit of debt. His dad George III promised to pay it off... only if he married Princess Caroline of Brunswick. George Junior agreed but there was a problem. He was married. To a Catholic. Which was a no no. The marriage of George Jr and Catholic Maria Fitzherbert was dissolved and George was free (legally though not emotionally) to marry the Princess. The first meeting days before the wedding did not go well. George took one look at Caroline and asked for a glass of brandy. She didn't like him either, he was hardly a catch being unfaithful, a glutton, a wastrel and hardly princely at all. George was so plastered on their wedding day that two nobles had to hold him up. He sobbed throughout the entire ceremony. The marriage was not happy but more on that later.

Another horrible husband steals the crown. Henry VIII was three wives down when he was persuaded to wed again for state reasons. He cast his net around Christendom but no sensible brides were biting. Henry's councillors eventually set their hearts on Anne of Cleves, the sister of the Duke of Cleves an influential noble in the sprawling Lutheran states. Hans Holbein painted Anne and sent the portrait onto the King who was enraptured and sent for Anne to be his wife at once. Anne arrived in England after a short delay, scheduled to meet the King a few days later. But Henry being the romantic he thought he was decided to ride to the castle she was staying to meet his future bride. Dressed incognito he went over to Anne and kissed her. This was an old trick of Henry's but it didn't work. Anne was offended and Henry left in rage calling her every name under the sun, shouting how she smelled and looked like a horse. Henry looked for a way to get out of the marriage but no remedy was found in time. Sombrely he told his gentlemen preparing him for his wedding, “If it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do that I must do this day for none earthly thing.”. The wedding did go smoothly unlike the short marriage even though the bride was two hours late to the ceremony.

Princess Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg or Queen Ena fell in love with the heir to the Spanish throne. Despite some misgivings about the the suitablity of the bride and the couple's different religions. But Ena and Alfonso decided to make a go of it. The wedding ceremony itself went OK but on the way back a bomb exploded near the carriage, killing most of the couple's attendants and guards. Queen Ena was splattered in blood head to toe, meaning no photos were released after the wedding as usual.

In order to try make peace between the kingdoms of France and Navarre, two countries divided by religion, each side proposed marrying Henry, King of Navarre and Marguerite, the sister of the French King. The wedding itself went great and was a rich spectacle that drew thousands of Catholics and Protestants to the city to watch. But a few days after the wedding, violence erupted in the city and thousands of Protestants were slaughtered in the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. Henry and Marguerite were never the warmest couple and eventually separated to take other lovers.

Marie Antoinette was only 14 when she left her home to wed the Dauphin of France in 1770. The French were in charge of making the wedding gown and they made the grandest gown a royal bride ever wore in French history made of white and silver satin and drenched in diamonds. Problem? It never fit her. It was too small and there wasn't enough time for alternations. They laced her into the dress so she had to walk down the aisle with a gap in the dress. When she signed the wedding contract, she famously blotted her signature which was seen as an omen of ill tidings.

The Roman Emperor Caracalla was not a nice guy. He decided that the Romans should probably bury the hatchet with the Parthians, one of Rome's enemies. Caracalla proposed a marriage alliance between himself and the Parthian King’s daughter. At first the King dithered but was soon won over by the assurances and gifts the Emperor sent. He agreed to the match and Caracalla came to the Parthian capital for the wedding. There was a great celebration to welcome the Emperor to the city ahead of the wedding. At the Emperor's signal, the Roman soldiers who came with him got out their seats and began killing every Parthian they could get their hands on. The King got away but war broke out.

After WWII Princess Elizabeth or as she is known today, Queen Elizabeth II set her heart on marrying handsome Naval Officer Prince Philip. The November Wedding is remembered as a success but the morning was not a success. Queen Mary, the Princess's grandmother lent her the Fringe Tiara to wear. A lovely gesture but the thing was thirty years old. The tiara broke the morning of her wedding. The Queen Mother calmed her down and sent the tiara to the jeweller with a police escort to have it fixed. The tiara was fixed and the wedding went ahead.

All was not going well for the English royals. King George II and his wife the boss ass Queen Caroline of Ansbach really hated their son. They thought that marrying him to Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha would bring them all closer together. The bride arrived in England carrying her doll, she was sixteen. In order to scotch any ideas that Frederick would marry his mistress, Augusta was trussed into her wedding gown and marched down the aisle. She was young and unable to speak English, so Queen Caroline stood next to her and translated. Augusta, overwhelmed at the stress, vomited all over her wedding gown. As her new mother in law tried to help, Augusta puked on her as well.

Philip of Macedonia, Alexander the Great's dad, had conquered Greece but Greece was not his best friend. Philip wanted to make himself more popular with the people so he hosted his daughter Cleopatra's wedding in Greece. It was a great big ceremony with everybody enjoying the festivities. Philip was well on his way to making some new buddies. The pinnacle of the day was meant to be Philip’s arrival at the wedding games. Everything was going well until somebody straight up stabbed Philip. Not perhaps the best thing to happen at a wedding afters.

Ever think you're having a shitty day? Let us talk about the wedding of Prince Amadeo of Savoy and Maria Vittoria dal Pozzo. The first thing that happened was one of Maria’s servants hung herself in the room where the wedding gown was chilling. Maria had a new one made, thinking that would be that. No. An officer riding with the couple passed out from sunstroke and fell off his horse. Not so bad? After the wedding, one of the Prince's friends shot himself accidentally and died. The train the couple were meant to go honeymooning on hit a snag, literally it ran over the guy in charge of the station. The wedding party decided to head back to the palace to chill. On the way, one of the lords fell off his horse just as the newlywed's carriage was rolling by so splat...

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 8: Sink and Float

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman is anxious, Virgil has some compelling things to say, Logan deduces Virgil’s true regression age, Patton gets emotional, and we say good-bye.

Chapter word count: 11,750

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: Light angst, but cuteness galore to make up for it.

oOo

‘All right, little prince. What should I write here?’

‘His coolness rating,’ Roman replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated on his drawing; a picture of Kanga on the top half of a small piece of paper. Underneath the character were five rectangles, all coloured to varying levels of completion.

‘Of course,’ Patton said, nodding solemnly as he wrote “coolness” underneath the fifth rectangle on his own piece of paper. ‘And I’m guessing Tigger’s coolness rating is -’

‘Ten.’

‘Ten. Obviously,’ Patton giggled. He picked up the red crayon from the dining room table and coloured the final rectangle to completion. Just like the four rectangles above it. They signified Tigger’s bounciness, funniness, orangeness, and Roman’s seal of approval ratings, all maxed out. ‘I’m starting to think this card might be rigged.’

‘Nu-uh!’ Roman cried, finally looking up from his drawing with a pout. ‘Not rigged if it’s true. Tigger is the funniest, bounciest, orangest, coolest character, and he’s my favourite. He just has to win all of the rounds!’

Despite the frankly questionable logic, Patton was simply glad that Roman was back to his cheeky self.

While they baked, Roman had been strangely well-behaved. The way he had obediently mixed the batter, rolled the dough, and shaped the cookies without so much as a whinge was highly unusual. Patton was glad he didn’t have to tell the boy off for anything, of course, but there was nothing relieving in seeing Roman stand patiently at the side of the room while Patton washed up. There was no singing, no dancing, no bouncing, not so much as a peep from the little prince. It just wasn’t right.

Roman was boisterous, whether he was little or not; he was excitable and hyperactive and loud. Usually, he would have baulked at the mere suggestion of standing in silence awaiting instructions. Though that was precisely what he had done in the kitchen by his own volition, staring at his feet in quite a pensive manner.

By the time he had set the gingerbread haycorns and hunnypots on the counter to cool down, Patton had made the decision to extend their father-son bonding time. He knew Roman’s strange mood would persist if Patton didn’t get to the bottom of it.

‘Where are you going, sweetheart?’ Patton had asked when Roman had started walking towards the living room once Patton had finished the dishes.

‘Back with Vee and Mom,’ Roman had replied. ‘We can’t decorate them yet.’

‘It’s still father-son bonding time though! Why don’t we find something fun to do while we wait?’

He wasn’t quite as bouncy as Patton had hoped he would be, but Roman at least smiled at the suggestion.

Now, after almost an hour of crafting Pooh Cards (all design credit owing to Roman, of course), the creative side had finally been coaxed out of his sombre, contemplative mood. Patton himself had even perked up from the reassurance that he still knew what was best for his little prince.

‘What if another player that isn’t you gets Tigger’s card?’ Patton asked, neatening the edges of the coloured rectangle. He was careful not to budge Roman with his elbow as did so. ‘Won’t you be sad to lose?’

The scritch of Roman’s crayon paused for a moment, then continued. ‘It will be a worthy loss.’

What a funny little boy, Patton thought with a chuckle. Having finished with Tigger’s statistics, he put the crayon back in Roman’s Lion King pencil case. ‘Okay, last one!’ He slid the card across the table to Roman’s spot. ‘Do you need your dad’s help to draw Tigger?’ Patton asked. (Not so much because he was expecting a positive response, but because he knew the question reinforced both of their respective headspaces.)

‘I got it!’ An orange crayon was snatched from the table.

Patton sat back and watched as Roman drew his favourite character with a bright smile. It was impossible not to mirror it. ‘Once you’ve finished drawing Tigger we can decorate our cookies!’

‘Dad,’ Roman whined without looking up from his drawing, ‘they’re not cookies. They’re haycorns and hunnypots.’

‘Right, haycorns and hunnypots,’ Patton quickly corrected himself. ‘I keep making that mistake, don’t I?’

There was no response from Roman, who was clearly concentrating on getting Tigger’s tail just so.

‘Cutie pie,’ Patton couldn’t help but coo. When he pinched Roman’s cheek the younger side laughed so sincerely that Paton was hit by a wave of equal parts joy and guilt.

Joy because Roman was happy and so utterly adorable. Guilt because Patton clearly didn’t spend enough time with his little prince if this was such a rare sound to him.

‘I’ll get the icing ready,’ Patton whispered, leaving the room quickly.

By the time he had moved the cookies and the icing bowls into the dining room, Roman’s drawing was complete. Patton praised him heartily for his work (to which Roman blushed and giggled) as he arranged their workspace with the three different bowls of glace icing - yellow, pink, and mint green - and the cookies, plus a tube of white writing icing for the hunnypot labels.

Excited to be in charge of yet another creative project, Roman instantly took on a leading role. ‘Dad, you’ve gotta do the writing on the hunnypots and fen - and f-th-then I’m gonna do all the pretty colours!’

‘Right-o, kiddo!’ Patton saluted him, then got right to work. ‘You always have such wonderful ideas, don’t you, little prince?’ The lid to the writing icing tube put up a slight resistance as Patton unscrewed it.

‘Mhm… I’m clever,’ Roman mumbled slowly, concentrating as he spread some green icing onto one of the haycorn cookies.

‘Just like your mom. I’m sure him and Vee agree too.’

‘Vee thinks I’m clever?’ Roman asked, his voice a pitch higher from excitement.

‘Of course, sweetie. He looks up to you a lot.’ The tail of the “Y” that Patton piped accidentally curled off of the hunnypot in his hand. Patton placed the cookie back on the cooling rack and licked the sugary blob off from his fingertip. ‘You two are such lovely brothers - you’re practically inseparable.’

There was a gentle snap. Both Patton and Roman looked down to see that the haycorn in Roman’s hands had snapped in half.

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed as he looked down at the broken cookie. The pout on his face was so intense that Patton was almost worried he would start crying.

‘No, it’s okay. Here,’ Patton gently took the gingerbread pieces from his fingers. ‘Your dad can work his magic and glue it back together with icing. You just keep making them look pretty, sweetheart.’

They resumed decorating in silence, with something indescribable hanging heavily in the air between them. Patton kept quiet, allowing Roman space to speak if he wanted to say anything. Then, after a couple of minutes:

‘Dad?’

It sounded shy, so instead of looking at Roman and possibly making him more nervous, Patton’s eyes remained on the haycorn halves that he held together. White icing oozed from the crack as he waited for it to set. ‘Yes, my bright ray of sunshine?’

The nickname pulled a little giggle from Roman, brightening the atmosphere infinitely. He sounded a bit more confident when he asked, ‘Is, um… is Vee wearing a diaper?’

Patton’s gaze snapped onto Roman’s face in faint shock.

‘There was a weird sound when Mom moved him earlier,’ Roman explained. ‘And you said he feels littler ‘cause you tried something new.’

There was no variation of upset or amusement on Roman’s face, so Patton was not concerned when he confirmed, ‘Yes, he is wearing a diaper, you’re right.’ Though he still felt it important to add, ‘Does that make you feel okay?’

Roman quickly nodded, clearly desperate to show that he was not in opposition. ‘No, it’s fine. W-wait, I mean yeah! Yeah, it’s okay.’ His eyes fell down to the cookie in his hands as he continued decorating. ‘It makes sense. Babies need diapers, right?’

‘Right.’

The way Roman gazed at his cookie reminded Patton of how he had appeared in the kitchen; contemplative. It was clear that Roman had more to say, going by the way his toes tapped at the foot of Patton’s chair rapidly. Patton waited.

‘Okay, wait, so,’ Roman eventually said, sounding as if he were a student troubling himself over a difficult math problem and Patton was the teacher who could shed some light on its solution. ‘Virgil really can’t go to the toilet?’

Patton readjusted himself to lean his elbows on the table, settling in to patiently help Roman through his confusion. ‘Not when he’s regressed, no.’ The cookie halves wobbled a little in his hold.

‘And can he really not speak properly?’

This time Patton had to take a moment to think over his answer. He hadn’t actually considered questioning whether Virgil’s hindered speech was genuine. Now that he thought about it, Virgil did appear to try hard when he spoke while regressed. Although the babbles were quiet and seemed to meld into each other, they were notably forced. As if he was putting a lot of effort into getting them out. And yet they were only ever half-coherent at the best of times.

‘No,’ Patton said, smiling to himself at the realisation. ‘I don’t think he can.’ The reminder that Virgil’s regression was all-encompassing sent a rush of excitement racing through Patton’s veins. He truly was responsible for an incredibly vulnerable baby. While that thought might have been intimidating to some, Patton was filled with pure comfort at the mere thought. It was like he was finally fulfilling his purpose. It was like coming home.

‘So… Vee is really, actually a baby.’ Roman’s eyes were wide and his voice laced with astonishment.

‘Yes,’ Patton confirmed with a giggle. It sounded like this was a new revelation to Roman. ‘Your baby brother is really, actually a baby.’

Roman’s brow pulled into a light frown as his spoon swiped over his cookie one last time before dropping into the icing bowl with a clatter.

It was clear Roman wanted to ponder over the answer, for whatever reason, so Patton turned his attention to testing the cookie in his hands. At the slightest pressure, the two halves broke free from each other, and he tutted. Replenishing the icing more liberally this time, he held the jagged edges together firmly again.

‘I like that,’ Roman muttered.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’

‘I like having a baby brother.’ Patton saw Roman nodding as if assuring himself of his decision. ‘I don’t want Vee to be like me, I like that we’re different.’

The last part seemingly came from nowhere, and the whole discussion seemed oddly disjointed, though Patton didn’t show his confusion. Instead, he opted for his standard smile of loving support, which would always be appropriate in any situation as far as Patton was concerned.

‘Well, I’m glad you like it!’ His tone bounced cheerfully. ‘And I know that Vee really loves having a big brother.’

‘Hm,’ Roman hummed and picked up a hunnypot cookie to decorate. Something in the slow movements of his fingers as he iced the treat felt off.

Patton nudged him gently, jostling his elbow. A sympathetic smile wormed its way onto his lips when he saw distant eyes snap onto him. Roman’s throat rolled with a gulp.

‘What’s the matter, little prince?‘ Patton murmured sweetly. It never took Roman long to blurt any troubling thoughts that hurtled through his mind when Patton asked about them with such softness.

Right on cue, Roman sighed explosively. Then he began: ‘Now that I’m part of the family -’

(Patton’s heart twisted. Now that Roman was part of the family. As if he hadn’t been before.)

‘- I’m kind of…’ Roman paused, nibbling his lip. His eyes fell to the table as he whispered, ‘I’m scared.’

Patton instantly dropped his cookie to the table. He didn’t care that it split apart once more, leaving a thin line of white, sugary goop on the wooden surface - his only priority at that moment was Roman. His little prince always placed so much importance on being fiercely brave and strong. Patton knew this must have been an exceptional circumstance for him to actually admit to feeling afraid.

‘What are you scared of, honey?’ he asked, his tone as steady and firm as the arm he placed around Roman’s shoulders. It was of utmost importance that Roman saw him as a supportive, strong father figure during that moment of rare vulnerability. It had to be known that Patton would protect him from anything that was causing him distress.

‘I’m scared it’ll end.’ Thankfully, Roman clearly found Patton supportive enough to lean against him as he spoke. ‘You know, us being a family.’

It was difficult to contain the urge to shrug off the mere idea. Though Patton knew better than to dismiss his loved ones’ worries, no matter how seemingly unlikely. ‘Why do you think it will end?’ he asked instead.

A sharp shrug jostled both of their bodies. ‘I don’t know… What if Vee stops regressing?’

‘I don’t think that will happen,’ Patton said gently as he swayed them to and fro. The weight against his side got heavier as Roman leaned into his one-armed embrace. ‘Your mom thinks the regression is written right into Virgil’s brain since he’s done it for so many years. It’s a part of him.’

‘Okay…’ Roman sounded uncertain still, reaching forward to fidget with the hem of Patton’s cardigan. ‘What if me and him start arguing all the time again?’

Taking the long fingers in his own, Patton whispered, ‘You won’t,’ with absolute confidence. ‘I don’t think you could go back to how you used to be after everything you boys have shared with each other.’

When Patton pressed a soft kiss to Roman’s cheek, he honestly expected to feel the tension leave Roman’s body.

Instead, the grip around Patton’s fingers tightened painfully. ‘What if he says he doesn’t wanna be brothers anymore?’ Roman’s words were frantic, panicked. ‘I don’t wanna lose him, he’s the best brother I…’

Silence reigned.

Patton’s gaze sunk to the tabletop where the two halves of the haycorn cookie lay torn apart, joined only by a thin trail of icing.

‘I just don’t want us to be split up,’ Roman whispered brokenly.

Memories flooded Patton’s mind. Of two boisterous children, identical twins, perpetually by each other’s sides despite their constant arguing. Of fearsome fights; scratching and biting and screaming. And of a thought, just a thought, that had passed through Patton’s mind one sunny day like an innocent floating cloud. The thought that one of the twins had potential and that the other was… wrong.

Memories of the following day and only seeing one child come out from their room. Of little snippets of conversation between Janus and Logan. Of realising that the other twin had not ceased to exist, but had been moved to the lower parts of the mind. (No one understood how. It was the only time a side had been moved between the conscious and the subconscious.) (That would change over a decade later when Virgil timidly knocked on their door.)

Memories of the “good” twin - Roman - seeming unaffected by the loss of his brother. Happier, even, that his ideas had no contenders. That there was no longer a double of him suggesting all manner of disturbing things that Patton simply could not stand to hear.

Warm fingers tightened further around his.

As Patton’s awareness was reeled against that cold, crashing wave of regret, his mind spluttered. Unaffected? Patton realised now the ridiculousness of the mere notion that Roman would have been unchanged by the split. By the fleeting thought from Patton - he himself still being a child at the time - that had acted as the catalyst for such an irrevocable shift in the twins’ lives. In everyone’s lives.

‘Dad?’ Roman’s gentle voice broke the surface of Patton’s turbulent reverie.

With a steadying breath, Patton forced himself back to the present and clasped both hands around Roman’s. He prayed that the tightness of his grip would dispel the trembling of his fingers.

‘You and Virgil love each other very much,’ he said, ‘and you’ve both become a lot better at showing it; when you’re little and when you’re big. Even if you did argue, you could never stop being brothers. Not now. I promise, nothing will -’ Patton’s voice was suddenly strangled by an involuntary gulp. He felt his cheeks burn as he swallowed past the knot of nerves in his throat. ‘Nothing will tear you apart,’ he finished quietly.

‘What if you and Logan break up?’

It was easy to forget how different Roman’s voice was when he was little. Him being such a master at adapting his voice for different roles, the shift in tone was subtle, though effective. The slightest bit higher in pitch, though not unnaturally so. Much bouncier in intonation, but not inappropriately so. Changed, but not overexaggerated. (Perhaps Roman was accustomed to minimising the impact of changes, Patton realised.)

Though now it was clear. This question was deeper, louder, bigger than the previous ones. It was a question from adult Roman.

Patton sighed and met Roman’s eyes equally. At that moment he was no longer a father speaking to his son, but rather a friend reassuring a friend.

‘If, for whatever reason, Logan and I stop dating…’ Patton paused. That was the first time he had verbally acknowledged that they were an item. It truly felt amazing to admit to someone besides Logan himself. Though it was a melancholy experience, to be announcing their relationship while simultaneously theorising its demise. ‘If that ever happens then we’ll still be very good friends. And we will all still be a family, I promise.’

The reluctance faded from Roman’s expression and he wriggled his hand free from Patton’s hold. A finger raised between their faces. ‘Pinky promise?’ Roman asked in childlike hopefulness.

Patton curled his little finger around Roman’s. ‘Pinky promise,’ he said earnestly.

Taking advantage of the fact that Roman’s hand was apprehended - and desperate to distract from the loaded atmosphere - Patton swiped some icing onto Roman’s face.

‘Hey!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Patton asked in mock-confusion.

Roman glared at him past a smile. ‘There’s icing on my cheek!’

‘Oh, let me get that for you!’ Patton pressed a long, wet kiss to Roman’s cheek, the icing spreading between his lips.

‘Da-ha-d,’ Roman giggled, trying to squirm away.

With a loud smack of his lips, Patton pulled away laughing. As he licked his lips clean, he took a moment to appreciate the pure joy on Roman’s face. ‘I love you, little prince. And I love Virgil and I love Logan. And I know for a fact that you all love each other too. That will never, ever end. No matter what.’

There was a loud screech of chair legs against the floorboards then Roman was on his feet, hunching over to hold Patton in a deadly-tight hug. Patton returned it with a strained wheeze.

‘I don’t want it to end,’ Roman mumbled into his shoulder. ‘I don’t want anything to change.’

That was a loaded statement if Patton had ever heard one. The sentiment behind it was clear and admirable, of course. Like Roman, Patton too loved how their family was faring and wouldn’t change it for the world. Though he was hit by the reality of just how much had changed in the past few weeks, the past few days, even the past few hours!

Regardless, he knew what Roman meant, and he wasn’t one to magnify the ambiguity of language choices. That was Logan’s job.

So - despite his uncertainty in the generalisation of the statement - Patton held Roman closer and said, ‘Nothing will change, sweetheart.’

oOo

As much as he had enjoyed his and Roman’s Father-Son bonding time (which they agreed would become a weekly ritual from then on), Patton was more than eager to return to the living room and be the happy pappy again.  It was hard to shake the melancholy from the earlier conversation, after all.

Once the hunnypots and haycorns were decorated and left to set in the kitchen, the two traipsed back down the hallway. Patton stopped just short of opening the living room door when he heard a muffled, unintelligible conversation coming from the other side of it.

He looked behind him to Roman, who mirrored his confusion. The distant voices sounded as if they were holding a full-fledged discussion. Could Virgil have been grown-up again?

Patton pushed the door open with a deep disappointment that he didn’t quite want to acknowledge. Though on poking his head into the room, it didn’t take long to see that Virgil was still regressed and in Logan’s lap. He sighed in relief.

‘Mamanaba,’ Virgil muttered, rattling Meeko with fervour. The inflection of his voice was similar to that of normal speech, even if the actual content was gibberish and his tone was still decidedly babyish.

Logan’s hands readjusted on Virgil to hold him steady as the boy kept bouncing in his lap. ‘My goodness, I never considered such a thing! Though I don’t believe that is quantifiable.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Roman laughed from behind Patton, then stepped around him in the direction of the couch.

There was nothing but pure paternal instinct that made Patton hurriedly reach out and pull Roman backwards against his chest and into his arms. He just could not bear to see the others being so sweet while his own arms were empty of one of his babies. Thankfully, Roman just settled against him and didn’t comment on it.

‘This is an academic debate, little prince,’ Logan explained very seriously, offering one of his false-stern looks. His lips twitched. ‘No interruptions, please.’

‘W-waba, mamama,’ Virgil babbled, his voice now squeaky with excitement.

Logan gasped loudly and looked at Virgil in amazement, to which the regressor giggled. ‘What a fascinating hypothesis! But have you considered the subjectivity of such a theory?’

There was a moment of quiet while Virgil looked over at the doorway to Patton and Roman. It seemed he had only just noticed their appearance. Meeko was raised to hide Virgil’s face as he collapsed against Logan’s chest. ‘Baba,’ Virgil whined, muffled by the toy at his chin.

A loud chuckle rang out. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,’ Logan said, cupping the back of Virgil’s head protectively.

‘Mom, can you speak baby?’ Roman asked, sounding thoroughly impressed. As he spoke, he launched himself away from Patton’s chest and skipped over to stand in front of the couch.

‘It certainly sounds like it,’ Patton murmured, watching Roman go. The sudden emptiness in his arms couldn’t hold a candle to the emptiness in his chest. Why was he so sensitive all of a sudden? Why did his chest physically ache when he wasn’t holding his boys?

Then his thoughts came to a crashing stop. No. This wasn’t about him and what he wanted. Roman obviously didn’t want a hug so he was perfectly within his right to wriggle out of it. Patton had been keeping him from his brother, after all. The memories of his and Roman’s previous conversation rose in tides, threatening to spill over. Patton had been keeping Roman from his brother again.

‘What did you two get up to, little prince?’ Logan asked. ‘Did you have fun with your dad?’

As Roman launched into an impassioned regaling of the creation of Pooh Cards and his expert cookie decorating skills, Patton floated over to the couch - specifically towards the baby in Logan’s lap. His knuckle ghosted over Virgil’s smooth cheek and elicited a small coo from him. The contact and the sweet sound filled Patton with a sudden motivation that he hadn’t realised he had been lacking.

Then Virgil pulled himself to sit up from Logan’s chest and shook his rattle right by Patton’s ear with a bright smile that threatened to dislodge his pacifier. ‘Babababa.’

‘What a fun sound!’ Patton gushed, only faintly acknowledging that Roman’s monologue had just drawn to a close. ‘I see someone’s woken up a bit since we left.’

‘He is rather enraptured by the rattling sound,’ Logan said, shuffling Virgil in his lap so that he could more directly face the others. (It was true, the way Virgil stared at his toy looked as if we were both confused and amazed by the sounds coming from it; almost spellbound.) ‘I think it’s safe to say that it is a “good stim”.’ He directed his gaze to Roman and said, ‘Virgil appreciates his present from you Roman, even if he is not able to tell you as much at the moment. Thank you for making your little brother happy.’

Roman flopped down to sit on the couch a couple of feet away from Logan with pink cheeks. ‘S’okay,’ he muttered with a nonchalant shrug that was betrayed by his wide smile.

Quite unexpectedly, Virgil whined loudly and dropped Meeko to the couch. Then he wriggled and reached his arms out towards his brother so insistently that he slid right off of Logan’s lap.

‘Vee!’ Logan yelped.

Patton acted lightning fast, dropping to his knees and catching Vee in one fell swoop. A fraction of a second later and Virgil would have hit the ground.

‘Woah, there we go.’ Patton hoisted Virgil onto his hip and stood upright again, keeping a firm arm under Virgil’s diaper to support him. ‘Are you okay, angel?’ he asked breathlessly, residual adrenaline surging through his veins.

The shock didn’t fade from Virgil’s expression for several seconds. Then, at last, his eyes swam with thick tears and he broke into a constant stream of whimpers.

‘Aww, my little baby,’ Patton cooed. He started bouncing him lightly as parents often did with wailing infants. ‘You’re all right, sweetie. Shh-shh-shh.’ Virgil’s whimpers quickly quieted at the bouncing so Patton kept it up, warm adoration swelling in his chest at just how alike a real baby Virgil was.

With a wet sniffle, Virgil buried his face against Patton’s shoulder.

‘That’s it,’ Patton murmured. ‘Papa has you, you’re safe.’ He felt a pinch at his side and looked down to see that Virgil was gripping his cardigan and tugging on the material harshly. Without looking away from his baby, Patton held his free hand out to the couch. ‘Can someone please pass me Meeko?’

A few seconds passed without any softness being pressed into his hands. Patton looked over to find Logan and Roman sat staring at him in stunned silence.

It felt as though he had unknowingly done something horribly wrong. Heat flooded his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, what did I do?’ Was he being a bad Dad? Would they take his baby away? His grip on Virgil tightened.

‘N-nothing,’ Logan stammered.

A loud snort sounded from Roman. ‘Wow, Dad’s pretty strong, isn’t he, Mom?’

‘Oh,’ Patton breathed with a nervous chuckle, trying to hide how utterly relieved he was. The look of betrayal Logan was directing towards Roman inspired enough amusement for it to be passable. ‘You carried him earlier too, Lo.’

‘I know that,’ Logan defended, his cheeks dusting pink as he looked back at Patton. ‘Just… not with one arm.’

Patton’s eyes trailed down to realise that he was indeed bouncing Virgil easily with only one arm. 

Logan cleared his throat then muttered, ‘It is rather impressive.’

‘Well, I’m a dad,’ Patton giggled lightly. He would never have imagined Logan would be flustered by such a thing. ‘Dads need to be strong for Dad Stuff!’

‘Like catching Moms when they swoon.’

At Roman’s cheeky remark, Logan’s mouth dropped open. The creative side quickly descended into giggles.

Patton witnessed the shock on Logan’s face be wiped away by an evil grin. ‘Oh, I’ll give you something to laugh about.’ Then Roman was being tugged towards Logan’s chest, Logan’s fingers wriggling in his underarms.

‘W-wait! Wait!’ Roman’s legs kicked against the couch as he was dragged into Logan’s lap. ‘Mom, ple-he-he-ase!’ he pleaded through already hysterical laughter.

Patton giggled and shook his head. It wasn’t often Logan tickled their little prince, but when he did he was merciless. Roman’s begging would not help him.

Amongst the raucous laughter and tumbling on the couch, Patton managed to swipe Meeko from the cushion before Roman’s ankles thrust into it with a squeal.

‘Here you are, honey bunny,’ Patton said, worming the toy between his cardigan and Virgil’s fingers.

The weight on his shoulder lifted as Virgil looked up with a curious hum. On seeing that he had been reunited with his raccoon, his eyes sparkled with joy rather than tears. And, as expected, he rattled the toy for what must have been the hundredth time.

‘Why did you jump off of Mama’s lap, Vee?’ Patton asked, fully aware that Virgil might not have been old enough to even understand the question. It was worth a try at least.

The question seemed to break Virgil from the trance the rattle had him under and he started whining and wriggling violently.

‘Baby, baby, it’s okay,’ Patton tried to soothe him. It was only met with louder whines and harder kicks. ‘All right, down we go,’ he sang, doing his best to make the words bounce with joy. It was difficult considering the immense sinking sensation in his stomach as he carefully lowered Virgil to the floor.

‘Is everything all right?’

Patton looked up at Logan’s breathless question, pleasantly surprised to see Roman still in Logan’s lap, finally free of the tickle attack.

‘I just asked him why he jumped off your lap.’

At the reminder, Virgil thrust his arms out towards Roman again and pleaded, ‘Wo… Wo-Wo!’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Roman’s shoulders raised defensively as he looked to Patton. ‘It wasn’t my fault he fell!’

‘We know that, little prince. It’s all right,’ Logan assured him, embracing him to his chest.

With a gentle smile, Patton realised that Virgil was not blaming Roman for the fall whatsoever. ‘Sweetheart, I think Vee just wants to play with you.’

Virgil’s arms stretched even further into the empty space between himself and the couch. ‘Pway!’

‘Oh, um,’ Roman hesitated, looking at the ground and running his fingers over Logan’s arms, which were fastened around his waist.

‘I would like to stretch my legs anyway,’ Logan said, carefully sliding Roman off of his lap.

There was a short moment of thick quiet. It was over in an instant as Logan quickly rose to his feet, announcing that he would fetch some more toys for them before promptly leaving the room.

Before long, Logan had returned with supplies and the caregivers had set up a baby-safe play area for the boys. A large fluffy blanket lay across half of the living room floor and more than two dozen soft toys sat around the edges of the blanket, cordoning off the area. Around the room, cushions and pillows padded the harsh corners of the coffee table, TV unit, and radiator to avoid any painful bumps.

Roman was as bubbly as ever, overspilling with exuberant playfulness as he finally had his little brother’s full attention.

‘And what doth the King Meeko have to say to this usurper?’ Roman cried regally, bouncing his stuffed dog Bumpkin in his hands to indicate that he was speaking.

Virgil giggled and bounced in place where he sat against the foot of the armchair, carefully propped up by two pillows. His laughter mixed with the rattles coming from Meeko as he shook him.

‘Vee, what do you want Bumpkin to say?’ Logan mumbled from where he sat beside Patton on the couch.

A happy hum rolled from Patton’s chest. It was rare that they got a chance to sit together while both boys were little, but Virgil had gotten surprisingly fussy when Logan tried to sit with him on the blanket. It seemed the excitement of being with Roman had chased away his languid energy and he wanted to sit alone with his brother while they played.

Despite Patton’s increasing panic at seeing his little baby sitting all on his own, not in his arms, Patton felt comforted by Logan’s closeness. It meant he could run his fingers idly over Logan’s thigh as Logan’s arm draped heavily across his shoulders. He took the rare moment of casual intimacy in stride. Usually, they had to sneak around while the boys were asleep to cuddle and kiss. Though since he had spoken so openly about their relationship with Roman in the dining room, and seeing as Virgil was either unbothered by or unaware of their displays of affection, they allowed themselves this intimate moment.

‘A-ababa,’ Virgil babbled, pointing to the soft toy in Roman’s hands.

Roman sucked in a pained breath through his teeth. ‘Oof. That’s brutal, Vee.’ It earned him a bright symphony of babyish giggles.

Over the next few minutes, Patton brought his cellphone out to take pictures of the littles. Then when Logan pointed out that he had taken more than twenty almost identical photographs, Patton rolled his eyes with a playful nudge to his partner. He would have easily taken a thousand pictures if it meant he could remember this day by the adorable scene in front of him, rather than the blunt, heavy regret hammering away within him. 

‘How old is Vee right now?’ Patton wondered aloud, partly because he was watching Virgil through his phone screen. Partly because he just needed Logan’s voice to drown out Roman’s sorrowful words from earlier that kept replaying in his head.

‘Going by his babbling and playfulness,’ Logan replied, ‘I would place him around eight or nine months.’

All of the breath wrung from Patton’s lungs as he snapped his gaze onto Logan. ‘Months?’

Not seeming to notice Patton’s shock, Logan continued watching the boys with a gentle smile and nodded.

‘That’s way younger than he usually is…’ Patton placed his phone down on the couch, feeling shaky all of a sudden.

‘I am not so certain.’ A thumb started circling softly over Patton’s knuckles as Logan explained in a low murmur, ‘At first he told us he regressed from two to five years old. Though I have been observing his behaviour over the past few weeks, and I believe he has been greatly mistaken in this estimation.’

The soft material of Logan’s slacks bunched between Patton’s fingers. ‘What, do you think he’s not that old?’ The new information bombarded him with the horrible thought that he hadn’t been doing his job as a father if he hadn’t even noticed how old Virgil was when he regressed.

Gaze fixed on their boys, lips fixed in an oblivious smile, Logan went on: ‘Nothing I have seen of his regression has suggested he is ever older than two and a half years - though even then, being that old is rare for him.’ He tilted his head in thought, which would have been adorable had Patton’s vision not been pulsating with his frantic heartbeat. ‘I wonder whether he misunderstands developmental stages, or whether it is simply a case of him being unaware of his own behaviour patterns.’

‘What ages does he actually regress to?’ Patton whispered. He stared intently at Logan, desperate for the answer that he had apparently been too incompetent to see for himself.

With utmost confidence, Logan said, ‘Three to twenty-four months.’

Hot tears sprang to Patton’s eyes. ‘Three months…’ he echoed under his breath. Practically a newborn. With a gulp, Patton’s watery eyes settled on Virgil. A newborn who had been alone for so many years.

His wet eyes being glued on Virgil’s steadily blurrier form, Patton was startled when he felt Logan’s arm pushing insistently at his shoulders. Within seconds Patton was on his feet and being swiftly ushered into the hallway. His heart lurched when the blue and purple blob fell out of sight as he was guided past the corner of the doorway and the tears finally fell to his cheeks.

‘Your dad and I are right outside if you need us. Keep playing with your little brother,’ Logan’s voice said, then the door was pulled mostly shut and Patton was surrounded by long, warm arms. ‘What’s wrong, Patton?’

It all happened so quickly that he had no hope of burying his emotions, so Patton didn’t speak. He just clung to Logan and sniffled into his shoulder, thinking about what he had learned. About Virgil being so young and consequently about everything he had ever had to deal with on his own. The loneliness, the accidents, the bullies.

Patton bit his tongue through a wave of overwhelming anger. Over the course of the next minute, he simply took in deep, shaky breaths, glad that Logan did nothing but tap out one-second intervals on his back to aid his breathing.

Then, just as he thought he had overcome the worst of it, a babyish giggle rang from behind the living room door.

A sob wrenched its way from Patton’s throat.

‘My love, please tell me what’s wrong,’ Logan pleaded, his voice gentle though pained.

‘Sorry,’ Patton choked, pulling his face back from Logan’s shoulder to scrub his sleeve over his eyes. When he opened them and caught the utter sincerity in Logan’s concerned expression, the tears started anew. What exactly had Patton done to deserve such a wonderful man?

Patton couldn’t bear to hold back his lament any longer, keeping quiet so as not to upset the boys in the next room. ‘He’s just so - he’s literally just a baby. He’s innocent and - and vulnerable and -’ his voice wobbled and broke off with a shuddered breath. As he recollected all Virgil had told them of the hate he received on his blog, that same boiling rage oozed through Patton’s entire being. It stung and made him tremble. Like poison. ‘I can’t believe those horrible people would bully him for it!’

At the hissed tone, Logan’s face crumpled with a wince. Patton was ready to vehemently apologise for himself - about to claim he had no idea where that came from, it wasn’t him at all - until Logan said, ‘I know. I am angry too.’

There was no way Patton could have predicted how comforting those four words were. They doused the fire in his chest and left him dumbstruck. The raging indignance that had been snapping and flaring within him all afternoon suddenly disappeared and all that was left was a smouldering, pathetic sorrow.

Patton slumped back into Logan’s arms in defeat.

‘He was on his own for so many years, Lo. It’s bad enough he couldn’t look after himself,’ Patton whispered and shook his head, Logan’s shirt rustling faintly with the movement, ‘but on top of that some strangers attacked him just for - for -’

‘For trying to feel safe,’ Logan finished, twining his fingers gently in Patton’s thick hair.

Delighted, squeaky laughter echoed from the living room.

‘Not everyone is accepting.’ The deep voice vibrated in Logan’s chest. Patton held onto him tighter. ‘It is an unfortunate reality in both Thomas’ world and ours, and I understand it is upsetting. As much as we would like to, we simply cannot protect our boys from every possible threat.’

The icy pang of dread in Patton’s gut was twice as toxic as the scalding anger from before. What was Patton’s whole purpose if not to look after his family?

‘Virgil was not completely helpless to it, though,’ Logan continued. ‘He disabled anonymous asks without being prompted to do so. That shows he had the foresight to prevent it from happening again. He was protecting himself.’

Gentle shivers radiated over Patton’s scalp as Logan’s fingernails combed through his hair. ‘That’s meant to be our job,’ he argued weakly, ‘and he didn’t even tell us about it.’

‘Not at first,’ Logan conceded. ‘Still, that does not mean he did not trust us.’ Then Logan pulled back from the hug, leaving Patton cold. ‘You know how reluctant he is to share things that he perceives as embarrassing. Your conversation with him yesterday proves as much,’ he said, turning and walking down the hallway.

‘Where are you going?’ Patton shrieked, his hands curling into tight fists by his sides.

Logan looked back in shock. Then he carefully reached out to pick up the tissue box that sat on the cabinet by the staircase. The movement was slow, and Logan watched Patton all the while as if he were a startled animal that had to be monitored.

Shame flooded Patton. ‘Oh. Sorry, just… not done cuddling you yet.’

A soft smile replaced Logan’s frown and he brought a couple of tissues back to Patton, holding him again and dabbing at his itchy eyes. ‘I didn’t realise you would be competing with a box of tissues for my attention,’ Logan chuckled.

Patton knew it was a joke, of course he did. He loved jokes and he loved that Logan was finally comfortable enough in himself to make them without fearing people's opinions of him. But suddenly the heat in his chest was reignited.

‘Why didn’t you just summon them?’ Patton asked flatly.

The tissue that Logan stroked over his cheekbone faltered.

‘You always say how important it is that we don’t challenge the mindscape,’ Patton went on, glad that this topic had distracted Logan enough from his sudden clinginess. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you summon since you realised the whole - what’s it called?’

‘Equivalent exchange,’ Logan supplied, blushing. It was he who realised that the programming he had set up for their mindscape to follow real world laws of physics glitched whenever the sides took advantage of their powers; summoning an object would make another of similar mass and/or sentimental worth disappear, and breaking the laws of physics would train the mindscape to disparage Logan’s carefully crafted code. For the sake of stability in their environment, they had long since all agreed to sacrifice the convenience of summoning unless in emergencies. Logan most of all, which is why Patton was so shocked when he saw he had summoned a baby book earlier. ‘I understand it was hypocritical of me to break my own rule. I apologise, it won’t be happening again.’

Patton nodded. He didn’t want Logan to think he was upset with him, though he was satisfied that he had redirected the conversation effectively. ‘What was so urgent about a baby book anyway?’

‘I could not think of anything to calm Vee down,’ Logan explained, pocketing the crumpled tissue as Patton’s face was perfectly dry by then. ‘Regretfully, I acted quite impulsively in response to his crying.’

‘Oh no, was the poor thing upset?’ Patton asked, all harsh emotion replaced by softness and concern for his little one.

With a soft sigh, Logan leaned forward to press a kiss to Patton’s forehead. ‘You know how his separation anxiety is,’ he murmured against his skin, lingering there.

Patton frowned at Logan’s chest. ‘He still has separation anxiety?’

‘Of course,’ Logan said, putting some distance between them to look down at him.

‘But,’ Patton blinked rapidly, ‘earlier he was okay with me leaving and he - he hid from me, I thought -’

‘Patton, it doesn’t disappear from one positive experience,’ Logan explained, his arms still wrapped around Patton’s shoulders. ‘It may have been dimmed momentarily though it is still very much present. I believe it may be a permanent fixture of his headspace, simply due to the ages he regresses to and his anxious nature.’

‘Oh… okay.’ It was hard to know what else to say. Earlier Patton had thought he was proud of Virgil for overcoming his separation anxiety. But hearing that Virgil would perhaps never get over it sent a wave of warm comfort over Patton. He wanted to smile, but the fluffy feeling was sullied by something. Something distant that he couldn’t identify. Something unpleasant.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Logan asked softly, spoken as if it were a love confession.

Patton instinctively reached into his pocket, only to come out empty-handed. ‘Sorry, I must have left my phone in -’

A featherlight touch at his lips made Patton fall silent: Logan’s fingertips. He could feel Logan’s pulse thrumming through them.

‘It’s later,’ Logan whispered, his eyes swimming with utter adoration. Then the soft fingertips were replaced by softer lips and Patton fell into a dream.

They floated together for a while, suspended in the short space between their hearts. After a few gentle pecks and a quick swipe of tongues, Logan pulled away.

‘That was sweet,’ Patton whispered airily, letting his eyes flutter open. Then he saw that Logan was frowning deeply at him.

‘Patton…’ Logan licked his lips and grimaced a little. He started chuckling, ‘Just how much lemon did you put in your tea?’

It wrenched Patton from his dreamy state.

Guilt. The unpleasant feeling that was sullying his emotions was guilt. Guilt because how could he think himself supportive of his family if in the face of their developments his response had been extreme jealousy? So extreme that he had had to literally suck on a lemon to pull himself out of it.

As if that weren’t awful enough, Patton had actually felt happy when he learned Virgil would continue to be distressed by his separation anxiety.  He had failed his baby, just like he had failed his little prince by neglecting him and not recognising his insecurities. He had failed at being a dad; the one thing he thought he knew. Why was he even trying to be a caregiver when he kept accidentally hurting his family?

Roman called loudly from the living room, ‘Dad?’

A switch flipped in Patton’s brain. No, he wouldn’t give up. His boys needed their dad and that had to be him. No matter how many mistakes he made, how wrong he was, Patton would never let go of the only thing in the world he could do. He would never let go of his purpose. The one thing he lived for.

He was nothing if he couldn’t be Papa Patton.

He slipped right past Logan, not caring to check his reaction to Patton’s avoidance. With a huge smile, Patton bounced into the living room. ‘What’s up, my majestic little songbird?’

It was immediately clear why Roman had called.

Where Virgil had been sitting on the blanket before they left the room, giggling and rattling Meeko excitedly, both boys now sat. Roman’s arm was thrown over Virgil’s shoulders protectively, supporting the younger boy as he swayed and blinked slowly. His eyes were decidedly teary and he was tugging at his pacifier again.

‘Oh, my sweet little baby,’ Patton cooed, rushing over to them. The storm of guilt and jealousy cleared from his mind in an instant, leaving him a little light-headed. It was replaced by a muffled determination and affection that made everything seem softer around the edges.

Dropping to his knees, Patton pulled Virgil into a hug. There was a little whimper, and then his shoulder was immediately used as a hiding spot for Virgil’s face. ‘What happened, Roman?’ Patton asked, leaning back against the foot of the armchair. He rested his hand atop Virgil’s head and felt as though his heart had started beating for the first time in hours.

‘He just froze and went super quiet all of a sudden,’ Roman explained, letting go of his brother and collapsing back onto the blanket with a pout. ‘Then he didn’t wanna play anymore.’

‘It’s all right, Roman,’ Logan said, settling onto the floor beside Roman with a reassuring pat on his knee. ‘Virgil can play with you again another time.’ He began clearing the mess of various toys on the blanket, assembling them into an ordered line.

‘Are you upset, baby?’ Patton whispered, rocking Virgil slightly in his hold.

As was to be expected, there was no answer. Virgil only hid his face against Patton more fiercely.

‘Perhaps it was the separation anxiety.’

Patton nodded faintly at Logan’s suggestion, but internally he knew that wasn’t it. In the past, if Virgil was anxious about being separated from Patton he was much more vocal in his upset; sobbing and whining loudly. Plus he certainly hadn’t heard Virgil calling out for him before Roman beckoned him in, so Patton remained doubtful that that was the issue.

Another difference became obvious as Virgil hugged Patton tighter, forcing Patton to hunch down a little to accommodate it. Where Virgil would always scramble into Patton’s lap at being reunited with him, this time he had remained on the floor with his legs pulled tightly to his chest. Patton experimentally nudged Virgil’s knees to convince him to lower them but was met with a whine and Virgil’s whole body tensed up.

As Patton shushed his baby and swayed him back and forth, he just knew. There was no solid thought process he could attribute to his realisation. He thought it must have been his paternal instincts (which sent a rush of pride through him). Though regardless of how he knew it, Patton was quite certain that Virgil’s diaper was wet.

Then Logan spoke. ‘I think I would like to -’

‘I’m handling it,’ Patton assured firmly without looking up from his baby.

There was a short while of silence before Logan spoke again. ‘I was going to say I would like to play Pooh Cards with Roman.’

Shame flooded Patton’s mind. He chased it away by rubbing soothing circles on Virgil’s back.

‘Oh yeah!’ Roman cried, jumping up from the blanket so fast Patton was surprised he didn’t fall face-first to the floor with the momentum of it. As he bounced in place he grabbed and tugged on Logan’s hands. ‘Mom, Mom, Mom, quick, come see!’

There was a slight reluctance as Logan raised to his feet. ‘I said I would play with you Roman. Please do not pull me.’

Patton rolled his eyes. Roman was merely excited, and he knew his own strength. It wasn’t like it hurt Logan. There was no reason for him to be so strict with their little prince.

‘Are you sure you two will be all right?’ Logan asked, and his voice actually wobbled.

Logan - who always kept a steady, calm voice even in moments of distress - was presumably so worried about leaving Virgil with Patton that his voice had actually wavered.

Patton had to unclench his jaw to reply, ‘Of course we will, I’m his papa.’ It came out far more snappish than he had intended. He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, using the soft tendrils to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his chest. ‘I mean - he’s okay. I know what this is.’ Finally meeting Logan’s gaze, Patton offered a small smile that he knew didn’t meet his eyes.

‘Okay, love,’ Logan said softly, lovingly, and Patton knew he didn’t deserve it.

Then Logan led Roman out of the room to fetch the card game and the papa and his baby were left alone.

For a minute they simply sat, Patton still swaying them gently. Going by the fact that Virgil was no longer whimpering, it was clear the cuddle was soothing him. Patton too felt himself relaxing as their bodies moved as one and their breaths synchronised.

Over the course of those few quiet moments, Patton’s worries all seemed to float away. As if Virgil were a calm breeze, clearing the muggy clouds of guilt and bitterness from Patton’s mind and replacing them with crystal clear skies. Patton nuzzled his nose into Virgil’s hair and breathed deeply, feeling as though he hadn’t tasted oxygen until that very second. There was no other feeling in the world that could compare.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a proper cuddle.’

There was no protest as Patton shuffled both of them up into the seat of the armchair. Virgil kept a tight hold on Meeko all the while, clearly afraid of dropping the toy. Admittedly, Patton had hoped he would have an opportunity to check Virgil’s diaper during the movement, but their positions simply didn’t allow for it. As soon as they were seated with Virgil on Patton’s lap, the regressor whined and hurriedly wriggled off of his legs to squeeze into the small space between Patton and the armrest.

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Patton murmured, letting Virgil curl up to his side instead. His knees were flush with his chest once more; hiding his lap on instinct, Patton realised.

‘Dad!’ Roman yelled, skipping back into the living room with a bright smile. ‘Mom really likes my game and says I’m really clever!’

Feeling Virgil jolt at the sudden noise, Patton carded his fingers through his hair softly. ‘That’s wonderful, sweetie,’ he said, trying not to feel disheartened by the interruption to his and Virgil’s time together. ‘I think you’re very clever too.’

Roman appeared to vibrate. ‘And - and n-now Mom is gonna play with me!’

‘Well, I hope you win, little prince,’ Patton chuckled, enamoured by Roman’s sweet enthusiasm. Then he put on a loud stage-whisper, ‘Try to get the Tigger card!’

A deep gasp sounded from the doorway. ‘I heard that, Patton!’ Logan entered the room with a look of mock-offence. He held a red sippy cup in one hand and the stack of Pooh Cards in his other. ‘I cannot believe you’re conspiring against me.’

Patton giggled, twirling a lock of Virgil’s hair around his pinky. ‘I’m a supportive dad, I have to be on Roman’s side!’

‘Hm, I suppose I can concede that,’ Logan grumbled, throwing a quick smile Patton’s way. He handed Roman his sippy cup, praising him when he said, ‘Thank you’.

There was a quiet whine from Virgil and Patton rocked him a little. He was probably upset by the others being so close given his shy headspace at that moment.

‘Come here, little one,’ Logan called, moving to sit by the coffee table at the other side of the room. ‘I need you to teach me how to play.’

Roman did not react.

‘Sweetie, that’s you,’ Patton whispered, reaching out to squeeze Roman’s hand.

A blush overtook Roman as he looked over at his mom, a smile forming on his lips. ‘Me?’

‘Of course,’ Logan nodded. By the casual shuffling of the Pooh Cards in his hands, it almost appeared as if Logan didn’t recognise the gravity of calling Roman ‘little one’, though Patton knew his partner better than that. He knew that Logan must have noticed Roman’s need for coddling in the face of Virgil’s younger headspace.

Patton grinned as he watched Roman rush over, sitting as close to Logan as was physically possible.

Then he felt Virgil trying to burrow into his shoulder further and looked down. The boy’s neck was noticeably strained by the action since he had to stretch awkwardly seeing as he wasn’t in Patton’s lap like he usually was.

‘Do you wanna sit in Papa’s lap?’

A slight nod came in reply.

‘All right, on three. Ready?’ Patton secured his arms around Virgil’s back and under his diaper. ‘One, two… three!’ As he easily lifted Virgil onto his lap, he took the opportunity to subtly pat and pinch the diaper through the fabric of his onesie. Definitely wet. With a swell of satisfaction at being correct in his assumption, Patton lowered Virgil to his lap and kissed his head.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed though. Once he was sitting on Patton’s thighs, Virgil immediately whimpered and hid his face behind Meeko.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ Patton reassured, rocking him again. ‘Papa was just checking if you’re still dry.’

The explanation was met with a tiny squeak. Virgil lowered Meeko, revealing his pink cheeks and rattling the toy once more. Though he did not shake it with the same vigour he had earlier; this time Meeko was gently waved to and fro quite lazily. ‘Bababa,’ Virgil mumbled.

Apparently, the diaper check had comforted Virgil and reinforced his younger headspace. Patton sighed and held his baby closer. That was just utterly adorable.

Logan cleared his throat quite pointedly from the other side of the room, and when Patton met his eyes he mouthed silently: Is he dry?

Patton responded with a slight shake of his head. Then, strangely, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Even stranger, Logan mirrored it, and Patton was quite sure they must have been thinking the same thing:

That Virgil had had an accident again, but this time there was no sobbing. There was no hyperventilating. There was no panic attack. In fact, the only indication he had wet himself at all was the fact that he had been pushed back into his sleepy baby state, and that wasn’t a bad thing whatsoever!

Looking down at him now, it was clear to Patton that the diapers were a hugely positive change for Virgil. Despite his lethargic energy, his dimples were showing at the sides of his pacifier which bobbed lazily in his mouth. As he rattled Meeko softly, his eyes sparkled with babyish curiosity. He was calm and happy. It soothed Patton immensely.

oOo

As their time together went on, Patton and Virgil cuddled and played so much that it was impossible for Patton to wipe the cheesy grin from his face. He had rocked Virgil gently, tickled his cheek softly to watch him blush and giggle, dutifully kissed Meeko whenever Virgil held the toy up to Patton with a smile, and now…

‘Are you ready?’ Patton asked in his most exaggerated baby-talk voice. ‘Is my baby ready for more bounces?’

Virgil giggled and kicked his feet a little by Patton’s hips, facing him in his lap. Meeko was hugged tightly to his chest as he nodded.

‘Ahhhh…’ Patton started, securing his grip on Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Bouncy, bouncy baby!’ He bounced his legs on each syllable, making Virgil bob up and down in his lap with little squeals of happiness. ‘What a cute little stormcloud!’

Sweet laughter continued to tumble from behind Virgil’s pacifier. ‘Baba, g-gen!’

‘Again?’ Patton repeated, chuckling. They had been doing this for several minutes by that point, and his legs ached from the constant lifting. But who was he to deny his baby when his eyes glittered with such joy? ‘Okay. Last one, sweetie.’

There was no protest, only a squeak of anticipation. Virgil really was a sweet baby.

‘Ahhhhh… bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy baby!’

Delighted laughter escaped the pair and danced in the air surrounding both of them. Then Virgil smushed his face into Meeko and made a strangled, high-pitched sound. It was a common verbal stim when he was overwhelmed by happiness.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Patton gushed heartily, huddling Virgil closer in his lap and wrapping him in a tight hug. ‘You are the sweetest, squeakiest, most adorable little baby in the whole world.’ He emphasised his point by pressing a great number of kisses to Virgil’s cheek in quick succession.

Virgil suddenly whined quite desperately and pushed at Patton’s chest to be released from his hold. Feeling a rush of concern, Patton held Virgil at arm’s length, still supporting him but trying not to crowd him. ‘I’m sorry, was it a yucky feeling, honey?’ he asked, fearing he had set off Virgil’s sensory sensitivities.

Though Virgil still smiled and promptly held Meeko up in front of Patton’s face. 

Patton bit his tongue through a wide smile. ‘Why hello again, Meeko! Would you like some kissies too?’

‘Mnh,’ Virgil hummed insistently, rattling the toy a little.

Chuckling, Patton leaned forward and pressed a loud, ‘Mwah!’ right on Meeko’s button nose. When he pulled back, Virgil dropped Meeko to his lap and held Patton’s cheeks softly between his hands.

Patton was frozen in place. His brain simply couldn’t handle the adorableness.

‘Dad, Dad, look!’

Patton held Virgil’s hands softly to stop him from squishing his cheeks for a moment. Looking over to the coffee table, he saw that Roman was holding a full deck of Pooh Cards up to him with a triumphant smile.

‘Yay, you won again!’ Patton cheered, laughing when Virgil giggled and poked his cheeks again. ‘Well done, my clever little prince!

‘He’s a complete expert at this game,’ Logan said, stretching his back with a click. It must have been an awkward position to be sat on the floor hunched over the coffee table for so long (though exactly how long Patton wasn’t sure, he didn’t care to check the time.) ‘I don’t think I will ever be able to outsmart you at Pooh Cards, Roman.’

It was clear that Logan had purposefully let Roman win every game from the snippets of laughter and dramatic sighs Patton had heard as they played. Though Roman either hadn’t clocked it or didn’t care about it going by his extreme happiness.

‘How about we have some hunnypots and haycorns to celebrate?’ Patton suggested, knowing the cookies would have been set by then.

‘Why don’t you and Virgil go and pick them for us - only one each,’ Logan hastily added with his eyebrows raised at Patton. It was a fair point to make; as much as he and Logan didn’t care much for sweets and would be happy enough to share one cookie between them, Patton probably would have let the boys have several if that’s what they so wished. He was grateful Logan was there to be a sort of filter for his blind generosity sometimes. ‘Meanwhile, I think Roman and I may need to expel a bit of excess energy.’

By him and Roman, Logan obviously only meant the creative side, who was currently shaking and fidgeting quite energetically in his place on the carpet. It was true that a quiet card game was quite a rare activity for the hyperactive boy, as was obvious by the energy overspilling from him.

Patton nodded, holding Virgil closely against his side as he stood from the armchair. ‘Okay, let’s go pick some yummy cookies for everyone, baby!’

As Patton carried Virgil to the kitchen, he heard Logan set up the soundtrack to The Tigger Movie on the speakers. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of Roman launching to his feet and starting to jump and dance around.

‘All right, can you look up for me, Vee?’ They were stood in front of the rack of multicoloured cookies now. Virgil lifted his head from Patton’s shoulder and made a hum of interest when he saw the treats. ‘Good boy. Now you’ve got a really important job: I need you to pick some pretty cookies for everyone!’

Virgil pointed at himself with a surprise in his eyes.

‘Uh-huh,’ Patton nodded, jostling Virgil further onto his hip with one arm as he picked up a plate from the drying rack.

‘Baba,’ Virgil mumbled, and Patton looked down to see he was pointing at a cookie that had gone slightly wrong. It was originally a haycorn but as the cookies all spread in the oven it had been crowded against the corner of the baking tray, becoming misshapen and wonky. It was coated in pink icing.

‘This one?’ Patton lay the plate on the counter and picked up the cookie to hold it in front of Virgil.

‘Wub!’

‘You love it?’ Patton asked.

Virgil shook his head and pointed at it again. ‘Harp!’

‘Oh, you’re right,’ Patton smiled, looking at the cookie in a new light. ‘It does look like a heart! That means it’s a special love cookie.’

‘Beshul?’

‘Very special.’ He pressed a kiss to Virgil’s head. ‘Just like my special little baby. Do you want this one, honey?’

In response, Virgil suddenly pushed at Patton’s hand and the cookie got lodged between Patton’s teeth. He giggled in surprise, pulling the cookie back out of his mouth. ‘You want this to be Papa’s one?’

‘Wub Papa!’

Just as Patton thought there were no more harsh, icy emotions in him to thaw, he positively melted at Virgil’s innocent love confession. He smiled and placed the cookie on the plate. ‘I love you too, baby. I think me and Mama can share that one. Now do you wanna pick one for your brother?’

After some quite serious deliberation, Virgil had decided on a green haycorn for his brother and a yellow hunnypot for himself. Patton carried both his baby and the plate of haycorn cookies back to the living room. The hunnypot cookie was held in Virgil’s fingers as he suckled on the edge of it (Patton had stored his pacifier in the pocket of his cardigan, making a mental note to invest in a pacifier clip for the future). It seemed their bouncing game had tired him out once more, as Virgil’s head promptly dropped back to Patton’s shoulder once his task was complete.

‘I’m putting your cookies on the table, you two,’ Patton announced over the sound of Tigger’s theme song once they had returned to the living room. He swerved himself and Virgil around Roman as he bounced (and Logan who bounced only when Roman looked at him, then stopped once Roman looked away), careful not to bump anyone as he lay the plate on the coffee table.

Patton then settled into the middle of the couch with a sigh, letting Virgil drop to his lap again. Thankfully the music was not overly loud and Virgil seemed unbothered by it as he sucked quite lazily on his cookie.

‘Is that yummy, sweetheart?’

The soggy cookie left Virgil’s lips and was held up to Patton’s. He humoured his baby by pretending to nibble it and humming in enthusiastic approval. ‘Ooh, that’s lovely! Mm-mm, very yummy. Thank you, Vee.’

It satisfied Virgil as he smiled and continued sucking on it himself, nuzzling further into Patton’s hold.

Soon Roman had gotten tired of bouncing and Logan switched the music to set up the next chapter of their Winnie-the-Pooh audiobook, claiming that it was quiet time now.

While Logan was preoccupied, Roman had finished his cookie deftly in three bites (making Patton giggle) then he approached the couch quite shyly. ‘Dad, can I…’

‘You wanna cuddle too?’ Patton asked softly, smiling in encouragement.

The acknowledgement of Roman’s unspoken request was apparently enough permission for him and he practically jumped into the spot beside Patton.

‘Excuse me, I believe you are in my spot,’ Logan announced on his way back to the couch. As Roman made a noise of offence, Logan pulled him up from the seat to collapse into it himself.

‘Hey, I was -’ Roman started whining, but cut himself off with a yelp when Logan swiftly tugged him back down into his own lap. Roman’s cheeks flushed pink and he clammed up.

‘You were saying?’ Logan asked in a lightly teasing tone.

Patton shook his head at their silliness. It was strange that whenever the two showed affection to each other they seemed to want to set it off with jokes and teasing. Though as Patton rocked Virgil in his lap delicately, he realised it wasn’t really for him to judge how they showed affection. As long as his family was happy, he was happy. And it was clear from Virgil’s sleepy hums and Roman’s blushing cheeks bunched in a smile and Logan’s soft chuckles that his family were all perfectly happy.

His gaze dawdled a little on his partner until Logan’s eyes met his and softened, crinkling with a smile. Patton bit his lip and looked down, feeling bizarrely like a shy, lovestruck teenager.

‘Dad, can I have a kiss?’

The question threw Patton a little, not ever having heard such a blunt request for affection from Roman. It was unexpected but made Patton extremely proud of his son for being brave enough to ask.

‘Of course, little prince!’ He leaned up slightly to press a firm kiss to Roman’s cheek, noting a very light stubble there.

‘And now Vee!’ Roman immediately cried once Patton had sunk back to his seat.

Patton chuckled at Roman’s strange antics, but complied, pressing a softer kiss to Virgil’s head. The baby squeaked and buried his cheek further into Patton’s shoulder. Some gingerbread crumbs littered Patton’s cardigan, but he hardly cared.

Then Roman spoke again, ‘Now Mom!’ His voice was all childish innocence, whereas his eyes screamed pure scheming adult.

A short, surprised huff escaped Patton as he looked over to Logan. His cheeks felt warm.

‘Well,’ Logan hummed, his lips pulling into a shy, crooked smile, ‘I suppose you have kissed everyone else.’ He looked down at Patton expectedly. ‘It’s only fair, right?’

Patton thought his face would split in two with how he beamed with a smile. No more hiding, no more sneaking around. Not needing to be told twice, he pushed forward, thankful that Logan leaned down to meet him in a quick kiss. It was entirely chaste, lasting a fraction of the time all of their previous kisses had done, but it lingered in Logan’s blush and Patton’s smile as they pulled back from each other.

The look of absolute calm in Logan’s eyes instilled such an overwhelming feeling of content in him that Patton had to take a slow, measured breath. Everything is going to be all right, Logan’s eyes seemed to whisper. I love you and I believe in you, I believe in us, and I believe in our family. We’re all going to be all right.

And Patton believed that. He knew things weren’t perfect, that they might never be. That Roman would not overcome his insecurities overnight, that Logan was still struggling to balance sternness and playfulness, that Virgil still struggled with asking for help and that they would have to deal with the repercussions of Virgil coming out of this new headspace likely confused. Reluctantly, Paton also acknowledged that there might have been something to his own caregiver headspace that was less than ideal if his jealousy and clinginess earlier were anything to go by.

Still, in that exact moment, everything was fine. They weren’t going anywhere. They would continue to be a family no matter what. They had plenty of time to address these difficult things. Presently, Patton just wanted to appreciate the rest of the evening in peace.

‘Is everyone ready?’ Logan asked, holding his phone up to show that the audiobook was ready to play.

Virgil breathed deeply, still sucking his cookie. Roman nodded and scurried back in Logan’s lap to lean back against him.

When Logan’s questioning gaze turned to him, Patton simply nodded and shuffled on the couch to rest his head on Logan’s shoulder. ‘Ready.’

A gentle kiss from Logan pressed to his head and Patton held Virgil closer with one arm while reaching to hold Roman’s hand with the other. He knew now that the perfect family wasn’t possible. Though being surrounded by the three people he held dear in his heart, Patton also knew that this was the closest anyone could get.

‘Chapter Ten, in which Christopher Robin gives a Pooh Party, and we say good-bye…’ 

⤛ The End ⤜

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Bonus chapter

[zodiyack]

The Artist Behind His Heart

Requested by @morganofthecoves1: Hi! Can I request a Roman Sionis x plus size reader oneshot, if your ok with it. I had the idea that the reader is the one who created most of the art Roman owns. He takes her out for meals and invites her around to 'talk' about art but really he actually likes her. The reader is insecure so she doesn't realise that he flirts with her but she is also wary of him because she's heard rumours about him (AKA he kills people). Thanks!

Pairing: Roman Sionis x Plus sized!Female!Artist!Reader

Warnings: Insecurities, mention of the peeling of faces (it’s Roman guys), swearing, fluff, slight accidental ooc Roman(?), not proofreading

Note: I apologize if this is sucky, again, I ran into a bit of a block. I hope you like it apart from that! And I’m so sorry this took a bit! I’ve been busy and had some more tough writer’s block, but I’m pushing past it! Again, I’m sorry if this is eh

taglist: @stardancerluv @matth1w​ @redspaceace​

masterlist

Roman checked the clock before heading out, fixing his hair and breathing heavily. He breathed into his hand, then popped in a mint. Sionis, sprucing up? It’s a normal sight, but not as normal as him being nervous as he did so. Like a teen boy going to pick up his first date, he was a bit panicky.

Y/n was the woman who did his artwork for him, most of it at least. She was a cute lady, one that Roman had the feels for. He often enjoyed going and eating with her, preferably in places that didn’t know him all too well. He wanted to avoid scaring the girl away, wanted desperately for this to last, and possibly, evolve into something more.

The driver followed his directions, taking him to some random restaurant Victor recommended. There she sat, waiting by the door, sketchbook in hand. He found himself smiling, her state of distraction allowing him to look over her features without being weird. He admired her, her body, her art, and with his eyes- he admired every bit of her every time they met up.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the guts to ask her out quite yet. Roman was known for peeling the face free from whomever it was that wronged him. Or just lose his temper so bad they had to do it in the end. He wouldn’t be able to take it if Y/n rejected him, so he couldn’t take the chance.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t just demand it of her, it was because he didn’t want to. He always got everything he wanted. Y/n was a bit shy, and was frequently confused by his flirting. Maybe, for once, Roman could get something on his own? It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, Roman was determined.

“Hello, darling.”

Her head shot up, her eyes were the size of saucers. “Hello! I’m sorry if I’m in the way.”

“Don’t fear, dearest, you’re nowhere near in the way. Come, I hate to prevent you from eating any longer.” He walked over to the door and held it open for her, smiling genuinely as she walked past him into the building.

Roman spoke to the waiter, asking for a seat in the spot Y/n liked most, wanting to make her happy. The waiter led them to their seats and handed them menus. “What will you be having, my dear?”

“Uhm... probably the f/f, please.” She smiled shyly and looked down, returning to her sketchbook while she waited for Roman to order.

“So, Y/n, any new projects for me?”

“Actually, yes! I was thinking, perhaps a portrait of you and Mr. Zsasz? Or maybe a new sculpture? You said last time that you wanted more, but you didn’t specify what you wanted more of, so I drew whatever came to my mind.”

She flipped her sketchbook around and let him look through it, nibbling on her lip with anticipation. Roman took his time on each page, not even bothering to hide the smile that grew on his lips. Once he had finished looking through it, he handed it back to her.

“Shit, those are nice!” Y/n thanked him and went back to her sketchbook. An idea popped into his head after the silence took over. “Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask, are you seeing someone?”

She blushed and looked away, “No.”

“No? Why would a beautiful woman like you be all alone?” He chuckled for a second, “Then again, no one deserves your beauty and talent.”

“Mr. Sionis-”

“Please, call me Roman.”

“Roman, I don’t understand.”

He folded his hands an reclined in his seat. “Don’t understand what?”

Before she could answer, the food was delivered. Roman almost snapped at the waiter for interrupting Y/n, but remembered the exact reason that he Victor chose the place. He wanted to prevent Y/n from seeing the side of him he thought she was most likely to fear, and his emotions were no exception. It took everything, literally everything, in him not to yell. But Y/n was worth it.

“This is good...” Y/n mumbled after a bit. Their food was almost finished and Roman had yet to talk to her about his feelings. “So...what other projects would you like me to work on?”

“Why would I need you to work on anything when there’s already a work of art right in front of me?”

She looked around, still oblivious to his advances. “I guess. This places has some cool works... I should ask who their artist is, maybe I could get some advice from them, ya know?”

Roman sighed. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t getting his hints. They were becoming more and more obvious too. “Sure. Uh, Y/n, have I ever told you how extraordinary you are?”

“Every time, Mr-” she corrected herself before she could say his last name, “Roman. I just don’t know why you do.”

“Because it’s true. Just like when I say how beautiful you are. I’m an honest man, Y/n.”

“I- I never said you weren’t- my apologies, Roman.”

He frowned. “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for, it’s me actually. I can see now that you aren’t interested, yet I keep fucking pushing it. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

She stopped, completely caught off guard by his sentence. “Excuse me?” Her tone probably came of the wrong way, as Roman looked hurt. “No! I mean, no, I didn’t mean it that way...”

The waiter came by to give them a check, then took it back after Roman filled everything out with visible annoyance towards the interruption. The boy turned and left as quickly as he cold.

“Well what way did you mean it then?” He could feel his patience growing thinner, with himself and Y/n.

“I was just curious- you said that I’m not interested? Interested in what?”

Relief. Maybe he did have a chance after all. “I’ve been flirting, Y/n. You don’t react the way I thought you would, so, after a while, I thought you weren’t interested.”

“What?”

“Flirting? The thing you do when you’re romantically interested in someone?”

She rolled her eyes with a small smirk, “I know what flirting is. I’m just... confused. Why you... would flirt... with me.”

“Who wouldn’t flirt with you? You’re fucking breathtaking!” Roman spoke as if her not knowing her own beauty was a personal offense to him. And honestly, he felt it was. “Here, how about this, you let me take you on an actual date, no art, no business, just romance?”

Y/n averted her gaze to think. There were pros and cons to being with Roman Sionis, one major con was the rumors of things he did. Would she want to get involved with that kind of life? Would he force her to get involved?

Then again, Roman was kind to her, saw past her exterior and into her heart. There isn’t that many kind of people in Gotham, especially as many as handsome as Roman.

‘If anything bad happens, I still had my rights of backing out,’ she told herself.

“Y/n?”

“Alright. It’s a date...” He helped her pack up her art supplies, and held the door for her as they exited the restaurant. “But Roman?”

“Yes?”

“Why, exactly, are you asking me out?” It still bothered her. Was he using her as a dare? Was he just using her for her work? He was Roman fucking Sionis, he could do anything he wanted, yet he could use her without her even knowing it.

His smile dropped and his brows raised. “Why?” Roman chuckled loudly. Y/n was thankful they were outside and not in the crowded place anymore. “Look at you! You’re talented, kind, smart, funny! All of you is gorgeous! I’ve been dying to ask you out for a while!”

“You have?”

“Well... yes. Wasn’t it obvious? The consistent flirting and offers?”

Although Y/n hid the blush on her face by looking down, Roman cupped her cheek softly and tilted her head upwards to look at him. They held eye contact for what felt like forever, their orbs were studying each other so intensely, before he finally leaned in and touched his lips to hers.

Y/n was taken aback with shock, but quickly recollected herself and wrapped her arms around his neck. When they separated, Y/n giggled shyly, the blush on her face had spread.

“Don’t hide..you’re beautiful, angel. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, at 7, deal?”

She nodded eagerly. “Deal.”

[hp-crossgenfest]

2020 HP Cross Gen Fest Masterlist & Reveals

And now the moment we've all been waiting for…​ reveals!

Thank you so very much to everyone who has made this fest such an amazing success! Everyone who submitted stories and art, and those who read, reviewed and recced: You guys are the best! And an extra big thank you to those of you who made that extra effort to comment on all the wonderful creations. <3 <3 <3

It's been so much fun getting to post everybody's works and seeing so much wonderful support for HP cross gen; I hope you all enjoyed the fest as much as we did! 

Without further ado, here's a list of all the wonderful participants who worked so hard to create such glorious things for this year's fest!

ART

MyWitch drew absolution [Aberforth/Severus | Mature] Snape is released after a couple of years in Azkaban; the terms of his parole include apologizing in person to Albus Dumbledore’s brother. His stoicism falls apart in the face of Aberforth’s forgiveness.

@paulamcg​ drew A Portrait with Someone New [Luna/Remus | Teen] Luna and Remus happily expecting (in 2004).

@gee-nx​ drew Extra Credit [Hermione/Teddy | Explicit] Teddy has trouble concentrating in Prof. Granger-Weasley's class. However will he manage to make up the extra credit?

@defenestrationisthekey​ drew A day in the sun [Harry/Severus | General] Severus has been turned into a merman without his consent. Harry still accepts them and helps them reconcile the change, see its benefits, and get some of their own back.

@paulamcg​ drew One Bright Day [Amelia/Tonks | General] Amelia and Tonks meeting under an umbrella and a rainbow.

@motherofmercury​ drew What Lily Knew [Draco/Lily Luna | General] Draco and Lily attend the same adult art class, but it isn't until he sees her finished piece that he understands what Lily knew all along.

FIC

@ac1d6urn​ wrote Talk to Me [Harry/Severus | Explicit] Sentenced to serve his time in Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape is startled out of his depression by the inevitable fights during Potter's frequent visits. What will he say to the man when he is free to walk out into the Wizarding World and speak his mind?

@malenkayacherepakha​ wrote Everything he's ever wanted [Harry/Teddy | Explicit] Teddy had hoped that a few years in Australia would be enough to cure him of his feelings for Harry, but when he returns home and gets some unexpected news, he can't stop the feelings rushing back. The only difference is, this time he might actually have a chance.

ThePeanutButterKid wrote The Apprenticeship [Draco/Lily Luna | Explicit] Prompt: Draco always gets what he wants. Even if he has to take it by force.

@gracerene09​ wrote Battleline [Draco/James Sirius | Explicit] The wizarding world believes James Sirius Potter works for his uncle as a Curse-Breaker, but the truth is that he's one of the Auror Department's most effective undercover agents. After months of waiting he's finally got a new case, but this assignment involves him going in as himself, without the disguises he's come to rely on. More importantly, he's meant to be taking down the one person long-suspected of being the most influential wizard in Britain's criminal underworld: Draco Malfoy.

@theslytherinheart​ wrote Truth from Dare [Harry/Scorpius | Teen] During a late night game of Truth or Dare after a fun Saturday out with Albus, Rose, and their friends, Scorpius finds himself being kissed by Harry Potter as a dare. But it's just a game, right?

Evandar wrote we who walk in shadows black [Harry/Lord Voldemort | Mature] In which Harry Potter is a vicious little gremlin who knows too much, and Lord Voldemort adores him for it.

Lilian wrote Advanced Lunacy [Harry/Severus | Mature] Luna accidentally discovers something, and now the whole Wizarding World is abuzz about it. Meanwhile, Snape keeps appearing in Harry's dreams frequently.

@siriuslythatbitch wrote There's No Such Thing as Getting Out of Hand [Narcissa/Pansy | Explicit] When Narcissa Malfoy finds herself confronted with a tempting treat all grown up, will she quash her appetite or sink her teeth in?

@lordofthegoods wrote The Most Expensive Date [Harry/Scorpius | Explicit] Harry just wanted a quiet evening at home, instead he is being auctioned off at a charity event like a piece of meat. Prepared to have a terrible night, Harry is incredibly relieved when the highest bidder turns out to be none other than Scorpius Malfoy—a nice boy who couldn’t possibly have an ulterior motive... right?

@likelightinglass wrote the gentleness that comes [Harry/Severus | Explicit] There's something bothering Severus, and Harry wants to help. It's easier for Severus to let go when he's exploring his submissive side, so Harry plans a weekend to show him just how loved he is, and how much Harry wants to care for him.

@ivyentwined wrote A Technicality [Hermione/Rabastan/Regulus | General] A ritual to cleanse Hermione's new house has unexpected consequences.

@sistersblack wrote a little bit of grit [Draco/Severus | Mature] Draco is a contract potioneer who specialises in medical research. Severus is... not dead, for one.

@freddie-fox-baxter wrote Vacanze Romane [Harry/Scorpius | Explicit] When he let Scorpius help plan his vacation, Harry had no idea just how involved he would be.

torino10154 wrote Her Pleasure [Draco/Lily Luna & Harry/Narcissa | Explicit] He likes to please his woman.

ivermectin wrote no wrong answers [Harry/Remus/Sirius | Explicit] It's almost five years since the war ended, and after an intense bout of aimless wandering and travel, Harry's come back home and is living at Grimmauld Place with Remus and Sirius. Their relationship fills him up with warmth - they deserve to be happy, and it's obvious that he wants what they have. But maybe, just maybe, Harry wants more than a relationship like the one Remus and Sirius have. Maybe he wants that relationship. Maybe he wants them.

@sportivetricks​ wrote Gouge Away [Millicent/Victoire | Teen] The Weasley girl has developed a keen fascination with Millicent's woodworking shop. Millicent can't seem to get rid of her, no matter how hard she tries.

@articcat621 wrote Late One Night [Hermione/Kingsley | Explicit] Late one night, Hermione finally makes her move. 

slowroad wrote Hyperion [Harry/Scorpius | General] Scorpius is a Veela and Harry is his mate.

Evandar wrote Summer Rain [Harry/Regulus | Explicit] A rainy day gives Harry the perfect opportunity to seduce Regulus.

pauraque wrote Summer Heat [Lily Luna/Luna | Explicit] A unexpected visit from Lily's godmother makes a boring summer weekend suddenly a lot less boring.

@liladiurne wrote On the Deficiencies of Translation Spells [Harry/Severus | Explicit] Divorced, single, and free, Harry lives a completely unapologetic life in Paris. Between casual hook-ups and an easy, comfortable job, he likes to think he is as close to happiness as he'll ever be. And when he gets offered a teaching job at the prestigious Académie Beauxbâtons, he thinks he may have found exactly what was missing. But Harry is thoroughly unprepared for what he finds there - a familiar face that's been haunting his dreams for six years.

@goldenzingy46 wrote Save Me From Her Stone-Cold Gaze [Harry/Tom Riddle | General] Tom Riddle has spent years looking for the Chamber of Secrets, and he's glad he can finally purge the school of Mudbloods. At least, that was the plan. It turns out the basilisk wasn't happy to be controlled, and Tom is forced to make a deal with the Master of Death (and maybe fall in love with him).

@epsilonargus wrote break on me like light [Charlie/Sirius | Mature] When the Order brings Sirius Black to Charlie, the man is still covered in the grime of Azkaban. A story wherein Sirius is still a little broken, calls Charlie kid, and Charlie is far too sweet.

@lordofthegoods wrote Fire for You [Harry/Scorpius | Explicit] Nothing can make them keep their hands off each other.

@evenmyzefronposter wrote Waving Through A Window, Suddenly [Harry/Severus | Explicit] Severus Snape was alive and free and perfectly satisfied with his life. He stayed away from other people and he did what he wanted. And if he felt like he was looking through a window at everyone else, that was alright, because he didn't need them anyway. Until Harry Potter moved in across the street, that is. Suddenly, just looking through the window wasn't enough for Severus anymore.

azyxy wrote Trying not to think [Hermione/Teddy | Explicit] She couldn't even remember the last time her and Ron had left the lights on during sex, let alone the last time he’d complimented her, so watching Teddy struggle to keep his hands to his side while she stepped out of her dress was quite the ego boost.

mindabbles wrote Puddlemere’s New Man [Oliver/Teddy | Explicit] Teddy is willing to put in the work. He’s willing to practice twice as hard as anyone else, except that no one can out-work Oliver — a fact that Teddy finds he doesn’t mind in the least.

@clemandben wrote Maybe I'm Amazed [Albus Severus/Draco | Explicit] Albus Potter never set out to fall in love with Draco Malfoy. A small story telling how Albus and Draco came to be married. On their wedding night they dance, talk and make love.

@dwell-on-dreams wrote Learning to Fly [Harry/Severus | Mature] Post-war, Severus is found not guilty, but due to the stigma in the Wizarding world, he decides to live life as a Muggle, leaving everything (but his wand) behind. Harry is overwhelmed, barely having any time to grieve, he keeps being recognised in the street and strangers ask too much of him. He finds solace in the Muggle world, finally exploring who he is without the threat of death, he finds himself in a Muggle kink club watching Severus Snape tying up a young man, and he wants.

@theslytherinheart wrote Best Man [Harry/Scorpius | Mature] In the years since his divorce from Ginny, Harry Potter hasn't cared much for dating, let alone had feelings for anyone strong enough to pursue. Now that his son's wedding is on the horizon, the Best Man, Scorpius Malfoy, has been spending extra time getting input from the Father of the Groom. And Harry finds he doesn't mind Scorpius' constant company one bit.

hannelore wrote The Ache For Love Was Palpable [Lily/Minerva | Mature] Lily once had a crush no one ever knew about. She thought it was just a schoolgirl pash on a favorite professor, but working for the Order throws her and McGonagall constantly together. Even though she's a married woman now, Lily's feelings for Minerva come back in a rush, even stronger than before. "I didn't know then what I wanted, but the ache for it was palpable." - Sue Monk Kidd, The Mermaid Chair

@emansil wrote Fields of Strawberries [Harry/Remus | Explicit] As much as Remus has done for Harry over the years, this is the least he could do. Little did Harry know what he would discover about himself when he volunteered to marry Remus so he could keep custody of his infant son Teddy.

@avioleta wrote Writing Harry [Harry/Severus | Explicit] After the war, Harry Potter begins writing letters to Severus.

[level247-table-tech]

here are the sprites on their own! not all of them, but there are way too many to fit up there. i’m leaving the rest under the cut.

others include significantly asymmetrical sprites, as well as a bonus set. 8)

these don’t really clarify their relative heights. they are not adjusted to the bottom pixel i actually drew for sure, that’s not how i aligned them. i actually have a guideline in the file, but. i can’t really show that.

above are the regular sprites. it took ages to figure out what i wanted to do with virgil’s plaid, but it turned out going simple with it was the best plan. also it looked very bad until i figured out to use values correctly.

also, while we’re at it, i can tell you some things i changed between projects! this is a remaster of my last attempt at pixelology, and i do  believe it’s an overall improvement.

virgil’s plaid, yeah, changed that, but also the colour of his hair, because the old one blended too much with his skin. glad that happened to virgil, because i was trying to keep the hair highlights the same for everyone, with differently-tinted shadows. i did give him a bat instead of the wings this time, because a, he seems like a bat kind of guy, and b, the wings sucked and i don’t think i could improve them. like, the best thing about those wings is that they were the ace flag colours, and since his general colour scheme is already like that, it’s not a spectacular saving grace. they also made the frame fit weird, but i don’t like drawing wings absurdly small, like why bother? i alos tried to be a bit more competent with the jacob lines in his shading. those are an indicator of fear so of course i wanted to keep them included, but last time i feel like i didn’t do great, and this time i think i improved. especially on the legs. it is kind of a pain how there are adjacent sections where the shadows are done in the same colour, but. that’s really who virgil is, let’s be real. wouldn’t be the same without the all-black clothes.

also, patton’s different skin tones were really bad, you could barely see the shadows, so i changed them. his overall shape also did not work, so this time i stylized it a bit more to fit with the pixels. also i gave him a different weapon. hopefully it’s still funny in its incongruity!

roman had very little change. like, i really like his original sprite! i did change some of the gold details, but the biggest thing is probably the pants. they’re white with a red stripe because, a, it looks very good, and b, it set up a parallel with remus.

and remus. most obviously in the first one, his different head angle super didn’t work. it was very bad! which, in his case doesn’t automatically rule it out, but this one looks way better next to the majority of these. i mentioned relative heights earlier and this one should actually be the same height as roman, you can align them by their chins. aside from that, i added a lot mor detail to his ruffles, i tried my best to maintain clarity on his torso, i got the sleeves just plain wrong, but it looks fine, and it happened to be very good art that led me astray on that, so whatever. i feel like his morningstar might have gotten worse between versions, but what can you do. maybe i accidentally put it at a slightly harder angle to make look nice. whatever.

logan! i don’t think i’m doing these in any real order, sorry. like patton, his shape has been changed to be more stylized to fit the pixel thing. like, a realistic taper on the legs, as it turns out, looks pretty bad! exaggerate it or make it just straight lines and it is better. i feel like i very much improved his hair, and i also added the belt that he wears which i forgot last time.

lastly, janus. well, lastly for now, but the next one won’t be a remaster of anything. i gave him his canon weapon instead of snakes, which, not sure what i was thinking gameplay-wise for those. [that’s a lie, i was thinking nothing about gameplay because i am no gamemaker. i’m not even an animator, much as i’d like to be.] when i made his last sprite, i forgot the lining of his cape is yellow. also last time i had not seen the magnificent longer cape from the game sections of svsr, which as i’ve mentioned elsewhere i am never letting go of, ever. so that features here. it kind of blends with the backgrounds i use for the vs character selection screens, but i don’t think that’s necessarily a downside. aside from that, i did remove some scales from his right hand because we have now seen it, and it’s proven bereft of those. as you’ll see in a second though, fortunately no such thing can be said of his legs. nor upper arm.

now for the bonus set. you may recognize this theme if you’ve followed this project awhile. 8)

some notes on these specifically:

-this is simply a complete set based on janus’ bonus sprite from the original project this is remastering.

-i tried to base the colours on their onesies. that proved harder than expected. remus and janus have no shown onesies, but

>i had janus’ previous sprite on hand, so that was him taken care of.

>virgil’s onesie didn’t really have multiple colours, so it’s just different shades of black, with some grey thrown in because white is already a base colour.

>logan’s, oh boy, i thought i remembered it having two colours, but i was wrong, it is just blue. and white, but again, that doesn’t work. so i gave him a couple of shades.

>patton’s, i didn’t really want to use grey as a colour, but it actually had two others, they were just in trace amounts. it was okay.

>remus. nghh. i wanted to use like, an inverted version of roman’s colours, but it turns out blue and yellow inverted is yellow and blue. so i used the orthogonal colours instead, and i’m not really sure it was a good look.

-aside from colour schemes, each of these has its own little variation, because i felt like having fun. aside from any kind of socks/leggings, because whatever, those are pretty variable anyway, each has one detail different. from most to least noticeable as i see it:

>patton has pants instead of a skirt. i just thought the look suited him better. the thing about patton is i always imagine him in Dad Fashion, which doesn’t have a ton of skirts in my mind. maybe that’s just my dad, but eh. i do think it’s a good look but i didn’t draw it very well.

>roman has a different crown. need i explain further? adding the others’ crowns was a bit of a pain considering how they interact with hair that isn’t drawn in anime style.

>virgil’s might not be too noticeable on its own, but the leggings kind of direct the eye there. he’s wearing his own boots instead of any variety of sailor scout ones. mostly because they are much, much cooler.

>logan has a different collar. closer to his usual polo than... whatever the sailor collar is actually called. he also might not have the same choker necklace as everyone else, but mostly you just can’t tell. still tied with a weird bow thing, though. how the hell do those bow accessories work?

>janus has a longer cape. again, need i explain further? he’s also the only one with a magical girl wand, because his colour scheme* was the most permitting and i really wanted to draw coily ribbons.

>remus is kind of like virgil with the leggings, but again, those don’t count, and with remus they draw attention away from his change. anyways, the different thing about his outfit is the sleeves. i only noticed long after i was out of the pixel stage that none of the sleeves are accurate, but his are even more not accurate, they do the poof thing. also his neckline’s a bit lower, but i mean, how could i not?

-i might assemble a full scene with these, if anybody asks. or nobody, i kinda just want to. it’s not too much trouble, but it won’t be animated this time, that took ages and i don’t think it even turned out well. i gotta find somewhere to actually get taught things about animation, though it also just does not gel with my medium.

-i can’t for most of these, but for janus i can talk about some improvements. his crown looks more visible, though that might just be compared to this side of his face. the skirt is not better and might be worse to be honest. also the bow on his chest. other than that it’s definitely better for the gloves actually being incorporated in this one.

*i do actually have set colour schemes for these. i tried to even limit the number of colours for each one. that said, most of them have exactly 17 instead of the nice power of two 16, and one of them couldn’t even fit that bill.

[stormcrawler75]

Wooing a Light Side Part 1

Summary: Virgil gets captured by Pride, the fearsome Dragon Witch of the Mindscape. Only he may not be as fearsome as everyone thinks.

Notes: Okay, so, this was created before Remus was revealed and I used Pride. This was also created before Virgil was officially revealed as a Dark Side so I have him as a Light Side here. I still wanted to post this though and I really hope that you all like it.

Warnings: Pre-AA, mentions of Deceit.

Wordcount: 10,221

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Virgil sighed and curled tightly in on himself, looking around the room he had been locked in. The room was dark but cozy, with a large bed pressed up against the wall and a fireplace roaring across from it. There was a plushy loveseat by the fireplace and a chessboard in front of it. In any other circumstance, Virgil would be glad to be in a place like this! It was just so beautiful!

But, Virgil wasn’t here by choice. He was a prisoner in Pride, otherwise known as the Dragon Witch’s castle.

It had been a total accident that he was here in the first place. The others had ventured into Roman’s realm for a nice picnic with, as Roman had spat, “no Anxiety around to ruin everything.”

Virgil had decided to roam through the Subconscious checking for any signs of Dark Sides sneaking around the Light Side. It was his job and Virgil took it very seriously. He had meant to go straight back to his room afterward to avoid meeting the others on their way back and having to see their bright smiles and the grass stains on their clothes from running around and having so much fun with each other as a family that Virgil wasn’t a part of.

But, he had forgotten one thing. The Subconscious was connected to the Imagination. Roman’s realm. One wrong step sent you right into the Imagination if you weren’t careful and Virgil had been so focused on checking for threats that he hadn’t noticed something was different until he realized that there were stone walls around him now instead of the grey wall of mist of the Subconscious.

It had taken only a few seconds of him stretching out his senses to realize that he was in the Imagination now. Now, that normally wouldn’t be so bad. Virgil had accidentally gone into all of the other’s realms before. Hell, he knew the Imagination so well that he could have sneaked out faster than Princey could recite one of those poems he liked so much. He might not have been able to sink out directly to his room since it was Roman’s realm but that never stopped him before. He knew other ways.

But he hadn’t factored in one thing. The thought that had sent him straight into the subconscious, was one about the Dragon Witch. A name that Roman had come out with for the Side that also had power over the Imagination, though not as much as the Creative side.

Virgil had not taken the discovery well. He had taken being captured by small dragons that came up to his knees and knowing that no one would come for him even worse.

The Dragons had brought him to the cushy room and had locked him in. Virgil had begged them to let him go but all they said, in a low and raspy voice, that the King had ordered for him to be kept in comfort until he himself could speak to Virgil.

Virgil sniffed and hugged one of the pillows to his chest. His hoodie was wet from the fog of the Subconscious and it had been sticking to his skin so he had taken it off and laid it out to dry in front of the fireplace, leaving him in his jeans, that had dried quickly, and a black long-sleeved shirt.

He flopped down on his side with his back to the door and buried his head in his pillow. Tears started to flood his eyes and Virgil bit his lip to stop them from flooding. He really wanted to believe that the other Light Sides would come to save him. That Roman would burst in on a white horse with his sword out to slay the Dragon Witch. That Logan would come to use his smarts to navigate the castle in their escape. That Patton would pull him into a tight hug and assure him that everything was going to be okay.

But Virgil wasn’t a part of their family. Virgil was Anxiety and how many times had they wished that he would disappear? As far as they were probably concerned, Virgil was right where he should be.

Virgil had been so many lost in thought that he didn’t notice the creaking of the door to his room cell or notice the eyes watching him. His eyes had actually just started to close when the sound of a hand closing the door startled him. He yelped and jerked up. Virgil whirled around to see him, Pride. The Dragon Witch.

Pride was looking at him with intrigued blood-red eyes. Like all of the Sides, he resembled Thomas but with differences. Pride’s eyes were red with brown hair hanging in front of them. He was dressed in black robes with red accents and was about 6 foot, a whole foot taller than Virgil. But, the things that drew Virgil’s gaze was the dull blue horns on his head and the same coloured tail that was peeking out of his robes.

Virgil’s breath hitched and he tangled his hands in the sheets of the bed. He slouched and ducked his head, not wanting to meet Pride’s eyes. He flinched when footsteps started to echo closer to him and his hands started to shake a little. Pride stopped right at the edge of his bed and studied Virgil intently. Virgil’s eyes flicked up and then it was like he couldn’t look away.

“So,” Pride said, “you are Anxiety.”  His voice was smooth and curious and it only served to make Virgil’s nerves spike.

Virgil swallowed and nodded, frozen with fear. It didn’t escape his notice though that Pride didn’t ask for his name or offer his own.

Pride hummed and his tail flicked back and forth. “I see. And, what is a Light Side doing in my castle?” His voice got a little more dangerous. “Did Creativity send you, little lamb? Did he send you to cause trouble in my castle?”

“No,” Virgil whispered, unable to speak any louder. “N-no. He doesn’t know I’m h-here. Roman doesn’t let me in the Imagination. It was an, an accident.”

Pride’s eyebrows shot up. “An accident? Is that what happened, little one?” He raised a hand to his chin and Virgil got a good look at the sharp red nails that looked a little like talons. “I fail to see how this is an accident. Explain it to me.”

Virgil sat up straighter, pulling his knees up to his chest in an attempt to comfort himself. He was not in a position to not answer a simple question just because he was terrified scared. “I was checking out the boundaries of the Light Side,” he muttered, “to make sure that Deceit wasn’t sneaking around again.”

Virgil had expected a lot of things. He had expected more questions or maybe even torture for getting in the way of a Dark Side. What he didn’t expect was a grin to stretch across Pride’s face.

“You’re the little Side whose been giving Deceit so much trouble? Shooing him away from the boundaries?” Pride asked. He smiled wider when Virgil nodded shyly and Pride plopped down on the bed, keeping plenty of space between the two of them. “With the way Deceit’s been grumbling, I would’ve thought you would a lot taller. More muscle too. Maybe with a big sword like the one Prince Pompous has.”

The nickname for Roman made a startled snort burst out of Virgil and he quickly held a hand up to hide his smile. For a brief moment, he had forgotten that he was Pride’s prisoner.

Pride huffed out a little laugh and he shook his head. “I simply can’t believe that a little Side like you have been defending the Light Side so well.” Pride quickly held up his hands in defence. “Not that I would ever attack the Light Side. The only one who ever does that is Deceit and even he has no plans to truly attack it. He just likes to cause some mischief.”

“Yeah, well,” Virgil shrugged and glanced away, “I’m quick. Quicker than that snake.”

That answer sent Pride into a laughing fit, absolutely startling Virgil out of his skin. Pride threw his head back and clapped his hands on his knees and howled with laughter. Virgil stared at Pride in shock. Pride’s horns were practically quivering with the amount of laughing Pride was doing.

It took about a minute but Pride finally stopped laughing and looked directly at Virgil. Virgil’s breath caught. Before he had only been only to catch a glimpse of the other Side’s face but now he could make out every single detail, including the dark red lipstick that Pride had used on himself.

Pride must’ve noticed his, rather obvious, staring because he leaned a little closer. “So, Why weren’t you with the other Light Sides on their little bonding day?” He asked with a little smirk. “Why would they allow someone as precious as you out of their sight for even a moment?”

Pride’s words might’ve been meant as light and teasing, but all it did was remind Virgil just exactly how much the other Light Sides actually liked him and he looked away, biting his lip. Pride frowned and moved to try and catch Virgil’s eyes. “Little lamb?”

Virgil shook his head once and his hands curled into fists. He kept his gaze down on the bedspread and didn’t speak.

Pride waited for an answer and sighed dramatically when he didn’t get one. “Very well, little Anxiety. You may stay here for tonight and then you can be on your way tomorrow.” Virgil finally looked up at him.

“But,” Virgil protested, “what if Roman finds out I’m here? I’m not allowed in the Imagination!”

But, his protests were waved away by well-manicured hands. “Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Pride said with a smirk. “Creativity may have more power over the Imagination but the Imagination is big and he stretches his power far. I prefer to keep my powers in my land. He won’t know a thing, I promise you.”

Those last words about no one knowing he was here sent Virgil’s heart pumping a little but he managed to take a deep breath. ‘Pride said I can leave tomorrow,’ he reminded himself. ‘Wait until then before you start panicking.’ It didn’t help his peace of mind much but it did help him from panicking too much.

Pride stood up and smoothed down his robes. “Please feel free to explore my castle, though I’d suggest getting some sleep. You look positively exhausted, little lamb.”

Virgil looked over to the door suspiciously. He didn’t know how he thought about the door being open for anyone to be able to just walk on in when he was sleeping. The thought made his insides squirm.

Pride followed his gaze and he nodded. “There are guards from my own Kingsguard at your door. They will not enter your room unless they suspect you’re in danger. You are my guest here tonight.”

“How different is that from being a prisoner?” Virgil asked with a little edge in his voice.

The edge seemed to surprise Pride but also amuse him. He laughed and started making his way out of Virgil’s room “Ohhh, the little kitten has some claws. Don’t you worry. Being a guest in my castle is very different from being a prisoner. For one,” he looked back at Virgil, pausing at the door, “they’re not allowed to keep their comfort items.”

Virgil scrunched up his face. “Comfort items? What the heck are you talking about?”

Pride chuckled and pointed one of his fingers over at the hoodie drying out by the dryer. “I was told that you were clutching at your hoodie when you were brought here and hissed at one of my guards when they attempted to take it from you to dry it properly.” He left before Virgil could say anything back.

Virgil stared at the door for a few minutes and then slowly laid back down on the bed. He was sleeping here for the night, there was no way around that. Virgil would just have to be vigilant for now. No matter what Pride said, and Virgil did think that he was telling the truth, that didn’t mean that his guards wouldn’t listen to him and not come into Virgil’s room to hurt him in the middle of the night.

Virgil pulled his pillow to his chest and took a deep breath. This was going to be a long night.

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“Ser Anxiety!”

  Virgil’s eyes snapped open and he looked over to the door where someone was knocking. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the pleasure of not remembering what happened the day before. Virgil remembered each second of what happened and it only helped him a little from freaking out about being in a strange room. As it was, Virgil could feel himself tensing up.

  “Ser Anxiety!” The knocking came again and Virgil shied back into his bed. “I was told to wake you, Ser Anxiety! King Pride wishes to have a meal with you before you take your leave!”

  Virgil swallowed and slipped out of bed. “Coming,” he called. Virgil winced when his voice cracked. Virgil’s hands were shaking a little so it took a few seconds for him to open up the door when he reached it.

On the other side was one of the Dragons from last night. They came up to Virgil’s knees but Virgil had no doubt that this tiny, baby blue Dragon could absolutely destroy him if he wanted.

The Dragon bowed. “Ser Anxiety, good morning. I use the pronouns he/him, sir.” He nudged the pile of clothes that had been laid between the two of them. “King Pride had clothes made for you to wear for your journey. He’s asked for you to wear them to breakfast.”

Virgil’s stomach twisted and he glanced over to his now dried hoodie. The Dragon caught what he was looking at and he nudged the clothes again. “Lord Pride said that he would not be offended if you tied your hoodie around your waist or shoulders.”

Virgil let out a relieved breath and crouched down, scooping the pile of clothes in his arms. “Okay. Uh, thanks. I’ll be right out.”

The Dragon nodded and backed up. He turned his back to Virgil and sat down, seemingly prepared to wait for him. Virgil closed the doors and sighed. Okay, this was almost over. Just one breakfast with a Dark Side and it’d be done.

He changed into his new clothes quickly and awkwardly left his jeans and T-Shirt folded on his bed. He glanced down at his new clothes and sighed in relief. It was not as flashy as Pride’s own outfit, thank God for that. He was wearing a pair of dark black pants and a royal purple, button up shirt with black buttons. Pride had gifted him with a pair of comfortable black boots that somehow fit Virgil’s style perfectly.

Virgil picked up his black hoodie and tried it around his waist. He really wished that he had finished his new black and purple hoodie but it was still hanging half-finished in the closet in his room. So he had to deal with old reliable.

The Dragon was in the same spot Virgil had left him and glanced up when the door opened. “Follow me, please.”

Virgil followed the Dragon through the halls and tried his best to keep mental notes on which way they kept turning. But, the castle was so big that Virgil really didn’t think it made a difference. So he kept following his Dragon guard until he stopped outside large, ornate doors and bowed to Virgil again.

“Ser Anxiety,” he said, “King Pride is waiting inside for you. He is looking forward to dining with you.”

Virgil took a deep breath and curled his fingers in his hoodie, grounding himself. “Yeah, alright. Uh, thank you for bringing me here.” He nodded awkwardly to the Dragon and then pushed the doors open, stepping inside.

Pride was seated at the head of a long table that was probably meant more for feasts than a for a breakfast for two. There was only one other chair and it was the one closest to Pride. Virgil stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say, but then Pride caught notice of him and stood up beaming. Pride’s blue tail was swishing behind him happily.

“Ah, Anxiety!” He smiled at the Anxious Side and beckoned him closer. “Please join me for some food, my little lamb.”

Virgil walked up to him, digging his nails into his palms nervously. Pride watched him approach and frowned when he saw how stiffly Virgil was walking. “Is everything alright, little one?”

"Yeah,” Virgil mumbled. “I’m good.”

Pride’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “Do I make you nervous, little kitten?”

The cutesy nickname made Virgil scowl and he glared at Pride. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, seconds before thinking that snapping at the Side whose castle he was in with hundreds of Dragon guards was probably a bad idea.

Luckily, Pride just seemed amused by Virgil’s insolence and laughed. “Of course, little one. Sit down and join me for a meal. I had my servants make some breakfast for you before you head on your way.”

Virgil gulped and nodded. Pride drew out his chair from him and pushed it in when Virgil sat down. Virgil watched Pride sit down and his tail sliding through a little hole in the back.

Pride snapped his fingers and plates appeared in front of them both with two pieces of toast with a poached egg on each and a kipper next to them on the plates. “Please, dig in.”

Virgil picked up his fork and knife and cut through one of the eggs, watching it spill out onto the toast. Pride cut off a piece of kipper and ran it through some of the yolk from his own broken egg. “So, Anxiety, you seemed quite upset when I mentioned the Light Sides earlier. Care to share?”

Virgil’s answer was a blunt, “No.” He bit into his piece of toast and narrowed his eyes at Pride. “Why are you asking?”

Pride shrugged. “I am curious on why the other Light Sides would allow such a precious Side like you out into the Subconscious alone. And, Deceit has mentioned several times that you seem like an outcast in our dear Thomas’ videos.”

Virgil glared at him and just barely managed to hold back a hiss. “And so what about it?”

Pride took another bite of his kipper and smirked at Virgil. “Well, as I said, little Anxiety, I’m curious. You are such an essential part of Thomas and yet the others don’t seem to treasure you as such.”

Virgil’s heart started to pound and he swallowed. “What is this?” He hissed. “What, is this some sort of recruitment thing? You want me to betray the Light Sides?”

“First of all,” Pride cut in, pointing his fork full of kipper at Virgil, “I would never ask that of you. Not only would that do nothing for me, as I know you would refuse, but also I have no reason to do that.”

Virgil crossed his arms and huffed. “You’re Roman’s Dark Side though!”

Pride tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Um, yes? I fail to see what this has anything to do with this, Anxiety.”

“It has everything to do with this!” Virgil snapped, waving his arms around. “You’re a Dark Side! Roman’s always talking about how he fights against you to stop trying to take Thomas over, just like the other Dark Sides!”

Pride frowned and when he next spoke, his voice had a bit of an edge to it. “Really? And, why do you believe that we’re attempting to take Thomas over? Have we ever attacked the Light Side? Have we ever done anything terrible to Thomas besides doing our job?”

Virgil flinched back at the hard tone and held onto his fork a little tighter. “No,” he muttered.

Pride seemed to soften at Virgil’s flinch and sighed. “I apologize for snapping, little one. It should be assumed that you would have a negative view of us if you have to listen to his comments all the time.

Virgil crossed his arms. “If this is going to be a big speech about how I should come over and be a Dark Side then you can save it.”

Pride stared at Virgil for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. He rocked back in his chair and threw his head back, horns knocking against his seat. “You!? A, a Dark Side?”

Virgil watched him and, to his surprise, felt a stab of shame. So, Virgil wasn’t good enough to be a Light Side or a Dark Side. Well, there went any drop of self-esteem Virgil had left.

Pride chuckled and wiped at his eyes. “Apologies, my little one, for my outburst. It’s just the thought of you being a Dark Side is amusing to me.”

“Why?” Virgil asked, voice trembling.

Pride narrowed his eyes and smirked playfully. “Because you’re a Light Side. It’s who you are. There’s no changing that.”

Virgil crossed his arms, getting frustrated. He couldn’t count the number of times Roman had dismissed him as being a Light Side. Even Logan and Patton agreed that Virgil was just a little too dark to be one of them. But now sat Pride, an actual Dark Side, saying that he was, 100%, a Light Side. He didn’t know who to believe. “Okay, So, what're the requirements for being a Dark Side?”

Pride shrugged. “To be frank with you, I’m not sure. I just know that you’re not one.” He looked Virgil over, giving him a sultry look. “You practically shine with light. It only adds to your beauty.”

A pink blush stained Virgil’s cheeks and he looked away. “Right,” he squeaked. “Um, yeah. So, I’m a Light Side. Got it.” Virgil put down his half-eaten piece of bread and stood up. He felt overwhelmed with all this information and Pride’s gentle teasing and flirting. “I, uh, should probably get back. Before someone notices I’m gone.”

Pride frown, obviously displeased with Virgil’s decision to leave, but nodded and stood him, his tail sliding out from the chair in a practiced motion. “Of course. I will show you to the exit. Do you require me to bring you to the main exit from the Imagination or will you be able to find it yourself?”

Virgil smirked and shook his head. A route out of the Imagination and into the Subconscious was already being drawn out in his head. “Just show me out of your Kingdom and I’ll be fine. I got my own way out.”

Pride returned Virgil’s smirk. “My, my. This little kitten just maybe slyer and sneakier than I once thought.” He took a step forward and Virgil’s breath hitched when Pride trailed his fingers down Virgil's cheek, barely touching the skin. “I will have to keep that in mind for future meetings.”

Virgil swallowed and he felt his cheeks warm under Pride’s gentle touch. “Um, right. I should,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder nervously, “Right.”

Pride’s smirk turned a tad teasing and mischievous. “Yes, I suppose you do. Come, I’ll show you the way.” He walked toward the exit of the dining room and Virgil had no choice but to follow. He jumped a little when a hand landed on his shoulder. Virgil glances over at Pride only to see a cocked eyebrow. The message was clear. ‘Is this okay?’

Virgil nodded shortly and without another word, Pride led him down hallways until they left the castle and came to the drawbridge. Dragons were milling around the courtyard, giving Virgil curious looks but otherwise seemingly happy to leave his to their King. Pride stopped at waved at the drawbridge. “You will find that you’ll be able to sink out of the Imagination after you’ve walked north for around an hour or two. Are you sure that you don’t want me to take you to the main exit though? It can be very difficult to sink out of the Imagination. I could explain the situation to Creativity.”

The thought of facing Roman, Roman with his sharp sword and his hatred for Anxiety, made Virgil break out into a cold sweat. “No,” he said shortly. “I’ll be fine. Um,” he glanced down at his new clothes and looked back up at Pride with a raised eyebrow. “How can I return these to you?”

Pride smiled softly at him and shook his head. “No, little one. Think of those clothes as a gift. The outfit suits you. A true Prince.”

‘Roman’s the Prince,” Virgil thought, a touch bitter. But he didn’t voice his thoughts, instead of averting his gaze and shrugging. He could feel Pride’s assessing gaze on him and finally, he said, “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

“It was no trouble. You’re a good guest. Perhaps,” Virgil could practically hear Pride’s smile widened, “you’d like to come again sometime. I’d love to properly show you my castle.”

Virgil looked up at smirked at that Prideful Side. “You usually take prisoners on a tour of your castle?”

Pride matched Virgil’s smirk with his own. “Well, you are a special case. I rarely have prisoners so intriguing that they somehow become my guests. Especially one that I’d like to see return.” His smirk softened. “Have a safe journey, Anxiety.”

“I’ll try my best.” Virgil went to leave but stopped, a thought nagging at him. He turned back to Pride and asked, “You never asked my name.”

It had become a common occurrence over with the Light Sides. Virgil couldn’t take one step without someone asking, or what often felt like demanding when he was going to tell them his name. Virgil felt like he was going to explode out of frustration. They all wanted his name, not because they liked him, but because they wanted “the full collection”. He could practically feel Thomas’ urge to learn the name of the scary, terrible, awful Anxiety. So it was certainly a change of pace to go a full day without someone breathing down his throat about it.

Pride raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t offer it. Nor did you ask mine. Quid Quo pro? My name for yours?”

Virgil immediately shook his head, hunching in on himself. “No way. Not fucking happening.” His name was the only thing he had that he was proud of. Virgil, Vigilance. It was his and he would be damn if he gave it up like it was like some sort of thing that people were entitled to. It didn’t matter if that meant that he wouldn’t get to know Pride’s name. It also meant the most hidden part of himself would be safe.

“Very well, Anxiety,” Pride said, giving a careless shrug. “Perhaps another time. For now,” he dipped into a bow, giving Virgil a playful smirk, “until we meet again.”

Virgil, cheeks burning, muttered, “Yeah, can’t wait,” before he ran over the drawbridge and down a valley, leaving Pride and his castle of Dragons behind him. But, he couldn’t outrun the memory of that playful smirk.

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It took Virgil a little over two hours to leave Pride’s lands and he could feel the Mindscape open back up to him, giving him the wiggle room he needed to sink out from the Imagination back to the Subconscious. Sinking out to his room would’ve been difficult and Roman might’ve been able to feel the brief energy coming from Virgil’s part of the Mindscape. But, the Subconscious and the Imagination were connected and they mixed together often enough that Roman wouldn’t even question it.

Virgil sighed in relief when the grey fog of the Subconscious surrounded him, happy to be back in a place that he understood, even if it was an unpredictable place like the Subconscious. He gave himself a moment to rest before sinking down into his room. No need to go through the Commons and see the others eating lunch together or watching a movie, not even realizing that Virgil had disappeared for a full day. Virgil didn’t need that extra bit of heartbreak.

His room was the same as when he had left it. His bed was made and his computer waiting for him by his pillows, ready for another journey into Virgil’s favourite hellsite. His pyjamas were folded beside the computer and Virgil eagerly accepted their call, stripping out of the outfit Pride had given him and dumping it on the floor. Virgil pulled on his sweatpants and his oversized t-shirt, feeling any leftover tension just melting off of his shoulders. He sighed and went to crawl into his bed but paused, looking back down at the discarded outfit. Virgil hesitated before stooping down and quickly picking up the clothes, folding them and quickly shoving them under his bed. No need for them to be out in case someone saw them and asked where they came from.

Not that anyone ever came into Virgil’s room.

Virgil pulled his covers down and got into bed. He sighed and looked over to his computer, thinking of maybe working on his PJO fanfic, before grabbing it and placing it on his bedside table. It had been a long day and he didn’t think that he could handle Tumblr’s shitty new policies about text block limits right now.

He snapped his fingers and the lights turned off, his room pitch black except for the soft glow of the night light on the other side of his room. Virgil closed his eyes and tried his best to fall asleep.

But, all he could think of was those red eyes and that they had looked at him with more compassion and kindness than anyone else had ever had in Virgil’s life.

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As expected, no one had noticed Virgil’s leave of absence.

Virgil walked down from his room the next morning, back in his comfortable black hoodie, and into the kitchen to be met with Logan’s wary stare. Somehow, even though Logan was nervous around him, he still managed to be condescending. “Ah, Anxiety. Finally decided to leave your room and be productive, hmm?”

Virgil didn’t answer beside a grunt, opening up the fridge and pulling out the plain, black water bottle he had stored in there. Logan watched him and sniffed. No doubt he thought Virgil was drinking blood or something equally as disgusting

Whatever. He could think whatever he wanted as long as he left Virgil and his honey and strawberry smoothie alone.

“Thomas has a meeting with his friends today,” Logan said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “I trust you won’t be present for it, correct?”

Virgil bit back a sigh and nodded. “Yep,” he muttered. He took a sip of his smoothie and then sneered at Logan. “I’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry. Wouldn’t want Anxiety ruining Thomas’ day.”

Logan nodded. He took a long sip of his coffee and then said dryly, “Quite right. I applaud you using your brain for something more than thinking of new ways of, as you said, ruining Thomas’ day.”

Virgil turned away to hide how his face tightened a little at that comment. He shrugged and went to leave the kitchen but was blocked by Roman stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe. Virgil’s eye twitched a little. He was so not in the mood for this today. “Mind moving, Princey?”

“Certainly, Robert Downer Jr. “ Roman smiled mockingly down at him. He moved and waved his arm with a flourish. “By all means.”

Virgil moved past him, ignoring the face Roman made as he left him and Logan alone. He pushed down the bitter feeling that came with him knowing that he’d be spending the rest of the day alone again. Just what he wanted, he tried to convince himself. He was probably going to need a day to fully get his mind back on straight after the day he had before.

Patton was going down the stairs and gave Virgil a happy little wave when he saw him. “Morning, Anxiety! I’m glad to see you today!”

Virgil mustered up a smile for the one Side in the Light Side that tolerated him. “Morning, Patton. Good day so far?”

“Yeppers!” Patton grinned. He grabbed Virgil’s hand and smiled hopefully. “I missed you yesterday. You’ll be staying outside with us today, right?”

Guilt settled in Virgil’s stomach and he shook his head. “Not today, Pat. Thomas got friends coming over and no need for any anxiety to get in the way of that, right?”

Patton sighed and shook his head. “I guess you’re right.” Virgil forced back tears at those words and his smile wavered a little. He moved up the stairs before Patton could see just how much trouble Virgil was having holding back tears. Not that he’d even think that something he said might hurt Virgil. Anxiety was a bad guy and bad guys didn’t get their feelings hurt.

“But you’ll come downstairs for dinner, right?”

Virgil could hear the tentative hope in Patton’s voice and he pushed down the urge to immediately agree to anything Patton asked of him. “I dunno, Patton,” he sighed, stopping at the top of the stairs. “I don’t think Logan or Princey would want me there, you know?”

Patton’s voice hardened. “I don’t care if they want you there or not! You’re my friend and I want you there. Please, Anxiety? Come to dinner?” There was a long pause. “Please?”

Virgil closed his eyes and found himself nodding. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be down for dinner tonight.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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Virgil did not end up going downstairs for dinner that night. And it was all because Virgil couldn’t handle a stupid argument between friends.

As much as Virgil had tried to remove himself from the situation with Thomas and his friends by staying up in his room all day, he was still a part of Thomas and he couldn’t just shut himself off. He would always be there with Thomas and it wasn’t his fault that when Thomas and Terence started arguing about something so damn stupid that Virgil couldn’t even remember what it was, Virgil started panicking.

“He’s going to leave you,” Virgil whispered, curled up on his bed with his hands tangled in his hair. “Oh fuck, he’s going to leave and then everyone else is going to leave and we’ll be all alone.”

The lights in Virgil’s room flicked and the shadows seemed to extend toward him. And it certainly didn’t help that Roman came up to Virgil’s room, banging on Virgil’s door and screaming at him to stop ruining movie night.

Yep. Virgil not only had to try to deal with the fact that one of Thomas’ best friends would be dumping him soon, but he also had Princey to deal with. Needless to say, Virgil had a difficult and stressful day. And after Patton and Logan had finally managed to pull Roman away from Virgil’s door, calming him down with promises of a movie night with only Disney movies, Patton had returned.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Patton called through the door. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come downstairs for dinner tonight. Roman’s pretty upset about what happened.”

Judging from his tone, Patton wasn’t too happy either. Virgil closed his eyes and curled up tighter on his bed. He hadn’t meant to make such a mess. He never meant to.

Patton kept talking, words a little gentler. “I’m going to leave a plate of dinner outside, okay, Anxiety? I made meatloaf and veg tonight with some boiled potatoes. I really hope you like it!”

‘I hate boiled potatoes,’ Virgil thought distantly with no real force. Instead, he buried his face in his pillow, just waiting for Patton to leave him alone in his misery. He just wanted to sleep and have this day be over already.

Back outside, Patton heaved a heavy sigh. “I just I’ll see you tomorrow, Anxiety. I love you.”

‘Liar,’ Virgil thought, tears burning in his eyes. ‘I love you too.’

With that, Virgil heard another small sigh and footsteps walking away from his room. The smell of meatloaf wafted into Virgil’s room but he couldn’t find it in him to get out of bed and get it. He just laid there staring up at his ceiling, wishing that Pride’s Dragons were there to just end his suffering. Or maybe Pride himself. He could turn into a Dragon, or Virgil was pretty sure that he could.

He laid there for who knows how long until Virgil felt a gentle tugging like someone was trying to summon him. Virgil blinked his eyes open and tried to wave the tugging away. He so wasn’t in the mood to deal with Thomas asking what the heck the extra anxiety during the fight with Terrence was about.

But the tugging wasn’t Thomas or the Light Sides. No, it was different. It was gentler but not the demanding tug that he felt from any of the others. It was a presence that he wasn’t used to but it was familiar. It was Pride. Pride was summoning him. But why? And should he go to him?

Virgil stared up at the ceiling for a few more minutes before sighing. Really, why not go at this point? What was here for him? Cold meatloaf and boiled potatoes? Another night alone? At least this way, even if it was a trap from the Dark Side, Virgil wouldn’t have to be alone with his thoughts anymore.

Besides, maybe seeing Pride again would get rid of the strange knot of emotions forming in Virgil’s gut whenever he thought of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sneaking through the Imagination was easy as always. Especially now since he had a place that he could focus on and imagine in his head. As it took was five minutes of walking through the Subconscious with the image of Pride’s castle at the forefront of his mind for the mist of the Subconscious to clear and Virgil’s destination to appear just a short five-minute walk away. Already, Virgil could see the dragons flying in the air and, standing in front of the gate waiting for him, was the Dragon Witch himself.

Pride gave Virgil a welcoming smile. "Ah, little lamb! And here I thought that you wouldn't be coming."

Virgil had his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets and slouched over nervously, the stress from the day still eating at him. "Well, you called," he said, trying to put even a little enthusiasm into his words. Judging by how Pride's smile didn't fall, Virgil guessed that he may have succeeded.

"I did call." Pride took a step forward and offered his arm, his tail flicking through the grass happily. "I remember offering to take you on a tour of my castle. And I find myself lacking company tonight." One of his eyebrows was raised and his lips quirked up into a little affectionate smirk. "And I couldn't think of better than my little lamb."

Virgil cursed the blush that was already staining his cheeks and avoided Pride's gaze, placing a hand on Pride's arm. "Couldn't think of better company other than Anxiety? Jeez, you must be really lonely."

Pride pouted, drawing Virgil's attention to his cherry-red painted lips. "Who else would I call? Deceit? He might have an eye for art but that Side wouldn't know good conversation if it bit him in the ass. I mean, really, philosophy is good and all but I'd like to talk about something else for once!"

Virgil bit down on his lip to cut off any laughter that had been forming. The thought of Deceit, a Side who Virgil only knew from ushering him away from the Light Side, waxing poetic about philosophy was almost amusing. He would never have pegged Deceit as one to like philosophy like Pride was suggesting. "Well," he muttered with a smirk, "I don't know how much better I'll be. I'm not," he swallowed and glanced away. "I'm not feeling the best right now."

But Pride only shrugged carelessly. "Perfectly fine. Actually, I've been told that my voice can be rather soothing so it's really fortunate that you've come." He winked at Virgil flirtatiously. "You just listen to my dulcet tones and you'll be feeling better in no time."

Virgil snorted and shook his head, following Pride into his castle. For some reason, the guilt, misery, and fear from the fight with Terrence and what had happened afterward disappeared almost as soon as Pride started talking. It didn't take long for Virgil to figure out why. It wasn't often that someone talked to him without even a nervous glance in his direction or a hint of snideness or fear in their voice.

But here Pride was, chattering away about his castle, his subjects, and complaining about Deceit and the other Dark Sides without any nerves or fearful glances. He didn't even try and keep Virgil at arm's length, letting him walk right next to him with his hand still on his arm.

It made something in Virgil's chest tighten and made his eyes a little wet.

"So, Anxiety. Just what has you looking like a kicked puppy and would you like me to kill it for you?"

The two of them had moved into a cushy and cozy den with armchairs placed near a roaring fireplace. Pride was sitting back in his with all the grace of a King, his arms on the arms of the chair and legs crossed daintily. Meanwhile, Virgil was curled up in his own chair with his legs pulled tight up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs.

Virgil blinked at him numbly. “What? No, I’m fine.” His eyes flicked down when Pride raised an eyebrow incredulously. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Pride drawled. “Really, I don’t know why you’d be okay. I mean, Deceit was positively furious about what happened with Terrence. And Shame was in tears. The poor dear cried herself to sleep.” He waved a hand toward Virgil. “From how anxious Thomas was and still is, I’m guessing that you’re not doing too well either.”

Virgil curled into a tighter ball and his lips turned down into a scowl. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s all my fault. Evil Anxiety ruined everything like always. Just ruined the whole day Thomas had planned with Terrence.” He dug his nails into his legs. “That’s what you get when you have a Villain in your head.”

Pride narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, uncrossing his legs. “And, just how is this your fault? You didn’t start the argument with Terrence nor are you responsible for how Thomas is feeling now.” He tapped his fingernails against the arms of the chair. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s always my fault,” Virgil said bitterly. The day that he had just had, the snide comments from Logan, the mocking words from Roman, the fight with Terrence, and the disappointment from Patton caught up to him all at once and then he was fighting back tears. “Thomas got anxious about that stupid, goddamn fight and I ruined the entire night because I kept freaking out and, and,” he trailed off and scrubbed at his eyes furiously. “It was just so fucking stupid and now we’re going to lose one of our best friends!”

Pride chuckled and waved a hand in dismissal. “We’re not going to lose Terrence over such a silly argument. He’s our friend after all.”

Virgil glared at Pride, barely holding back his tears. “We fucked up! Terrence would be an idiot if he didn’t get the hell away from us! We always ruin everything!” He threw his hands up in the air, getting worked up now. “He’s gonna leave and then all of Thomas’ other friends are gonna leave too and we’ll be all alone and Thomas will be ruined!”

Pride tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Hmm, but why? Terrence and Thomas have had many, many arguments in the past. He’s had arguments with all of his friends before and they’ve all stayed.” A proud grin grew on his face. “Thomas does have rather brilliant friends, doesn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, duh,” Virgil said, blinking at Pride in confusion and a few tears escaping him. “That’s obvious but,”

“So,” Pride continued, leaning forward and wiping away Virgil’s tears with his thumb, Virgil too surprised to stop him. “If our friends are so brilliant and loyal,” he raised an eyebrow. “They are loyal, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are,” Virgil snapped, insulted that Pride would even suggest that.

“And they love Thomas.”

Virgil glanced down at the ground, feeling small and stupid as he got what Pride was trying to explain to him. “And they love Thomas,” he muttered.

Pride smiled at him, soft and kind. “Exactly, little lamb. They love Thomas and that means that none of them, Terrence included, are going to leave us.” He chuckled, not mean or cruel but kind and soft. “They’re not going anywhere, little lamb, I promise.”

Virgil closed his eyes and his shame for overreacting, again, heightened “Right,” he muttered. He suddenly felt stupid, feeling so stupid and terribly that he went to a Dark Side, the Dragon Witch, for company. The armchair he had been sitting jerked as Virgil stood up abruptly. “I-I should go.”

Pride stood up too, tail sliding out of the hole in the armchair easily. He frowned at Virgil in something that Virgil could almost read as concern. “Go? But why? You just got here not that long ago.” He stepped forward, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. “Is anything alright, Anxiety? You’re looking positively pale.”

Virgil shook his head, his hands shaking and his gut twisting. “No, I should leave,” he muttered. “Sorry, this whole thing was stupid, I was just being so damn stupid coming here, getting upset. Sorry, I should yeah,” he turned to leave but Pride caught his hand in a tight hold.

“Anxiety,” Pride said, said in a tone that was far gentler than Virgil was used to hearing. “What’s wrong? Tell me, little one. What happened? Tell me what ailed you and I will kill it, I swear it.”

Virgil avoided Pride’s eyes and swallowed down the bile that had risen at the Dragon Witch’s words. Roman had forever ruined that phrase for him with the fear that one day the Prince would find what ailed Thomas, Virgil, and kill him. It was something that kept Virgil up most nights. And in the hopes to change the subject as quickly as he could, Virgil spat out the first thing that came to his mind. “You’re a Witch!”

Embarrassment and horror quickly followed and Virgil wanted to sink through the floor and die. ‘Great thing to say, really,’ Virgil thought. ‘It’s obvious and it shows just how awkward and stupid you are. Brilliant Virgil, you’re just brilliant.’

Thankfully, Pride just smirked and nodded. “A Dragon Witch,” he said, bowing his head a little to show off his horns. His tail twitched a little like he was pleased that Virgil had noticed. “A King too but we were talking about me being a Dragon Witch, not a King.” He smiled at Virgil and chuckled. “I’d offer a demonstration but it’s all rather startling, turning into a Dragon and all. But, perhaps instead I could offer you a quiet dinner and a room for the night?”

“I should get back to the Light Side,” Virgil said reluctantly, not really wanting to go back to his room and eat the, by now cold, meatloaf and boiled potatoes. Hearing the others downstairs having their fun, family movie night would only make it worse. “In case anyone misses me.”

Pride’s lips dipped down into a perfect pout. “Oh, stay, please. I’m so much more fun than boring old Princey and the other Light Sides. Besides, and I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but you seem almost as lonely as I do.” He tilted his head. “Just a few hours and maybe a quick dinner? Please?”

Something squirmed in Virgil’s gut, weird and different and something that Virgil had never felt before. It felt almost exactly like the saying that Patton liked to toss around every so often. Like he had butterflies in his stomach.

“Um, just for a bit,” Virgil stuttered. “I guess that that would be okay, I guess.” He glanced down, having trouble looking right into Pride’s eyes for some reason.

“Perfect,” Pride cheered, pulling Virgil to his side. Virgil choked a little on his spit, his whole face turning pink. “Come, let’s have some dinner! Though, we must have you in proper clothing. After all, I made my little corner of the imagination a castle for a reason. Do you have those clothes I made for you?”

Virgil swallowed nervously and nodded. “Um, y-yeah. Just let me, um, yeah.” He snapped his fingers and the pile of clothes that Pride had given him landed on the chair that he had just been sitting in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman jerked up with a frown on his face, his connection to the imagination rippling with a strange energy. Patton frowned up at him from where he was cuddling with Logan on the couch. “Roro? Is something wrong, Kiddo?”

“Um,” Roman blinked and tried to focus on the energy he had felt. But the energy was already fading and he couldn’t get a grip on it. “Nothing, nothing. Probably just one of Pride’s stupid Dragons getting near my edge of the Imagination again.” He shook his head and pulled at his sash thoughtfully. “Probably nothing.”

He’d look into it later. A movie night with his family was much more important than some stupid, strange energy in the Imagination. Yes, later. He’d look into it later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pride had left him in the sitting room to let him get dressed and once Virgil was back in the clothes that the Dragon Witch had made for him, with his black hoodie wrapped around his waist, Pride led him back to the same room where they had eaten the day before. “I know that we had breakfast last night, pretty odd since it was rather late when we ate it, but I had my Dragons cook up a proper dinner for us tonight. I know that you’ll love it!”

Virgil had his hand back on Pride’s arm and was doing his best to talk through the utter squirming in his chest. “Bet,” he mumbled, wincing at the stupid word choice but Pride just laughed affectionately and the end of his tail wrapped around Virgil’s wrist.

“Bet,” Pride echoed. He led Virgil over to the table, sliding the chair out for Virgil before walking around the long table to sit across from him. Plates and a glass full of some dark liquid appeared right in front of them both almost as soon as Pride sat down and Virgil’s mouth watered at the smell and the sight

Pride chuckled at the look on Virgil’s face and he gestured to him. “Are you going to eat it or just stare at it all day, my little lamb?” He picked up his own knife and fork, cutting into his steak with ease.

Virgil swallowed and followed suit. “Right, right. Um, thanks.” He cut into his own steak, eyeing the salad on the side with hungry eyes. There were no potatoes on this plate and Virgil was about two minutes from promising to never leave if Pride was going to make him food like this at every meal.

Hell, he was two minutes from promising that anyways if Pride kept up the kindness and not treating Virgil like he was evil incarnate.

“So, you’re Pride,” he said, trying and failing miserably at starting a conversation.

“And you’re Anxiety,” Pride said back. He smirked at Virgil, sending a spark through Virgil’s heart. “A Dark Side and a Light Side sitting down for dinner together. Strange, isn’t it?” He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow. “Something that I’d like to do more often. Especially with my favourite little lamb.”

Virgil’s face warmed and he glanced away, biting off another of steak just so he wouldn’t say something weird and make things awkward. But the bite of steak was eventually eaten and Virgil had to say something. “So, why Dragons?”

Why Dragons. Virgil was one of the stupidest Sides in existence, it was proven.

Pride only shrugged and started swirling his glass around. “Why not? I admire them. They know what’s there and they protect them. If you think about it, you’re a bit of a Dragon too.”

That really shouldn't hurt Virgil as much as it did, especially since the comment was meant as praise and given by a Side who willingly called himself the Dragon Witch. But, after hearing all about how Dragons were villains and evil from Roman, the comment certainly stung. Virgil could barely cut his steak again, his hands were shaking so much. “From what Prince Pompous told me, that’s not much of a compliment,” he muttered.

“But why not?” Pride took a sip from his glass and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about Dragons? Like I said, they know what’s theirs and who they are. They’re proud of what they have and who they are. To me, that’s a good thing.”

Virgil stared down at his plate, appetite quickly leaving him. “But I'm not proud,” he said softly. “Not of myself, of my stuff, of anything. How am I a Dragon?”

“First of all,” Pride said with a little frown. “You should be proud of yourself. You’re one of the Sides who protect Thomas and all of us. How many times would Thomas have died if you hadn’t been there?”

Virgil said nothing so Pride continued, pointing his fork at Virgil. “Secondly, you are a Dragon. Dragons protect what are theirs and you do that every single day by just being you.”

“By...just being me?”

Pride’s entire demeanour seemed to soften and he smiled at Virgil gently, making Virgil’s heart flipped. “Yes, my dear Anxiety. Just by being you.”

Dinner passed quickly after that and Virgil found himself disappointed when he glanced at his phone and realized that it was eleven o’clock. He winced. Ugh, the others would be finished up with their movie night by now and it would be almost impossible to leave the Imagination since Roman liked strolling through the Imagination before he went to bed. Not completely impossible but it would be annoyingly hard.

Thankfully, Pride refused to even hear of Virgil leaving his Kingdom that late. “Not a chance,” Pride huffed. “Let you leave at this time of night? No, that is out of the question. I’ll escort you to your room for the night and you can sleep here. I’ll have the same guards that guarded your room the last time do so again. Good? Good.”

So that’s how Virgil found himself spending yet another night at a castle crawling with Dragons and ruled by a Dragon Witch. But, it was only for the night. It wasn’t like he’d ever go back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil kept going back.

Honestly, it wasn’t his fault. Pride’s kindness was like a fucking drug and Virgil was high off of it. After years of getting nothing but snide comments, fear, and Patton’s wary care, being talked to like he was an actual person felt like being on cloud nine all the damn time. Pride could be actual confess to manipulating him and Virgil would probably be completely fine with it as long as Pride kept up talking to him, giving him little hugs, and calling him “Little Lamb”.

Yeah. Virgil was so fucking pathetic.

It started getting to the point where Virgil spent almost all of his time with the Dark Side, not leaving Pride’s side of the Imagination unless Thomas needed him for a video. If the other Light Sides noticed anything amiss then they didn’t say anything. Thankfully, Roman didn't seem to notice the brief energy from Virgil stupidly summoning his clothes from his room, which took a huge weight off of Virgil’s shoulders.

Virgil’s life had actually started getting a little better after meeting Pride. Having someone to talk to and actually listen to him and his concerns was something that Virgil had been looking for since he had manifested and had been denied every single day of his life. He was trying to look a little more on the “light side”, especially with Pride there to talk him through any concerns he had. It felt like, for once in his life, Virgil was actually in a good place.

And then came the cartoon episode and everything came crashing down around him.

Every good thing that had been happening in Virgil’s life seemed utterly insignificant in light of what had happened. Having one of his dreams of being a cartoon, a dream that he should have known better than to share with the other, and having it twisted to be where he was a villain again was like a slap back to reality. He wasn’t good, he wasn’t soft or a protector like Pride insisted. He was a villain and villains never got redemption stories. They didn’t get good things or people who listened to them and helped calm them down from panic attacks or stupid thoughts. They were forced to fly, Virgil hated heights, and got punched by the person that they were trying to protect.

So was it really surprising that when the video ended, Virgil walked straight to his room and locked it from the inside, intent on throwing away the key? After how far he was pushed? After everything that he had been through? Was it really surprising that he no longer wanted to be hated and to be holding Thomas back?

He was useless, he was evil, he was done. Virgil couldn’t do this anymore. So as soon as he had locked the door, he placed the key on his bed, cut himself off from Thomas, grabbed his new purple and black hoodie, and sunk down into the unconscious, intent on walking through the unconscious forever.

But, of course, it didn’t go Virgil’s way. Why the hell would it? No, nothing ever went Anxiety’s way. Only after walking five minutes through the unconscious, someone settled in by Virgil’s side, walking with him. Virgil didn’t even flinch. He had with this person far too much to not recognize his energy signature by now. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Hello,” Pride hummed. His tail reached up, wrapping around Virgil’s waist. “I was watching the most recent video.” The tail tightened around Virgil’s waist. “I’ve never seen one before. The way they treated you.” He stopped them both and gently turned Virgil around and brushed a gentle thumb under Virgil’s black eye while cupping Virgil’s cheek with his other hand. “I once offered to kill whatever ails you. The fact that the things that ails you are the other Light Sides doesn’t change this in the slightest. Say the word and I’ll destroy them for you, I swear it, my dear Prince.”

Virgil’s throat tightened at Pride’s words and his lower lip wobbled a little. “No,” he whispered, leaning into Pride’s hand. “No, don’t kill them. T-they’re r-right, I’m a v-v-villain and they’re, they’re,” the words died and he trailed off. The Dragon Witch and Anxiety were silent for a few moments, the fog of the Unconscious drifting around them.

“Come with me,” Pride whispered. “You’ve cut yourself off from Thomas, I can feel it. I can’t stop you from doing this but I can protect you.” His red eyes stared at Virgil pleadingly. “Please, come with me, Anxiety. Please.”

Virgil closed his eyes, feeling small and hopeless in this one moment and as if the only person who cared for him was Pride. Like Pride was the only person in the entire world who loved him. Not that that was exactly wrong. And in that one moment, he could think of only one thing to say. “Virgil.”

The hand that had been brushing Virgil’s thumb fell from Virgil’s face in surprise and the hand on his cheek loosened. “Virgil,” Pride repeated. The name was drawn out and spoken with such love and gentleness that Virgil almost cried. “Virgil. Virgil, my Prince, my little lamb.” His tail pulled Virgil a little closer to him and Pride rested his forehead against the Anxious Side’s. “My name is Adam, my dear Anxiety. And Adam the Dragon Witch, Thomas’ Pride, ruler of the Dragon Kingdom, will care for you from now on, my Dear.”

Virgil opened his eyes and looked up at Adam with teary eyes.“I forgot the clothes you gave me in my room,” Virgil croaked.

“I’ll make you new ones,” Adam promised. “Clothes fit for the Prince you are.”

And with that, Adam the Dragon Witch pulled Virgil down into his Kingdom to rest.

[hydra-collector]

love & death & kisses

AO3

Pairings: Anxceit, platonic Analogical

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders (mentioned), Remus Sanders (mentioned)

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm, cursing, panic attacks, v v v slightly implied sexual content, food

Words: 4,153

Summary: Virgil meets someone.

Note: Human AU, I’m bad at naming, bad at summaries, Janus is ooc, i swear this is one of my better fics

Rain seeped into Virgil’s clothes, making him even colder than he already was. He’d forgotten his umbrella at work, so he’d have to get it tomorrow. Funny how things work that way. You put things off to the side for a rainy day, but when you need them they’re not there.

A tall, slim man stood beside him. He would usually avoid other people at the train station as much as he could, but he didn’t care at this point. He was cold, tired, in a depressive episode, and frankly too out of it to care.

The other man didn’t have an umbrella either, but seemed much less bothered by it. He checked his phone occasionally, but only typed something once or twice, aside from a seemingly frustrating venture on Google Maps from what Virgil could see. He was more on edge by whatever he was seeing on his phone than the weather.

“Excuse me, do you know where the nearest hotel is?”

The first thing he noticed was that the man was absolutely beautiful.

The second was his scar.

A wide scar, seemingly a burn mark, covered the entirety of the left side of his face. It traveled down his neck and past his shirt where Virgil couldn’t see it. His left hand had it as well, a pair of gloves stuffed in his pocket. His eyes were also heterochromatic, one much paler than the dark brown of the other.

Virgil didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially after the earlier events of the day, but he tried his best. He subtly hugged his side to provide pressure comfort.

“I think there’s one a couple blocks from Edwards Station. I don’t remember if it’s south or north. I can check.”

Virgil pulled out his own phone and found that it was half a mile north. Logan had sent him a text asking him why he was so late. He didn’t want to explain that he had to spend an hour on a bench in the pouring rain, trying to calm down from a panic attack. The stranger confirmed and checked his phone again, sighing when he didn’t find what he wanted.

Virgil could see his screen slightly. He’d been talking to a contact named April, both of them using a lot of cursewords angrily at each other. It looked like a pretty bad breakup. He figured he’d been kicked out.

The train arrived a few minutes after that. Virgil was never going to be comfortable with the thought of a big, heavy object rocketing in his general direction, but he wasn’t attempting suicide or anything at the moment. He learned to deal with it.

“Sorry, Logan, I’m here now.”

Logan had been Virgil’s roommate for almost three years now. He’d been his best friend even longer. He was the one there for him when he needed it most.

“What happened?”

Logan was making dinner for the two of them, which Virgil was disappointed to find out. The rule was they could make each other meals, but whoever made it got to choose what it was, and Virgil has never known Logan to make anything junkier than chili. Virgil had got him to eat macaroni and cheese a few times, so he counted that as a win.

“I… had a pretty bad panic attack.”

“Is there anything I can do to help now?”

“I think I’ll be okay. You don’t give bad hugs, though.”

Logan smiled slightly and hugged his friend firmly. He’d looked up the best ways to comfort people physically and figured out what was best for Virgil.

“Thanks, L. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to make it yourself.”

“Hey, you have plenty! You’re using two pans!”

“You hate fish, Virgil.”

“That’s fish? Ew.”

“What did you think it was?”

Virgil shrugged.

“Go get dry clothes.”

Virgil changed into another, softer hoodie and sweatpants. He figured he’d get something to eat later. He could go a couple hours scrolling on Tumblr or something before he’d be really hungry.

When he turned his phone on, it was still open to the hotel directions.

I hope that guy’s alright.

He’d seen him a few times before, he realized. The unmistakable bleached hair against the man’s dark clothing he recognized had never been put to a face, but he’d been at the train station a few times before. Virgil vaguely wondered if he got off work at the same time as he did and it was a coincidence seeing him today since his whole thing with April, or whoever.

You don’t know what happened, shut up.

Virgil squeezed his arm with his fingernails, hoping to make his self-hate go away.

Today was exhausting.

He didn’t want to go to work the next day.

~~

He’d had another bad day. His boss complained about the quality of his work again. It seemed he was fucking everything up lately. He’d gotten Roman angry at him for an insult accidentally personal, and Logan angry at him because he’d started cutting again. Who could blame him, though? It was just so much easier to cope by hurting than actually trying to help himself. At least he was still showering.

At least it wasn’t raining.

It felt like it, though. There was weight on his shoulders and chest, and he needed to cry. He wished he could afford a therapist. Then again, did he even deserve help?

Stop.

His inner voice was right. He should stop being so self-deprecating, it was annoying, he’d always been an attention seek-

Stop.

Virgil exhaled, rubbing his forehead and sitting down on the bench instead of standing for the train.

“Didn’t get to thank you. For the directions.”

“Hm?”

It was the man again. This was the first time he’d seen him in the few days since then.

“I needed a place to stay, thanks for telling me where it was. I tried looking it up, then texting my girlfriend to ask her if… I ran out of data, I wouldn’t have been able to get there if you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh. You’re welcome. Glad you found the hotel.”

He half-wished he didn’t have to talk to anyone right now, but something drew him towards this man.

And then he initiated a conversation. For once in his life.

“You just get off work?”

“Yeah. I work at the zoo. Reptile house.”

“Wow. I just have a boring tech job. I’m assuming you like reptiles, which one’s your favorite?”

“It’s basic, but I’ve always liked snakes. I have three.”

“I could never handle snakes. I know they probably won’t hurt me, but I’m anxious about everything.”

Am I oversharing? Should I be talking about my anxiety? Is that weird?

“I have a deathly fear of spiders, so that’s valid.”

Virgil would have said something else, but the train came, and it was difficult to talk onboard. It was weird how easy it was to talk to this person, even though he’d just met him.

~~

They’d got to talking about snakes.

Big breeds, small breeds, the most dangerous, the least dangerous kinds of snakes. Virgil swore he was being converted to like reptiles by this man. He talked about them with so much excitement, more than he showed any other time. Mostly he was calm and collected, a bit like Logan.

“I never got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Janus.”

Like, Janice?

“As in the Roman god, not like suburban mom.”

“Ah. Virgil.”

Neither of them smiled often, so whenever someone who knew them saw the smile, it always made them a bit happier as well. It was already happening with them, even a week or two into knowing each other.

“What kind of snakes do you have?”

“I’ve got a green tree python, a corn snake, and a ball python. Diana, Mercury, Liber.”

“All Roman names, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd.”

“It’s fitting.”

It was so easy to talk to him. More so than any other stranger. Usually he’d get anxious and all his energy would be expended (he usually had a mental breakdown if it was a lot of people). Something about him, the way he talks, moves, looks at Virgil. He’s like a reptile.

Don’t get a crush on him. He’s probably straight.

Maybe he isn’t, though. He could be bi or pan or something.

The train interrupted their conversation, but Virgil kept glancing over at Janus throughout. He was looking down at his phone, he must’ve gotten more service. Virgil got off after him, but it gave him time to consider Janus before he got home.

“Logan, I’m getting a crush on a straight guy and I just found out his name today.”

“You’re odd, Virgil.”

“He’s hot. And he likes snakes.”

“You hate snakes. Wouldn’t someone with an interest in spiders be more akin to you?”

“...He’s scared of spiders.”

“Virgil…”

~~

And he did get a crush on Janus.

They talked every day they saw each other, finally remembering they could exchange numbers. They spent months getting to know each other with pretty limited interactions, as neither of them texted or called much anyway. It wasn’t exactly a good thing, though, because he either spent his time at work thinking about Janus, panicking because his boss was mad at him because he wasn’t doing his work (because he was thinking about Janus), or completely depressed because he was angry at her for giving him a panic attack. And the cycle would continue.

It turned out April was his girlfriend, and they’d been in an unhappy relationship for a year or so. He was glad she’d broke it off, but was left without a house for a while. He’d managed to share an apartment with his friend Remus and that was going okay. Virgil didn’t tell him about his depression, but was open enough about his anxiety. Luckily for Virgil, he mentioned an ex-boyfriend.

He was not straight. Maybe he had a chance.

Are you kidding? He’s not gonna want to date you, worthless bitch. You can’t make him deal with your mental health, and he probably hates you anyway.

Their interactions were mostly limited to the train station, but that only meant Virgil appreciated them even more.

Still, he wished he could be happy.

The only times he was were, well, when he was talking to Janus and when Logan gave him hugs. Talking to Logan was enjoyable, but he kept reminding himself about everything going on, everything wrong with himself, how he kept fucking up, and cutting and wanting to kill himself. With Janus, he forgot. It was so easy to smile and laugh at sarcastic jokes and the cute things he did, like blush when he laughed and stick out his tongue unintentionally.

Time flew by when they were together. There wasn’t enough time before the train came to talk nearly as long as Virgil would have liked. Still, every interaction was worth it. His love for Janus grew the more he talked about what he does, and he actually seemed interested in Virgil’s job, even though he swore it must be the most boring on the planet.

“I think you’ve conquered my fear of snakes, Janus.”

“What’s this? I’ve shown my little ball of anxiety the ways of the snake with my own love for him and reptiles.”

My little ball of anxiety? And did he just say he loved me?

Was he thinking about this too much?

One corner of his mouth was raised in a smile and Virgil couldn’t help but blush, however much he wanted to ignore it. Janus chuckled slightly and picked up the conversation again, mentioning how Diana had gotten out and managed to get herself on the couch. Virgil proceeded as well, debating whether it meant anything or not.

~~

Virgil felt sick.

He felt all things horrible. Depressed, anxious, angry, hopeless, and worthless.

Over and over it repeated.

“I’m afraid someone as unstable as you isn’t fit to work here.”

Unstable.

Unhealthy.

Worthless.

Useless.

What was he going to do? He wouldn’t have money to keep living with Logan, he had to go through the stress of finding another job, people would judge him, he wouldn’t even be able to eat.

There was nothing he could do.

He trembled as he made his way to the train station. He was going to have a panic attack. Hell, maybe he was already having a panic attack. He wanted to cry but he wouldn’t cry. He had to go home and explain to Logan and he’d just have to live until-

No you don’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was going to the train station, goddamnit.

He rubbed his hands on his face, static buzzing in his ears as tears almost came. This was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay. Finally.

He went up a different set of stairs, avoiding Janus. As he walked, the static slowly faded and was replaced with silence. Chosen silence, that is. He could hear the cars and the wind and the rain that had just begun to fall.

Fitting.

The train was early today, thank God. Its rumbling was familiar from the distance.

He took his last few steps to the edge of the platform, ignoring the tiny bit of anxiety that came with jumping down. He vaguely heard his name called over and over by the deep voice he knew well by now. He ignored it as well, starting with a slow walk, letting the raindrops soak into his hoodie. The walk sped up, and the rain got heavier, blurring out the train’s lights in a pretty way. He forced the muffled sound of his name out again, but it was getting louder.

There’s nothing you can do.

The walk got faster and turned into a run. He needed to catch the train before it slowed down.

Funny. Catching the train.

His ears pounded with the silence. So many things to distract him, things he loved. The awful sound of rain, knowing you’re going to get wet, but reveling in it anyway. The patter of feet on ground, now wood and gravel. And his voice, his beautiful voice.

The screech from the train stopped all other sounds, even splitting the silence in the bubble he created. It was warm, he hoped it was blood, so warm, so wonderfully warm.

Janus had never hugged Virgil.

He’d assumed he wasn’t one for being touchy-feely. He was tall and handsome, like the stereotypical distant, sexy man. But he wasn’t distant. He was there when Virgil needed him, even if he didn’t always know it. He put a hand on his shoulder or took Virgil’s hands in his to calm him down. He wished he’d gotten to know what kind of embrace he would have. Was it soft? Was it firm like Logan’s? Was it too tight? Was it always awkward like some people’s?

More than that, he wanted to know how his kisses were.

He imagined them soft, then passionate. Like something Virgil had always needed, the sweet feeling of pure love. He imagined he was the type to give solemn forehead kisses when a moment was serious, and short nose ones when the moments were playful. He imagined he’d kiss wherever he could on someone’s face, on his cheeks and chin, nose, lips, neck. They’d all be perfect for the occasion. There was a difference between a peck on someone’s cheek and smushing his lips against someone’s face. A slow kiss to the jaw was different from a badly-aimed one. Every subtle difference in position would say something new.

“I love you.”

“Shut up.”

“I need you right now.”

“You need me.”

He wished he’d learned every message. He wished he’d kissed Janus before today. He wished he’d at least told him and got rejected like he knew he would. He wished he could have everything. A hug and a kiss saying ‘it’s going to be okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s-’

“-going to be okay.”

The sound of the rain hit the stones sharply, akin to the feeling on his back. Voices shouting, his voice, and a new sound.

His heart.

Virgil let himself sink into the rhythm and the feeling of warmth that encompassed him. Something was soft through the damp fabric, moving slightly every now and then. It was the pressure of something, a body-

-Janus.

He opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of blond hair covering Janus’s face. He raised his arm slowly to push it away, just then noticing the arms wrapped tightly around him, using the most of their surface area.

Janus’s eyes were beautiful and sad, was he- crying? Virgil couldn’t tell if it was the rain or tears until he sobbed, hugging Virgil even tighter, burying his face in his shoulder and muttering words Virgil couldn’t hear.

Virgil realized he was crying too. Of course he was crying, he was… alive.

He was alive.

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Please, please know I’m here for you.”

Virgil said nothing, still mute from shock. So many things happened just then, and now he was being hugged. And it was perfect, despite the rain.

“I could’ve- should’ve died.”

“No, Virgil, you shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have, I’d never let you.”

Did he really care?

“I need to- I need to tell you something.”

This could go horribly wrong.

I don’t care anymore. I’ve made the most impulsive decision of my life today, might as well make another.

Virgil took his hand to push Janus’s chin up, thumb tracing the scar closer to his lips.

“Can I-”

“Can I kiss you, Jan?”

He let his head drop towards Virgil’s, lips so close now. He would have smiled his snake smile if he could have felt an ounce of a smile.

Virgil pressed his parted lips to Janus’s, hand resting on the back of his neck. He pulled his fingers through his wet hair, feeling its softness even now.

It was everything he had imagined.

At first it was soft and tender, but Janus deepened it, hand wriggling out from under Virgil to hold his face. The raindrops drowned out that moment from the outside world. Janus’s heart quickened, as did Virgil’s, but they both relaxed into it. The scar was rough against Virgil’s face sometimes, but it only made him want him more. All either of them could hear were the raindrops contrasting with their hearts.

Virgil wanted to kiss him longer, hold this forever. When they did break, Janus laid his burned cheek against Virgil’s.

“Do you need to go home?”

He thought of Logan and how upset he was when Virgil cut, how hard he tried and how bad he felt for him. And how bad Virgil felt for hurting him.

“Can we go to your place? It’s... closer.”

“Oh- I suppose we could. I doubt Remus will be there.”

They avoided the people trying to help Virgil, weaving through the few scattered onlookers, Janus’s arm resting around Virgil’s waist. Virgil was scared he would have a panic attack again and tried to focus on Janus.

He called a cab as he wasn’t about to take the train after that, and sat in the backseat with Virgil, not letting him go for a second. It was expensive and Virgil tried to get Janus to let him pay, but he didn’t have much of an argument. Janus half-carried Virgil up the stairs and into his apartment.

It was clean, which Virgil guessed was Janus’s doing given what he’d said about Remus, and fairly dark. It wasn’t the kind of dark that made you feel uneasy, but rather as in lighted only with soft ambient light. He didn’t get a good look at their living room before Janus pulled him into his bedroom. It was painted a pretty yellow and lit with a color changing lamp, which Janus turned to purple.

He sat Virgil down on the bed, who was still rather dazed from the day. Janus rummaged through his clothing drawers until he found a shirt smaller than the others and an old-looking pair of sweatpants.

“Here, you can change into this.”

Janus grabbed some clothes for himself and left the room for a moment, allowing him privacy. Virgil removed his soaked hoodie and Evanescence t-shirt, putting on the soft purple one Janus had found. It had short sleeves, but he didn’t have anything to lose at this point. He put on the sweatpants, soft and warm and opened the door for Janus. He was changed into a big hoodie that Virgil would kill to wear.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I- I think so. Sorry about the, the cuts.”

“It’s okay, Virgil. If you want me to get you something with long sleeves-”

“I think I’ll just end up stealing your hoodie at some point. Otherwise… it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Virgil sat down on the bed again, craving the soft blankets. Janus took his spot beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Jan. It- I’m, I’m alive because of you. I don’t know how I could repay that.”

“Tell me when this happens, and I’d die happy.”

Virgil smiled, leaning against Janus. He pushed himself against the wall, pulling Virgil along with him. He heaved the thick blanket around him and Virgil, but mostly Virgil. He snuggled into the weight and comfort, still sitting against Janus as if he were the only thing keeping him balanced.

“What happened today?”

“I got… fired. ‘Cause I’m too depressed to work. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“I can help you find a job, V. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Sometimes it just… feels that way. Like you’re never going to get out of this pit of loneliness and you’re sure everyone hates you, and you’re so scared something will go wrong all the time even though you don’t really care.”

“I don’t hate you. And I know you can end this the healthy way. Shall we start with some ice cream?”

“Ice cream’s not exactly healthy, Janus.”

“Ssshh.”

He left for a moment and returned with two tubs of chocolate ice cream and a spoon for each of them.

“No bowls? And two whole tubs?”

“Mhm. It’s better that way. And you could have both of them if you asked.”

“Nah, you deserve some ice cream too. I probably hurt you a lot by doing that.”

“Mm-mm, Virgil. You’re hurting, not me. Self-care rule number one: you’re better than everyone for a while, put your feelings first.”

“I’m not.”

“Pretend. Now, what would you like to do?”

Virgil considered the question for a moment. It might be nice to listen to music, or to distract himself with a game or movie, but he didn’t really want that.

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I… want to kiss you.”

Janus turned pink for a moment, before smiling his smile with one corner of his mouth.

Before he could say anything that he wanted to, Virgil kissed that smile. He wondered what it would be like to do so many times, so he wasn’t going to miss his opportunity. He put his ice cream down to hold Janus’s face with cold fingers, savoring the feeling of the little half-smile turning surprised and then into a giddy smile that began to kiss back. Virgil grinned when it ended, looking back into Janus’s eyes.

“So you’re going to surprise kiss me now?”

“Yep-”

Janus, just as quickly as Virgil had, kissed him quick on the nose, eliciting a blush from Virgil this time.

“Unfair, Janus.”

“Nah.”

“I’m gonna pout and eat my ice cream now.”

“Is there anything else we can do while eating ice cream?”

“I suppose we could watch a movie.”

“Lion King?”

“...Lion King? I mean, yeah, sure, okay!”

He smiled as Janus put the movie on, his familiar excitement seeping through. Virgil managed to wrestle the soft hoodie from him, revealing that one, he had no shirt, and two, that Virgil would cuddle Janus’s burn marks and he appreciated that. As Virgil fell asleep next to him, he pressed his lips to his forehead, who was just awake enough to feel.

And one by one, the messages were unlocked to him. Once, after a dance, came the desperate, passionate kiss that told him “I need to kiss you.” One Disney marathon he came to feel the peppered kisses on his cheeks that said “You’re adorable.” After a weekend trip alone he got the long cheek kiss that said ‘I missed you.’ When he finally got a job, he was given the messy kiss, cheeks held tight that said “I’m so proud of you.” One tired night he blushed at the kisses on his jaw and neck that said “You’re hot and I’m bored.”

And again and again and again, the tender forehead kisses that said “I’m here for you. I love you.”

[stillebesat]

White Lies (5/5)

Sanders Sides: Deceit, Virgil, Logan, Roman, Patton Sequel to Little Lies Blurb: Deceit has been stuck in his ‘role’ as Dilyn for almost a year now. It’s about time he changed that. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Tiny!Sides Inspiration: From @yay-cats9‘s wonderful Fanart she did for Little Lies. <3 Again thank you for the artwork! I love it! Overall Fic Warnings: Deceit, Negative Self Talk, Panic/Anxiety Attacks, Manipulation talk, Kinda Imprisonment?

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 

“Falsehood.”

Dee jumped, heart stuttering as Logey’s voice came from the doorway somewhere behind Virgil. Instinctively he tried to shove away from him and vanish from sight, but with Vee’s arms protectively holding Dee in place, he couldn’t go anywhere.

Trapped. 

Nononononono NO! 

Dee made a small noise of protest, flinching as soft footsteps moved closer. 

It was one thing to be pathetic in front of Virgil, the former Dark Side. 

It was completely different to show Log--

“Kiddo…” Patton whispered from just behind Vee.

A third shadowy figure appeared, highlighted by the light coming from the doorway. “We wouldn’t hate you, Dil.” Roman said.

To show the others how much of a weakling he’d become. Dee’s breath caught in his throat as he ducked his head against Virgil’s chest, taking refuge from everyone in the only place he could when he couldn’t just sync out to get away from them because he was still a freaking powerless child! 

Some Gatekeeper.

You’re pathetic. 

He hadn’t even heard the french doors open! How long had they been standing there listening--listening to him being--being--pathet--WAIT. Dee tensed, heart taking off like a hummingbird’s wings in his chest. Had the others seen him silence Vee? Had they watched him struggle to release him from his hold? What if they thought Dee had been purposely holding him captive! A long con that they walked in on, not knowing that Deceit had been trying to free Virgil. That he hadn’t meant to silence him! That it was an accid--

They’re gonna hate you for this. 

You Betrayed their trust. 

You can’t just silence the Big Four.

Monster. 

“Dee.” Virgil’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. “Dee.” He felt fingers moving through his hair again. “Stop. Don’t--” 

S-s-stop? Stop?! How could he?! HE was DECEIT! He was the BAD guy and the others now KNEW it. He whimpered, struggling to draw air to speak. “I-I-I--” He couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t!

They’ll hate you. 

Something pressed against his back, rubbing small circles there. “Kiddo. Kiddo please. You’re okay. You need to breathe. Can you breathe for us?” 

B-breathe? How would that help them not hate him? Dee squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Virigl’s hoodie so they wouldn’t accidentally grab at the air.

Yah that would be just grand if you silence them.  

They’ll hate you.

No matter what.

They will.

You can’t stop being you. 

“It’s okay, Dil--ah Dee? Dee.” Roman said as warm fingers trailed down his bare cheek, brushing at the tears that lingered there. 

Dil.

Dee flinched.

They only like you because you’ve been Dilyn.

They’ll never like Deceit.

Virgil’s arms tightened around him as Roey’s fingers paused, feather light on him. “You’re okay, my young Prince.” He soothed. 

Not okay.

Never okay.

Pathetic Gatekeeper.

Can’t even function properly without freaking out. 

Yet Dee found himself leaning into Roman’s warm palm, his hands frozen in Virgil’s hoodie. “I-I-I-” 

“Deceit.” Logan said in his usual calm tones, using Dee’s title like it was the most natural thing in the world after a year of calling him Dilyn. He placed his fingers on his arm, gently tapping in an odd pattern repeating pattern of four, seven, then eight. “You are safe with us. You are not in any danger.”

Yet. 

“Just breathe for now. Don’t try and speak just yet.” Anxiety huffed, again running his fingers through Dee’s hair. “Trust me, I know how this works.” 

“We can wait, kiddo.”

“Until you are calmer.”

“Take your time, Dil--Dee.”

“You just need to breathe for us.” Patton said, continuing to rub his back. “Breathe.” 

Breathe. They just wanted him to breathe. Dee nodded, keeping his eyes shut as he shakily lifted one hand, disrupting Logan’s tapping on his arm, to grab onto Roman’s finger’s, clinging to them like a drowning man clinging to a fraying string.  Breathe. Okay… Okay…how?  

You forgot how to breathe? 

Some Gatekeeper.

Can’t even breathe properly.

“Sometimes it helps to focus on something else.” Virgil whispered, rocking him back and forth, continuing to hold him close with one arm, while the other hand played with his hair. “Like...I don’t know...can you--do you taste something?” 

Taste? How could tasting anything help him breathe?! What sort of stupid quest-- Dee swallowed, tongue flickering out to his lips and the salty flavor coating them as Logan placed a steadying hand on his leg, just resting it there. “T-t-tears” He managed to whisper. 

“Okay.” Vee squeezed him, giving a comforting pressure all around. “That’s...well the tears aren’t good, but it’s good you can taste them.“ He exhaled. “What about two things you smell?” 

Smell? Dee drew in a shaky breath through his nose. It was--it was...“La-La-Lav.” 

“Lavender? From my hoodie?”  

He nodded, breath hitching. “Mmmm.” He buried his face deeper into Virgil’s clothes. “Mint.” He mumbled.  

“Oh!” Patton gasped, pausing in rubbing Deceit’s back. “I get it.” He whispered

That made one of them, because Dee didn’t see how this was supposed to help. 

“It makes sense Virgil’s clothes would smell so as both scents help to calm those who are feeling anxious.” Logan said, fingers again returning to tapping their four, seven, eight pattern on his leg.

“What about three things you hear, my young Prince?” Roman asked. “Can you tell us that?”

It was who he didn’t want to hear currently. Dee hunched his shoulders. It was easier to admit his insecurities when it was just him and Vee, but facing- “Y-you Three.” He whispered. It wasn’t easy. Obviously. He grimaced. “Pat…Lo…Ro.” And Vee...but Roey had only wanted him to say three.

“And are we causing you stress, Deceit? Being here?” Logan asked.

All movement from the others ceased and Dee couldn’t help but flinch again, his hand clutching tighter to Roman’s to keep him from pulling away. From leaving.

Pathetic.

Some Gatekeeper.

“Ye--na--n--ye-na” He couldn’t get either word out. He didn’t want them here, seeing him like this, but he didn’t exactly want them to leave either. He swallowed, throat burning as he turned his head to rest his scaled cheek against Vee’s hoodie, keeping his eyes squeezed shut as he dropped his other hand to Logey’s cooler one, wishing he had another arm to make sure Pat couldn’t leave either. “S-s-stay?” 

If you had more of a spine you could easily MAKE them stay with you. Just silence them. Take control. 

But he didn’t want to do that! He didn’t want to ruin the--the friendships he’d built with the others over the past year. 

“Aww, DeeDee.” Patton cooed, returning to rubbing small circles on his back. 

Dee flushed, ducking his head back against Virgil’s chest to hide how red his face must be.

And getting redder.

His breath caught, eyes nearly opening before he caught himself as Roman gently lifted Dee’s hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. “Of course, my young Prince. We’ll stay as long as you need us to. I promise.” 

Truth. 

The tightness in Dee’s chest faded, allowing him to draw air deeper into his lungs. They were going to stay. The Big Four wouldn’t leave him. Not even--not even---after--si--silencing--

“Four things you feel, Dee.” Virgil said, again running his fingers through Deceit’s hair, holding him close.

That was easier. He felt...he felt….surrounded. But in a good way. Everyone was there...for him. Wanting to help. He tightened his grip on Logey and Roey. “Pat--my back. Lo--leg. Ro...hand. You--ho-holding me.” 

“And when you’re ready, Deceit.” Logan rested his other hand on top of Dee’s. “Tell us, what are five things you can see?”

See? Dee squirmed, biting his lip.

Seeing would require opening his eyes.

Seeing would mean he--he’d see their faces. 

And that---that--

Some Gatekeeper.

Can’t even face your fears. 

Dee gritted his teeth, pulling his hands back to his chest, digging his fingers into the cloak Virgil had made for him. He could face them. HE COULD! 

Roey had said they wouldn’t leave.

Vee proved that, sticking around even after he’d been silenced, holding onto him without being forced to provide comfort. 

Looking at them shouldn’t change that. 

Until they find out what you did to Virgil. 

Until they remember you’re a DARK side. 

“It’s okay, DeeDee.” Pat said, reassuringly. 

Ro again stroked his cheek with his thumb. “We’re here for you.”

Are they?

Roey had promised.

Promises can be broken.

You know that.

“Bu-but---” Dee swallowed, eyelids fluttering as he leaned into Roman’s palm. “I--I just si-silenced--” 

The stroking stopped. “Silenced?”

“You used your ability?” Logan asked, the faintest of tremors to his voice as his hand twitched on Dee’s knee. “Up here?” 

“Kiddo, that’s not poss--” 

“It is.” 

Dee jerked at Vee’s steady voice, pulling free from Roman’s hand as his eyes flashed open to stare at the stormcloud on Virgil’s jacket. How coul--could he speak so calmly about being silenced! Dee could remember all too clearly the terror that had flashed across Anxiety’s face when his hands had slapped to his mouth. How the Shadows had sprung up in defense--

“But...How do you know?” Logan asked. 

Virgil shifted under him, shrugging one shoulder. “Dee silenced me, right before you guys showed up. Hands to the mouth and everything.”  

Patton made a soft noise of distress. “Nooooo.”

Here comes the rejection.

The hatred.

No one cares for Deceit. 

Dee curled up tighter, hiding as much as his burning face as he could. “Mm. sorry.” He mumbled. He didn’t want to be--be that sort of Deceit. The Bad Guy. He just wanted to...be himself...whatever himself was now--he didn’t know anymore.

Virgil dropped his hand from Dee’s hair to his hands, squeezing them. “It was--” He exhaled. “A shock for both of us. I wasn’t expecting it--I don’t think Dee was either...we--well I handled it...badly.”

Badly? Dee shook his head, looking up at Virgil frowning at the dark shadows under his eyes. Sure being attacked by the shadows hadn’t been fun. But he had been the one to stop listening to Vee when he said to stop. He was the one who pushed to continue trying to make him sound more like his adult self. “No.” 

Virigl raised an eyebrow. ��No?” 

He nodded, eyes flickering to the other three as they shifted closer to him so they could see his face. “No. Not just you--I was...I pushed, I was--was--b-bad.” His bottom lip trembled. He’d been so desperate to be his old self that he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions, of what he was asking. “And you just help and help and help some more, not...hate me.” He pulled one hand free from its place under Virgil’s and raised it--only semi surprised that Anxiety didn’t flinch at his movement, to rest his hand on his cheek. “You handle it good.”

Virgil had remained the level-headed one, working to comfort him despite his own distress while Dee---He was the one who’d---well...had a meltdown. 

Like the useless child you are. 

Some Gatekeeper. 

“So...I can assume.” Logan said, tilting his head. “That from the context given...Dee’s state of panic we found him in was from the...this...silencing that took place?” He asked, his fingers moving to tap in the four, seven, eight pattern again. 

“A silencing that shouldn’t have happened.” Roman mused, his eyes darting between Dee and Vee. “I mean--we proved his powers didn’t work on us months ago, Specs. That they only work while he’s in the subconscious with the Others.” 

Virgil shifted, though his hold remained steady on Dee as he drew in a breath. “I could be wrong, but I think….it’s because I began thinking of him as Deceit instead of Dilyn after I found him out here dressed in his old clothes.”

Huh? Dee looked down at his outfit--well the one Vee had made for him. The one that made him feel like himself for the first time in a long time. But that--how could--a change of clothes gave him his ability to silence back? That hardly made any sens--

“Of course!” Logan abruptly leaned forward, intently studying Dee’s clothes. “I can--Why did we not consider!?” 

Roman frowned. “Consider, Specs? Care to clue the rest of us in?”

Logan sat back, clearing his throat as he adjusted his tie. “We’ve all been concerned that Deceit’s stayed small far longer than the rest of us ever have...and with this new info.” He adjusted his glasses, the lens flashing in the faint light. “His unchanging state may be our fault.”

Deceit blinked, twisting to see Logan. Come again? Their fault? The Big Four had done nothing but help him for the past year! Keeping him safe and protected and his little state secret from the Others in the subconscious.

Patton made a noise in the back of his throat, fiddling with the edge of his hoodie as his hand paused on Dee’s back. “Our fault?” 

“Just think of it.” Logan gestured to all of them. “What did Roman say when he set the parameters for Deceit’s role as Dilyn a year ago?” 

Ro straightened, gesturing vaguely around the balcony. “Well, I said that he’s just a child in the mindscape. That he doesn’t have any particular funct--” He jerked. “Great Odin’s Eyepatch!” Roman turned to Logan. He jabbed his finger in the air. “No function. That’s what you’re getting at. We made Deceit--”  

Logan nodded. “Exactly. If Dilyn’s ‘role’ is to be a child and that he has no function in the mindscape, then there is no reason for him to grow or return to normal. Hence why Deceit--has remained how he is.”

“We didn’t let him be himself.” Patton whispered, pulling his hand back to grab onto the sleeves of his cat sweater. “In trying to make our lives easier while he was with us--we refused to let Deceit be himself.”

Truth. 

Dee sat up in Virgil’s arms, eyes wide. The solution--it was--could it really be that simple? Had they really prevented him from growing the entire time by--by having him take on this role?! 

“Kinda my thoughts.” Virgil mumbled, fidgeting in place. “Hence why I--I gave him a version of his outfit back. To help him...feel more like Deceit.” 

Deceit will rise. 

“So to fix this--” Roman snapped his fingers, grinning wide. “We just need to start treating you like Deceit again.” 

Dee stiffened, breath catching his throat. “Just like before?” He asked, hating how his voice trembled.

Back to being the Bad Guy.

“NO.” Virgil wrapped his arms protectively around Dee as he shook his head. “I mean...Yes to you being Deceit again, Dee. But No to just like before. I mean...we can’t--we need to--”

“Accept him?” Patton asked, tilting his head, eyes shimmering in the faint light. “All of him. Like we did for you?”

“Exactly.” 

Was it really that easy? Dee looked between all of them. Were they really wanting him to be...Deceit? “But--” He ducked his head. “I’ll be...bad again.” 

“Falsehood.” Logan said, gently lifting Dee’s chin back up to meet his eyes. “Overall Thomas is a good person, which means that you are too….there is no need to return to exactly how things were before in order for you to function for Thomas.”

“It would be silly to act like nothing’s changed between us.” Patton said, bouncing in place. “I mean...DeeDee can make cookies with me just as easily as Dilio did, even when you’re back to being an adult! We can still be FamILY.”

Family. 

The word had his stomach fluttering as chills rushed down his spine. Family. 

It was strange how---how desperately Dee wanted that word to apply to him too. To be included. To be wanted. To be part of a group. Part of the Family.

“It’s just a matter of figuring out what you want, Dee.” Virgil said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “You don’t have to be stagnant. I mean...I changed. You can too. Be whoever you want to be.”

“Of course. Which means to potentially help Deceit return to normal--” Logan took Dee’s hand, his own giving the slightest of tremors as he raised it to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he did so. “When you are ready.” He said, a faint shimmer of fear flashing across his eyes as his breath ghosted over Dee’s finger tips. “You can silence me as per your duties as Self Preservation to keep Thomas safe, I will not hate you for doing so.”

Dee caught his breath, eyes going wide. He...he wouldn’t? Hate...him?

“Same here, Jekyll and Lied.” Roman said placing his hand over Logan’s, giving a seated bow to Dee. “Silence me as you will. I won’t hate you either for doing your job.”

“Me too!” Patton agreed with a tremulous smile, adding his hand to the others. 

“You already silenced me--but yah.” Virgil shrugged, placing his hand on top. “You can do it again, I guess.” 

Dee--Deceit lifted his blurry eyes from their hands, heart pounding in his chest hard enough he wouldn’t be surprised if it burst. “You’re...you’re sure?” He whispered.

It had been so long...so very long since he’d attempted to use his powers on them. Attempted to be...Deceit. He didn’t--want to hurt them. He didn’t even know if he could anymore...but the knowledge that they were willing to let him...meant a lot. 

They nodded, even Virgil tilted his head the barest of degrees.

“If we can be ourselves around you, Deceit.” Logan said. 

“Then there is no need for you to pretend any longer to be someone else for us.” Roman finished, giving him a wink. “We’ll work it out.”

“Cus that’s what FamILY does!” Patton said, tousling his hair. “Even though you look like a kid, we’ll do our best to treat you like an adult from here out. It will be our New Year’s Goal! Okay, DeeDee?” 

Deceit will rise. 

It wasn’t--wasn’t how he originally wanted to return--but this...this could work. To help him get back to normal. To be...Deceit again. 

Dee drew in a steadying breath, nodding. A new year. A new him. Hopefully working with the Big Four instead of against them.

“Five things I see.” He said softly, meeting everyone’s eyes as his small hand warmed in theirs. “Me with my Family.”

End.

Taglist in Reblog

[cesabutterflywrites]

Voicemails

“I just want to stop feeling.”

Word Count:1978

Warnings: crying, ask me to add more if needed

Roman made sure his living room looked perfect. There was fresh popcorn popped, sodas chilling in the fridge, candy prepped, the blankets were laid out among the fluffy pillows, and he had laid out two onesies. He hoped the one he got for his friend fit correctly. 

He took a selfie with the perfect movie night setup in the background. He decided to wait until he had all of the pictures from the night before posting any. Perhaps that was his hopes for a successful night welling up in him. 

Grinning in satisfaction, he waited patiently for his friend to confirm he was on his way. He changed into his onesie while he waited. Practically bouncing in anticipation, he decided to sing to himself while he waited. When he was bored of that, he scrolled through Instagram, liking photos and commenting compliments on each one he could. When that got boring, he checked out his fridge. He decided to try to call when it was a half an hour past their agreed start time. 

His heart sank as he got voicemail, “Hey, It’s Virge. Leave a message, or don’t. If I didn’t answer just text me.”

Beep

“Hey, Stormy, it’s Roman. I thought we were on for movie night? I got everything set up, and it’s half an hour past our agreed start time. Just let me know if you forgot or decided to cancel on me. Well, um. Just update me please. Love you.”

He hung up, then took a second to realize that he had accidentally said “Love you” on the phone. It was out of habit, and he started to panic but put it out of his mind completely. People slipped up like that all the time.

He paced around his living room, checking the time on the clock, his watch, and his phone so he knew the time wasn’t off. When he reached an hour with no word, he called again. 

This time it only rang once. “Hey, It’s Virge. Leave a message, or don’t. If I didn’t answer just text me.”

But I tried and you still didn’t.

Beep

“Hi. Sorry to leave another message, but I just-I just, um, I’m starting to get worried, haha,” he chuckled nervously, “Well, I suppose you are busy and forgot to tell me we had to cancel. It’s cool I guess…” Roman paused, wondering what else to say. He hated voicemail. “Also ignore what I said on the previous message near the end. It was out of habit.”

He hung up, then realized that he implied that it was a habit for him to say he loved Virge. He slapped his hand against his face and let out a deep sigh. This was not what he had planned for. He slumped back onto the couch in sadness. The others had called off movie night, and when Roman had planned on canceling it was Virgil who insisted on doing it still. 

Then he bailed.

When it reached two hours Roman had enough. He tried to call, this time it rang all the way through until he reached voicemail. Unsurprised, Roman decided to continue. 

“Hey, It’s Virge. Leave a message, or don’t. If I didn’t answer just text me.”

Beep

“Look, you know you don’t have to be scared about telling me no. You better either be dead or  busy or sleeping because you were the one who wanted this, not me!” Roman felt the tears coming on. He decided if he couldn’t do it in person, voicemail would have to do. 

“I made everything perfect for you. I got your favorite candy, your favorite soda, and popped more popcorn than I have for anyone. I-I got you a freaking onesie!” he paused, trying to avoid losing it and sobbing into the receiver. He strolled into the kitchen, the sight of his efforts in the room making him hurt too much. “I just want to stop feeling. I want to stop feeling for you.”

“Never mind the second message’s disregard for the first. I-” he sank to the cool tiled floor. Dressed in a onesie. He felt pathetic as he admitted to himself and the voice mailbox, “I think I do love you.”

He had not seen the headlights through the living room window. He hadn’t heard his front door open and close. He had been so wrapped up in his feelings and thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps of combat boots move from the carpet to the tile. 

“Roman? Did you mean that?” a familiar deep voice asked softly. 

Roman looked into the doorway to the kitchen. Virgil was standing there, with his eyes widened bigger than Roman thought possible. He looked like a raccoon who just got caught sneaking into someone’s house.

Roman was so happy to see him. 

He got up from the floor and walked to Virgil, who looked down at him. Roman only came to Virgil’s nose, and he slid the onesie’s hood off of his head to better see Virgil. 

“Roman?” Virgil asked. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped nervously. 

“Can I hug you?” Roman asked, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He didn’t expect himself to be this emotional, perhaps it was the late hour, or the blossoming of knowledge that showed him his feelings. 

Virgil only answered by pulling the smaller boy into his arms. He held Roman tight as Roman cried into the torn purple shirt. He had pent up a lot of emotions in anticipation of the night. He spent a long time making sure everything was perfect. He made sure the movie he chose appealed to Virgil’s tastes. He wanted the night to be special, and now he knew why. He wanted to be held while he let out the feelings for his friend. 

“Hey, Roman, let’s move to the couch, my legs hurt from standing, plus I’m starving.” Virgil pulled back a bit, but waited for Roman to be the one to let go. 

Roman nodded and stepped back. “Right, right. The popcorn is cold by now, but let me show you what I did.” 

Virgil followed Roman into the room, finally having a chance to take in the details of Roman’s hard work. “This is perfect.”

He noticed the pillows and blankets were carefully placed, and the candy was evenly distributed in bowls. Virgil felt guilty. He wasn’t trying to be late, and after seeing how much this meant to Roman he decided to explain himself. 

Virgil sat first, glancing up curiously at Roman who seemed hesitant. “What’s up, Dreamy?”

Roman scratched the back of his head. “Could I…” he cleared his throat to speak louder, “If you’re okay with it, can I lay my head in your lap while we talk? If not it’s fine, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

Virgil closed his eyes, guilt tearing into his heart. Before he messed up, Roman had no problem plopping himself on him or any of the other guys. 

He looked up and patted his hands against his lap, “Of course, you didn’t even need to ask.”

Roman smiled softly and curled up on the couch next to the taller boy. He laid his head on the soft lap. Virgil smiled at the appearance. The sight of Roman in a Beauty and the Beast onesie was adorable, and not in the overly sickening way. Out of habit, he ran his head through Roman’s curly blonde hair. He looked so fragile at that moment. Virgil was heartbroken a bit that he was a contributor. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered, “I don’t recommend listening to your voice messages.” 

Virgil laughed, “I listened to the first one right before I got into the car.”

Roman made some high pitched noises in embarrassment, causing Virgil to smirk while he twirled with the soft bits of hair in his fingers. “It’s okay, I understand. We don’t have to talk about it right now. Plus I should be the one apologizing, I was the one who ruined the night by being late.” 

He poked Roman on the nose to pause the protests that were about to come out. “No, really, it is my fault. I should have let you know I was visiting my grandma and would probably be late.” 

Roman just rolled over to look up at Virgil. “So why didn’t you answer?” 

Virgil blushed, “I just didn’t think about it, then I was on the road.”

He looked at the boy in his lap. There were hazel eyes buried under fresh tears. Virgil looked into them, not realizing before the amount of care Roman put into not just the night; but everything. Roman was always helping Patton take care of everyone. Roman was the one who hosted every event. He made sure to keep conversation flowing. He was great at creating party games. Roman was a bundle of goodness, and Virgil took that happiness of his for granted. 

Roman knew creative nicknames for him. He made sure he kept his playful teasing to a minimum because he knew how sensitive Virgil was. Virgil felt his own eyes well up in shame. 

“Hey Roman?” He whispered. 

“What?” Roman whispered back. 

“Did you-” Virgil looked up, his face was too hot. “Did you mean it?” 

Roman sat up so he could look at Virgil better. “Yeah,” he drew out the word, “I didn’t know it until I said it.” 

Virgil just nodded, looking away. “That’s good. I’m glad.” 

They sat in awkward silence. Virgil twiddled with his thumbs. While Roman kept nervously scratching the back of his neck. Virgil snuck glances at the boy next to him, catching eyes a couple times. 

“Look,” he finally decided to speak, “I’m not-I’m not really good at, um, feelings. But if we’re talking about it- and thinking, um, shit this is hard.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess, uh, the best way I can sum up is, um, well I guess I care about- I love,” he shyly looked at Roman through his black bangs, “I love you, also.”

Roman smiled in shock. “Wow.” 

They just stared at each other, both smiling small smiles of hesitation. “Virgil,” Roman started, “Can I kiss you?” 

Virgil blushed, shrinking in on himself. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for his first kiss, especially with his best friend. He looked at Roman, those eyes, and thought about maybe trying it once. 

“Sure,” he replied. His voice was more shakier than intended. 

Roman also seemed nervous, so that helped a bit. They both shifted closer to each other, and pressed their lips together slowly. 

It was a slow kiss, nothing too overwhelming. The feelings in between them were soft. Unexpected love wasn’t meant to be too deep, and the sensitivity was still high. They both seemed to agree on keeping it soft. Soothing. They kept it slow, and eventually they parted as slowly as they came together. They shared a smile, both blushing. 

“It’s late, should we just call it a night?” Virgil asked. 

Roman shrugged. “Are you going to spend the night like usual?” 

“Yeah, I think I need to rest before I think about driving more.” 

Roman held his arms open. “Then I propose we cuddle together on the floor and pretend we watched the movie like always!”

Virgil laughed, “Alright, man, whatever you say.” 

Virgil changed into the onesie, and it was a bit small but not too uncomfortable. They settled in together on the floor with the blankets and pillows, and when Roman finally drifted off, Virgil put his earbuds in. He went to his voicemail, and listened to the first one over and over until his eyes got too heavy. He kept feeling a form of nervous joy at hearing Roman saying “Love you.” 

When he was done, he smiled at his friend’s sleeping face. “Love you, too.”

A/N: Wednesday plans fell through so you’re all being treated to two contents in one day. Prince in the Storm Chapter Three & this little hurt/comfort piece with my comfort ships. Love you all, and thanks for 25 followers!

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