#i have literally not changed except i learned how to deal with my curls

[crookedkingdom]

my parents didn't think this was very funny

[certainlynotasimp]

Cat Got Your Tongue?

(Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader)

A/N: Hello~✨This is the one-shot version of this head cannon some one requested of Miguel O’Hara with a Black Cat!Reader. I still have no idea if this Anon , who I think I know who you are, wanted it to be the personality trope or the actual Spiderman character…oh well, I’m planning on writing one with y’all’s Spiderman x Black Cat lovers. Also this is my first attempt at some spicy content so feedback is appreciated.

Warnings: 18+ themes (Minors DNI), Not smut, Female Reader/Pronouns, Embarrassed Miguel, Jealousy, Dirty talk, and Google Translated Spanish (( again I’m sorry but hearing him talk in Spanish is literally just 🤤🤭🥵))

~~~~~~~~~

The sound of aggressive typing fills the empty space as six spider men enter the meeting place within the lobby of the Spider Society.

Miguel barely sparred any of them a glance as they mumbled their small formalities while dragging themselves to their seats. All except the one the blue spider absolutely loathed to see in this room.

“Good morning, Guapito~” A sultry voice purrs into his ear causing the hairs on his neck to stand up. The SpiderWoman’s minty breath caused Miguel to bite on his salivating tongue as he chewed out. “Good morning, (L/N). Please take your seat.”

Throwing on a mask of annoyance, he glares at the snickering temperest as she sits beside him.

The new addition to the society joined about three weeks ago and Miguel never regretted anything more in his life than letting her bat her eyelashes into his team. Her faux innocence deceived him into believing she wouldn’t be too much trouble until the devil perked her head out of her.

Soon accidental brushes in the corridor turned into lingering caresses. Polite compliments turned into flirty promises as she continued to twist him around her finger. He should hate it. Hate every single bat of those long eyelashes. Hate every cat like curl to her lip. Hate how she acentuates her muscles and curves when she’s close to him. But he doesn’t.

The only thing he can possibly think that he hates about her was the ravage thoughts she puts into his head.

And he hates how he loves it.

“Alright, since we are all here.” He states as he opens the holographic map through out the room. “We are dealing with a dangerous anomaly in dimension 1746.”

As he finishes that sentence, a brush of something against his calf makes his muscles jump. He controls his face to remain calm and collected despite the urge to glare at the snickering spider beside him.

The others look at her confused for a moment before she fakes a sneeze into her elbow.

“Oh, excuse me.” She plays innocent as she grabs a tissue and dabs her nose. “The change in season in my world is causing a really bad allergy season…”

Her pitiful excuse causes the others to turn back towards their leader with a soft chorus of ‘bless yous’ plays out. Her eyes turn to meet his ruby gaze as a sinister smile curls on her pretty mouth.

‘Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.’ Miguel mentally groans as he throws himself back into the meeting.

“Lyla.” Miguel calls as he watches the heart eyed AI materialize infront of him.

“Yea, boss?” She says as she picks at her nails. He fights the urge to roll his eyes as he calmly asks, “Please show us all the information you gathered about the anomaly and what should we expect.”

“Isn’t that your job as the leader to do that?” The computer teases as Miguel glares at her.

“It does sound a lot more interesting when you explain it, sir.” A voice purrs beside him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. His talons crack out of his skin as he grinned his teeth. Luckily, the red glow from the map allowed his heated cheeks to blend in.

“Well, (L/N), Maybe you should learn how to listen more to others.” Miguel grits out.

“Yea, hot stuff.” One of the spidermen whistles. “I’ll let you listen to me all night long.” He flirts as he uses the lense of his mask to wink at her.

The table almost cracks beneath the grip he on it as he tries to focus back on Lyla. “Parker-7853, you better watch your mouth before I send you home to your wife…” He warns he avoids eye contact.

The room goes back to the normal silence it was before as they all paid attention to Lyla explain the rules of the mission and the best ways to take out the anomaly without causing too much destruction to the fabric of space. Miguel focuses intently in front of him, but nothing the AI says processes through his brain.

The only thing he can think about was the burning gaze of the woman beside him. How she scoots a little closer and lightly traces her nail along his thigh.

‘Shit…’

As the agonizing minutes past by, the torture only got worse. Slight brushes along his leg and side, silent muttering of sweet nothings, disguised questions to hide the flirty remarks, and hyper attention on all of her perfume drove him mad.

His stomach was all in knots as he tried to remain composed as the meeting drew closer to the end. His fingers itched from the talons digging so deep into the chair as his fangs ached for a relief from the hunger she started in him. It’s hard to believe that she isn’t a Silk variant with how much she affected him….

The tension building in the room went unacknowledged but not unnoticed by the other spider men as Miguel’s signature frown was now a hardened scowl. The others didn’t dare point it out. They knew better than to call out their leader for being obviously distracted from the mission. They were all there when Miles Morales was at their base.

As the meeting ended, every spider man rushed out of the room before Miguel could properly dismiss them, leaving only him and his problem. The she-devil smiles sweetly as him as she stands up and innocently says,

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Right, Papi?” Her eyes shining with a look of mischief until she realized she broke the last bit of his resolve.

“Leaving so soon?” Miguel uncharacteristically smirks as he stands up and follows behind the woman. “I was hoping…” He pushes a button to cause the door to slam shut before the spider could escape his web. “We can have a quick chat about your behavior today.”

She turns and looks up at him in shock for a brief moment before slipping on her usual mask of flirtation. Her lovely eyes jumping from his looming figure towards any other way she could possibly escape. This wasn’t the usual reaction she would get from Miguel. He would normally scold her or roll his eyes at her advances, but today was different.

She’s fucked this time.

“Oh? I get some alone time with you today, Guapito?” She stuttered out as the growing dread and excitement bubbles up from her stomach into her rapid beating heart.

“Did you enjoy that?” Miguel asks sweetly, ignoring her comment as he stands just inches in front of her. His hand comes up beside her head and is placed against the door. His body leans forward as his open hand supports his weight. The tangible effect of watching his arm and shoulder flex from the strain almost causes her to pull her lip in between her teeth.

“En-enjoy what?” She acts coy as she tries to keep her eyes on his chest. She watches it vibrate with the deep cruel chuckle he releases and her own heart starts trembling as the smell of his cologne suffocates the air around them.

“Aw, is Gatita struggling to speak now?” A coo of false concern is laced with his amusement as she feels his other hand coming up beside her head. “What’s wrong, Gatita? Cat got your tongue?”

He chuckles at her struggling to respond as he threads his talons through her hair. He yanks her head back against the door softly as his hunger filled eyes burn into her wide ones. Jealousy and a long denied desire were now pouring out into his smirk as he leans down whispering,

“Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?” His smirk widens revealing his fangs as he trails down slightly. Her body starts to shake from the anticipation as his nose traces fire from her cheek bone and along her jawline.

“I-I don’t-“ Miguel hushes her softly as his other hand comes to rest on her hip. “Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…” He tuts at her as the talons lightly dig into her neck and hip.

“Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…” The Spider Woman had to bite her lip to hold back the noise building in the back of her throat as his fangs lightly scrape against her throat as he uttered sweetly bad things to her.

He smirks at this before saying, “Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?”

She vigorously nods as the mask of false bravado finally falls off before Miguel tightens his grip in her hair, causing a soft moan to escape her pretty glossed lips.

“Words, Gatita. I want to hear you…” He scolds as he looks at how pathetic the once flirty spider had become in his touch.

“Yes!” She admits as her hands shot up and clung to his chest as the stinging from her scalp causes her to yelp.

“Good…” His face comes back up to her own as he starts to lean toward. Her own eyes flutter shut as she waits for the feeling of his lips against her own.

But nothing came. Instead she felt his hands completely remove themselves off of her as her eyes shot open. Miguel chuckles at the stop whine as he smirks devilishly at her.

“This will have to continue another time, Gatita…” He says as he unlocks the door. His face quickly trains back to the normal stern expression he always wears before saying, “But, don’t you dare try to embarrass me in front of the others again or else I will do as I promised…”

The spider scurries out of there with a tight “Yes, sir.” As Miguel chuckles in satisfaction.

Before he could leave, the yellow AI materializes again with a wicked smile on her face as she teases, “So you do like her?…if you’re gonna sleep with her, please don’t do it when I’m around. It was hard enough watching your two eye fuck the whole-“

“Lyla, shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.- She's gonna be the death of me.

Gatita-little kitten?? ((It also said it meant cooked 😭))

You think it's fun to play with me like this, okay? In front of all your colleagues?- Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?

Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…-Poor little kitten...can't even defend herself...even when another man threatens to take her home...

Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…—I almost thought about taking you right then and there...let them all hear how much of a good girl you can be for me…

Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?-Maybe even paralyze you with my venom so you can helplessly beg...but you would like that wouldn't you, pretty girl?

[thatdeadaquarius]

Omg

Hey

Hey!

HEY!!

WHAT ABOUT GOD READER THAT GOT A CURSE PLACED ON THEM BY SOMEONE THEY DON'T LIKE

That curse makes them turn to random ages like,, one day you wake up and your like 3 and the other you're 29 and the acolytes just have to deal with it for a months (and just for funziz you don't keep your memories as a kid *evil laugh*)

I feel like people who are generally around kids would be great around us and some others .... Less so (*cough cough* ei)

AND EVEN BETTER

WHAT IF ENGLISH ISN'T OUR FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT SUMTGING LIKE FRENCH OR SPANISH, AND THE ACOLYTES ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE TEYING TO TALK TO YOU WHILE 14 YEAR OLD READER IS CURLED UP IN A BALL CUS THEY'RE SCARED LSKFJGJDLSK

let the tennage/ kid reader be neurodivergent/autistic (cuz i am and theres bot enough rep on this god forsaken app .·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·.)

n E wayss <3

LOVE YA !!!!

Aka. your fave >:D kiss kiss

A KISS KISS??!!! FOR ME?!!! 😊🥰😚 <3

BRO i literally designed a whole original character around that concept lmao (except they remember/just body change/everything else kinda matches ur desc! :0 )

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Neurodivergent!Reader, Child!Reader, Teen!Reader

Planet: Language Shenanigans, Platonic

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, mini scenarios

Stars: Arataki Itto, Kuki Shinobu, ft. Kujou Sara, Ei + Raiden Shogun, Inazumans

Comets & Meteors: No Content Warnings & No Triggers Detected.

no bc gif is me as a kid, bc I didn't experience snow until I was 12 💀 +it stayed for like one day, was 1 inch deep, or like 5 cm (for my non-americans out there), and was gone the next lmao- I was terrified when I moved and got REAL snowy days- jfc Snezhnaya would kill little me-

SO I was kinda stuck on this tbh, i usually default to like, headcanons or scenarios if ppl dont specify/im just adding onto what you already said like when its not even really a request u know?

so, uh tried to do headcanons, but idk how good it is Orah, sorry!

Also ik you mentioned as example, but we sticking to Inazuma, bc i feel like I neglect them lol

also i hope u like Itto 💀

♤

you quickly found out that magic obeys some weird type of logic despite being magic, so you only ever fluctuate in age within the range you’ve already been,

ur kinda glad youre not seeing what you look like at 100 years old and getting stuck that way for weeks- only Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle can be cursed to be old yet has so much rizz that she’s still badass and pulls a wizard boyfriend LMAO

so just bc idk what to make the max,

let’s put you at originally, also bc im not a minor, 20 yrs old

so what I mean by all the above is: you’ve lived 2 decades, 1-20 are the only ages you can be

-that being said,

you’re a menace.

so yeah you could’ve been a quiet kid, a well-behaved kid, a good kid even,

…but not in a magical world full of awesome flora and fauna, and magical creatures,

and gods, and vision users and-

you get the point.

plus, you hadn’t really learned English yet until u were a bit older so (who can blame you i hate this language ur so valid)

and for whatever reason English is the only one these guys speak, besides maybe some mythical creatures like the aranara or something

so its kinda absolute chaos trying to reign u in at times.

so needless to say the entirety of Inazuma is terrified for you.

like, even if you aren’t the “Creator” per say in this, they still know what the warmth of your power feels like

But more importantly-

You know who’s the first to spot a random wandering-non-Inazuman-child? And take you in? Especially one that radiates that same energy of presence they feel sometimes + makes them more powerful???

The Amazing, the All-Powerful, Awe-Inspiring Oni: Arataki Itto!

Not even his gang, or Kuki are the first to see you, nah it’s Itto himself,

he literally finds 12 yr old you just sneaking around in awe in Chinju Forest,

and needless to say ur pretty fascinated with the colors and the vibes, and it’s not like Genshin Impact existed when u were this young, ur poor younger self is just rlly paranoidly looking around

Itto is kinda a lot at first, and he was a little confused by ur constant rubbing your arms, or tapping ur fingers on stuff, (or all the stims u be doing when ur nervous) but he just took it all in stride

so Itto, after like an hour and a few well placed rocks at his face and groin by 12 yr old u who was ready to fight to the death at first, FINALLY convinced you by drawing a little picture of his house and his friends

and all that clear effort, despite the foreign world, foreign non-human guy, etc., made you warm up to him too, afterall, even 12 yr old you knew a himbo when they saw one 💪

at first he just thought you were another person who was getting powered up by that yokai he felt (he was convinced thats what you were when u weren’t physically here before, like some kind of powerful gift giving/deal making yokai)

but after he saw you shapeshift the next morning into 16 yr old you, (he lives with his grandma so ur younger self felt pretty safe staying with a himbo guy and an little grandma lady)

he was now more convinced than ever-

that you were some kind of god that’s been in hiding since the archon war (his granny has a lot of cool stories so what?! hes a very educated oni thank you very much!),

rather than a vision user, and he also thinks u being random ages is deffo a curse, and its to keep ur powerfulness limited!! - Arataki Itto, 202X

(bc younger u doesnt remember that u can upgrade ppl, or at least it takes em a learning curve bc they gotta relearn everytime)

okay but itd be so funny tho if nobody else believes that (esp the non-magical folk), bc to them, ur just like, a bunch of siblings (child, teen, adult you lmao) or a tanuki lol

he eventually gets Kuki to believe, after she also sees how you change/the aura is honestly more powerful too once she’s paying attention, like instead of like a blanket, ur like standing in front of a raging campfire

but she makes him keep it a secret

ur really vulnerable a lot of the time, so they’re both worried abt keeping u happy and safe, aw cuties <3

◇

so yeah, ur literally just chillin with the arataki gang all the time now

the gang become ur besties no matter the age, like they love mild pranks, and general chaos, u wanna explore no matter the age, and also love chaos, esp since it can be magical now (oh child you is having the time of their life when they’re around)

its literally a match made in heaven

plus the more hands on deck, the easier it is to keep ur ass from running off as a kid (and an adult, bc omg a shiny?? a shiny crystal fly???!! lmao neurodivergent 🤝crow/raven = shiny solidarity)

honestly Itto has a blast with all versions of you, and he’s literally the best bc he’s a himbo:

so he’s fine with answering context or “obvious” questions all the time LMAO

and if he makes any conclusions abt ppl’s behavior u dont, he’ll explain pretty quick and simple and he never sees it as awkward or smth

its honestly kinda funny bc ur like 10, and just 🤨🤨🤨??? sometimes at ppl (u got better at reading ppl as u got older obv, and at english too, that doesnt help lol)

he’s super sweet abt it, just really quick which is great too,

“he’s irritated at the guard, not us!”

or “she’s relieved, not upset, don’t worry it’s all good!”

like, u never misunderstand ANYBODY with this Oni around!! <3

(this is mainly bc Itto’s gotta know when to bail, joke, stand his ground, etc. from experience, and messing w/Kujou Sara so he’s actually really good at reading people, only when he’s paying attention tho)

◇

so younger u just feels safe around Itto, and so while u do get taught english (mostly by his grandma/Kuki) u also dont rlly mask,

nor do u know how to mask as well as you do in the future

so ur just running around with the gang, living ur little neurodivergent life, and anytime someone points out smth u do that might be awkward, like repeating something over and over as a stim (esp with learning english phrases/new words at times) the gang and Itto, and Kuki, are all ready to protect 💪

but most of the time what happens is- whether unintentionally or not, Itto manages to make THEM feel awkward or like they’re the ones doing something socially weird all the time 😭

just, a parent is like “this kid can’t speak English, do they even know any other language? Because all I keep hearing is them repeating that sound over and over…”

Itto: “Damn you're right they do that a lot, just like how you peek out your window a lot, but we all got our quirks man, no need to be shy about it, the kid isn’t, so just open those curtains, and that window and look out at the world!”

which announces to the whole neighborhood, bc Itto is only ever not loud when you tap his arm as a signal, that the parent is the nosiest bitch ever, he just puts them on blast for everyone to hear lmao

◇

Itto is actually very respectful about you, and while it would, almost be easy bc of the age switching, for him to infantilize you, he’s really good at treating you like an equal no matter how old you are :0 :D

like a giant teddy bear older brother at times, and the guys and Kuki are all pretty good at it too

(tho dw, Kuki is doing all the emotional distress heavy lifting for all of them over your safety, esp bc when u switch at first u are VERY out of your element/disoriented bc u dont always recognize Teyvat/know less English)

but that being said…

Itto fucking loves your excited/happy stims!!!

You flap your hands? Ittos flapping his arms!

You jump up and down, Itto jumps!,

…with his full grown man self with MUSCLES, and causes a mini earthquake wherever you guys are- yknow a shop, the center of town, somebody’s house, near one of the guards 💀 (which always manages to knock them flat on their ass LMFAOO)

Or best of all, you do little stompy stomps??

ITTO DOES HIS STOMPS WITH YOU, like his idle animation does??? :D !!

DUDE- (/gen.n.)

u were like 8 at the time, and saw Kujou Sara for the first time, she’s looking all badass, mostly bc Itto pranked her and she’s power-walking toward u guys pissed as hell ready to arrest him, but u love it anyway bc shes so cool, and right as Sara gets to u two-

u start doing stompy stomps! And Itto joins!!

…and she’s shocked at first, but realizing how giggly and happy u two are, and then Itto explains its bc of her???

Kujou Sara lets Arataki Itto go, for the first time, ever.

she doesnt explain, but she literally was so melted by cuteness, and a warm familiarity??, by u two she couldnt be mad anymore lmao

Itto is now legally obligated to bring you to any and all matters involving the government, regardless of age, according to Kuki Shinobu, his grandma, and himself

all for different reasons tho, Itto’s like, “My lucky charm! My bestie goes everywhere with me!”

meanwhile Kuki/grandma: “A foreign non-Teyvatian speaking child/teen at times is more adept at keeping Itto in line than anyone else, or at least getting him out of the consequences 💀”

♧

Bonus:

The first time you see the Raiden Shogun,

She scares the shit out of 6 yr old you 😭

And she recognizes that familiar aura immediately, so shes just like:

😶😦😰

(You warm up to her after she offers to show you how she can summon lightning, Itto helped her lmao, and Ei also came out to keep u safe bc Raiden is a little… unaware… at times, of mortal limits, and now that ur in a mortal body-)

Also both of them unanimously agree to be the sugar mother to all ur hyperfixation foods/safe foods ever, SCOREEEE

◇

Bonus 2:

*KUKI WOULD LIKE THE COLLECTIVE CITY OF INAZUMA TO KNOW SHE DOES NOT APPROVE OF ITTO TEACHING U ENGLISH CUSSWORDS

☆

I hope somebody likes Itto enough to enjoy this, sorry if u arent a huge fan of him Orah! I just think he's annoying and neat, and havent written abt Inazuma enough lmao

I finally graduated college/uni by the way guys!!!

Ill actually have a life now that wont be hogged by homework! Like writing! Like drawing! Like anything but school!

Anyway, love u guys, another post coming soon,

Safe Travels Orah,

💀♒️

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

[larcenywrites]

Headcanons | Raising a Baby Together

Tony Stark x Reader

Iron Man is a family man now! And his toughest battle yet is navigating parenthood while also juggling, like, the rest of the world. 

Warnings: One mild sexual reference

Family Man Series: 1  2 3

💠Tony warned you that he'd been a very fussy baby himself. He's still a fussy baby

💠You were starting to get worried, especially with how much your son kicked like he was throwing a tantrum when he was in the womb. 

💠But for the most part, he's actually a very happy baby. No issues taking a bottle (except for the few times you're pretty sure he'd rather just complain about it than eat), and no issues being put to bed. He still wakes you up crying a couple times a night, but that's pretty normal. 

💠But he must know that it's usually his dad that puts him to sleep at certain times. When Tony's gone, it takes an extra 15 minutes to get him to settle down. And it's not even because he's crying (usually); he's just staring at you or looking around. You swear he's looking for Tony, and he knows that's not you... but he does like you, too, so he'll allow it 😌

💠You and Tony both wake up as soon as you hear crying over the baby monitor. When Tony's home, he usually takes the night shift. Feels bad that you have to do everything when he's away, so he usually tries to do most of the work, or at least take the undesirable moments like this. 

💠You don't always let him. He's just as exhausted as you are, if not more.

💠Tony does love to listen to you over the baby monitor, though. 

💠He'll never admit to it, but hearing you talk and/or sing the baby back to sleep also puts him back to sleep. 🥺

💠If Tony's having trouble getting the baby to sleep, he picks up on the things you say and do. 

💠Eventually you catch him singing 

💠And humming tunes that he can remember his mom playing on the piano :(

💠Tony did a very good job changing diapers on those fake babies, so when he's on diaper duty for the first time, he's pretty sure he's got this! He's, like, a genius, so how hard could it be? 

💠He learned very quickly that he does, in fact, not have this. He's suddenly forgot everything he learned and which way it goes and now he's getting pissed on, so that's great. You'll have to help him out for a day or two

💠After about three months, Tony wants another. Even though you just had one. He isn't the one that has to carry it around for nine months 😤

💠It would be nice for them to grow up together and be (basically) the same age, though. And with Tony gone so much, at least they'd have each other when you were busy. 

💠Two babies when you're all alone will be a handful, though...

💠You do finally agree after some thought, and you're literally right in the middle of ✨working on it✨ when that familiar cry rings out. 

💠"I got it," you mumble, trying to remember where you put your robe. But you don't leave before giving him one last smooch. "I'll be back for you."

💠So now you're pregnant with another one and dealing with one. 

💠And dealing with Tony's misadventures on top of that. 

💠Sometimes you find him asleep at his computer with your son curled against his chest. Always dedicated and determined to do everything at once, your Tony. The exhaustion is clear on his face even while he's asleep. You carefully try to move his hand out of your way, but he's always been a light sleeper. 

💠And a grumpy one, too, when he first wakes up.

💠"Don't take my baby," he pouts. "I can do it." He knows it's way past everyone's bedtime. 

💠"You need to get to bed," you gently scold him.

💠"So do you."

💠Sometimes you can waste ten minutes arguing about who goes to bed first. It's not very productive. 

💠But then when your baby is yawning and stretching, you're reminded that someone needs to do it now.

💠You're half asleep on the couch when you think Tony is messing with you, and it's actually just your son gently grabbing at your nose and exploring your face. Tony thinks it's adorable, but he doesn't get so lucky. Instead, he's getting poked in the eye and a finger in his nose.

💠When your second one comes along, he's almost an exact year apart from his brother. 13 months apart! And thankfully just as happy as his brother. 

💠Some days can be... pretty hectic at the Stark household, though.

💠"Tony, I don't care if the sky is falling. You're staying here and helping me with your kids!"

💠Your oldest has just spilled cheerios on the floor from his high chair, and no, he's not sad about it; he thinks it's hilarious. This is not the first time he's done this. It's his favorite prank to pull. 

💠"Take your son!" You whisper-yell. You do not care that Tony is on a super important phone call. You do not care that he was only passing by very quickly to look for some document. You need to clean up, and your youngest refuses to be sat down without crying. He gives you that look, but knows better than to say 'no' and quickly takes his youngest from you with his phone now awkwardly wedged between his cheek and shoulder while digging through the desk with one hand and occasionally making silly faces to keep the baby from crying. Accidentally talks in his baby voice while he does it, and Natasha does not appreciate it. 

💠But other days are quiet. You're with your one-year-old on the floor, playing with shapes and dinosaurs and dolls while your one-month-old is quietly working on a bottle in Tony's arms.

💠No, the circle doesn't go in the square hole even though it fits. 

💠No, the triangle doesn't... either. Even though... it does fit, so he's technically not wrong for putting it in, huh? You both watch a hexagon go in before looking at each other. Maybe we need a new one. 😐

💠While your newest is still mostly immobile in your arms, his brother is clumsily walking after his dad. Tony was actually here when he took his first steps, and now nothing can stop him! Except for the wall. And the edge of the rug. And sometimes his own feet. Never cries when he falls, though, because dad's right there to help him up! 

💠Tony wasn't there for his first words, however :/ But luckily, you got it on video for him because he started babbling 'dada' 

💠Well, later he suddenly latched onto... juice? Everyone and everything was 'juice' for three days straight. It was funny, but you and Tony had to be careful jokingly calling each other 'juice' because your son would latch right back onto it. You're pretty sure he just thought it was funny, too. 

💠Oh, and the boys absolutely get jealous of one another already, and always want to be held by you or Tony. It's hard to have them both in your arms or on your lap but they'll appreciate it if you can manage. They don't fight one another or anything if they're both in your lap. They just get jealous that they aren't there, but their brother is. Or maybe they just want to be with each other? Either way, they always want attention. 

💠The first time they each hear JARVIS, they're frozen in place, brown eyes wide. Because who is that? Where are they at? It's kinda cute. They eventually get used to it, but they do always look around to figure out who dad is talking to. 

💠Both are very interested in the arc reactor in Tony's chest. It's shiny and blue and weird, so of course they want to grab at it and stare at it. You get worried it might be too bright for their brand-new eyes. If Tony isn't already wearing a shirt, he does try to keep the blanket they're swaddled in bunched over it or something like that. 

💠If he could dim it, he would. You've probably asked him like three times since he came home with it. It's like sleeping next to a nightlight 😪

💠Already has some pretty strong opinions on how he wants to raise his kids. There's probably only a few disagreements and compromises, but there's still quite a few years for things to change, so you tell him to chill out a little

💠There is one thing you can agree on. He never ever wants to send them to a boarding school like his dad did to him. Even if they do become a handful or unruly little assholes like he was. 

💠Is also pretty sure he doesn't want them to know anything about Iron Man. You're a little surprised. Their dad is a superhero! You figured he'd be latching onto having that glory. But he wants to be cool just because he's Dad :( He used to boast about it all the time, but now when he comes home he just wants to be home. It's hard to separate both lives when his suits are right downstairs and he sees them every day, but for you and his kids, he just wants to be Tony Stark

💠But either way, he'll do whatever it takes to take care of you guys and keep you safe ❤️

Family Man Series: 1  2 3

[beanghostprincess]

(Trans women usopp has stolen my heart I think just love women in general ) Usopp Robin and Nami have a nice self care day with just the girls. (Chopper is invited too, they can't say no to him.) They stay in the shower room, they fill the bath and run the showers on hot. They play relaxing music, Nami bought lavender shower steamers, Robin lit candles. Usopp gets sanji to make hors d'oeuvres and fancy drinks he leaves them at the bathroom door. No peeking!

Chopper brought a video transponder snail to watch a movie. Usopp does their hair she's been practicing her braiding. She gave Robin a nice Dutch braid and Nami a mermaid tail. She also curled copper's little tuff of fur on his head, in return robin has been researching how to do textured hair and gave her a French braid and afro puff combo.

While they were relaxing and talking Luffy showed up asking what they were doing? Nami scolds him for coming in knowing that they're all naked and asks why is he even here? and close the door he knows how fast Brooke and Sanji are.

Luffy explained he only came into the bathroom because he needed to poop (no manners whatsoever) and Zoro was using the other bathroom to meditate. Robin and Usopp are not really affected by his antics and just enjoy Nami yelling at him. Luffy being unfazed by her tongue lashing casually sits down and eats the treats Sanji made for them. He doesn't get why it's such a big deal. Like you're just naked, plus chopper is here and he's not a girl and he's seen usopp naked before (granted this was pre-transition but I guess his point still stands)

Robin invites him to join them but lock the door. You may be the exception but the others are not. Despite Nami's protests Luffy has already stripped and jumped in slashing every one ( imagine getting so far in his journey to become the king of the pirates only to die in bathwater). She sighed in defeat and just accepted that he's here, could be worse.

They continue what they were talking about. Nami is learning how to make hail and she made a tornado by accident of course and she's still trying to recreate it.

Usopp learned how to crossbreed one of her poison pop seeds and her thorny pop seats and made a new weapon. She's also trying to make a pleasant smelling corpse plant. She tried roses, lavender and even sage. But nothing works. Nami suggests that maybe she should use tangerines to cross breed.

Robin has been researching about a vase she found, made of wood and clay. Apparently it's from an island that is isolated from the rest of the world. Everything is handmade or out of scratch, their recipes, their clothing even their soaps. All of their food is homegrown and their meat is known as the best meat in the world.

Luffy didn't need any more convincing he got out and commanded Franky to change course to go to find this island. (Sanji and Brooke tackled Luffy demanding every juicy detail of what he saw in there.) Of course everyone had to get out and get to their stations ruining their whole little spa day. Nami was specifically pissed because she's the navigator.

I love women too <- A lesbian.

This is such a cute and adorable idea!!! I love them!!! I've always thought Nami and Robin let Usopp join their girl nights even before coming out bc they've always felt safe around her, and when she came out it wasn't really a surprise to them tbh. Their spa day looks so cozy and relaxing (until they interrupt them)!! It sounds great. They'd do this 100%. And Luffy would stay bc Luffy is Luffy and the concept of intimacy for him isn't really a thing. Plus bold of you to assume he's a man. Non-binary king, that's what he is. Also Chopper staying with them also makes sense and it's extremely cute!!! Sanji is literally dying to go in there lmfao-- Not to make this about Sanuso but I think he waits by the bathroom door like a wet dog to see his girlfriend again. He misses her! Clingy golden retriever.

[thegodthief]

"Hey..." The curl of animated smoke wound around one leg before swirling up around my body to curl around one arm. "What do you say we start to get to know each other?"

I pulled my arm back. "How about... no." They had tried to tighten themselves on my forearm, but that area reminded me of someone else and kept me from being taken in.

"You're going to have to face me eventually. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be to do anything about it." The smoke flowed to encircle my waist like a belt. To my surprise, it did not attempt to evade me when I pulled it off of me as if I was plucking errant lint.

"I hate that you have a point. But I know enough of your nature to know that I'm not ready to have any dealing with you." I took a step back and felt the rim of something like a manhole just at the edge of my heel. I recognized it immediately and felt more secure in myself. I wasn't alone. I had help if I wanted it. "You're going to have to wait your turn."

The smoke puffed and formed a shadowy humanoid shape. They made themselves a little shorter than me, a little stockier than me, but a lot more arrogant than me as they grabbed my other arm and leaned in like they were trying to hit on me in a dark bar. "But what if I don't want to wait? What if I've been waiting all this time and now I'm bored? What if there's no one else to play with and since you can see me, we can play now?"

Something flowed out over the rim to cover my foot. It didn't attempt to soak into me, but made its presence very clear. The sensation was literally grounding and I knew that there was a huge mass just behind me that I could fall into for protection against my would-be suitor. They looked down at the crud and scowled. They pulled themselves away from me.

"Fine. FINE. I'll wait. For now. But I won't wait for much longer. Now that you're no longer their plaything, you can come into your own and I can help you with that, but I'm here for my own reasons, and I will see those to the end just the same."

They dissipated into the surrounding darkness with a derisive humph. Los Olvidados held on to my foot without comment nor motion.

"Thanks, guys." The crud squeezed my foot in comfort. "I'm starting to feel them more and more, but never this amount of interaction until now. They do have a point. I need to get with it, but I don't know where to learn more about this." They squeezed my foot again.

"Everything is accelerating again and I barely have my head out of my ass, much less any feet on stable ground. How am I supposed to run when I can barely walk?" I looked down at them. "Present company excepted." They squirmed around my ankle, tickling me, and then retreated back to the buried cistern behind me.

"I'm afraid," I whispered to the nonpresences around me.

~~~

"Words have meanings! But those meanings change with time, place, and language. What could have been a very positive compliment in the language that coined the term could become a derogatory insult in another. The context in which these words are used is often more important than the word itself."

The lecturer wrote several words on the chalkboard. I recognized the first one as an English word. Each word they wrote after was a slight change to the one before, but then the alphabet of the words changed. I was able to recognize some Greek letters, but the words that followed eluded me.

The lecturer turned back to the assembled class. "Take the word 'demon', for example. In common use in the English language, it currently means something nefarious and ill-intentioned. But the word it is derived from, the Greek δαίμων, is a neutral term and simply refers to a class of beings that may or may not be helpful to the speaker."

"When speaking, or really, when using any method of communication, consider not only the words and phrases you are using, but also consider the method you are using and the sophistication of the person receiving your communications. I don't mean for you to be a dick, as the parlance goes, and judge the receiver for your perception of their lack of education by whatever standard you call education. I mean, make the effort to use words, and meanings, that are mutually understood. if that means creating new phrases and terminology that can only be understood between you, then do so. You don't have to explain your terminology to those who are not in your audience."

They stood at the lectern and placed their hand on a book. "Your homework is to take a word or phrase that has been in use for at least a century and compare how it is used now against how that usage has developed over that century. Extra credit will be given if you document the development of that phrase over time to the earliest recorded use and what the modern equivalent of that earliest recorded use could be. You cannot use the demon-δαίμων example I just gave. Class dismissed."

They closed the book and disappeared as the sound pushed me into an alternate time of the classroom. All the other students also disappeared, and the time shifted from bright day to late night. Moonlight flowed into the high windows to illuminate me and the seat next to me. In the cold beam, an entity was revealed.

"Demon. Daimon. Bah! I'll tell you what a demon is... An excuse! A justification for the speaker to avoid doing the right thing! To avoid doing anything! A scapegoat for those who are too afraid to do anything that might strip them of the false comfort they have decided is their fate in life."

A red eye solidified in the mass of thick smoke and focused on me. "A demon is a construct of your fears, shame, and guilt. It is assembled from all the pieces of yourself that you pretend to be 'bad' so that you can justify being helpless against your own nature. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

I swallowed the rage that was strangely building within me. "If that is a demon, then what are you?"

A second red eye opened as it solidified and focused on me. I noted the mismatched pupils. "Well, finally you ask the right question." No face was there to hold the mouth that opened to speak. The teeth gleamed in the non-space they occupied.

"I am not a demon. I am a devil. There is a difference."

I thought of all my encounters and could not find a parallel or commonality with this entity. If anything, I realized a few key distinctions. "What is the difference?"

A cold hand rested on my forearm. "I don't give a shit about your feelings. That's the difference. I don't need your attention, your worship, or your fear to feed or sustain me. I am independent of you." Another cold hand gripped my shoulder. I recognized where I had encountered this being before.

"But you are in need of me. There is something I can do that you cannot, and you want that thing done."

The hands stopped moving. "I do."

"I guess you're my homework then."

"I am."

I looked around the empty classroom. This could be the lecture hall of any small or community college. I smelled echoes of chemicals and heard forgotten music. At first, I thought this could be any place, but then I realized all of my senses were equating the hall with one very specific place, even though I have never set foot in that building in my life.

I still felt the echoes of it just the same.

"Ah. You're that homework."

"I am."

I looked back at the devil, still formed of cold black smoke save for two red eyes and a tight black mouth. "I'm not afraid of you." I was surprised to realize that and even more surprised to say it out loud.

"Good. Fear of me would only cloud your senses and limit you. I know what was done to you." They looked around the dark hall. "Ah, if only you had grown up here. You wouldn't have to dig so hard to find the answers."

"Yea, well, as an old bitch, looking back, I can say that it's very likely a good thing that I didn't. If you know me, then you know how I was regarded. I would have been taught nothing, or worse, I would have been given a demon greater than I could bear."

They smiled to hear me use their definition of the word. "Yes, you understand, then. Good." They withdrew their hands. The nonspace around me felt warmer somehow. "I look forward to our mutual partnership and benefit. Class dismissed."

Before I could say anything, the dream completely dissolved.

~~~

What if I'm taking things too slow? What if in my fear that I'm going to rip open barely closed wounds, that I wind up dragging myself over uneven ground instead and create new ones? I trip and fall down. My knee is bruised. Those who witness scold me for not being careful enough, for not knowing my place as a neophyte, for not taking the path they keep saying is my right to walk.

Those who witness tell me it is my own fault that I can't score a goal because I'm not playing the game according to the rules that no one can agree on. So I go back to the beginning and try again being extra careful not to step on the same path twice, not to make the same mistakes, not to say anything that would get me scolded again.

Only to wobble and fall.

How many times do I practice writing the shape of the letter before I give myself permission to learn what the letter is? How many times do I practice the sounds that this collection of letters represents before I am permitted to learn what this collection of letters means? How many times do I wait for someone else to give me that permission?

I will never sound like a native speaker, because I'm not. I can only sound like myself.

I do not know the sound of my own voice. I have spent so much of my life mimicking others.

So much of my life trying to learn the right thing to do, the right way to be, the right way to apologize for the sin of existing. I realized that in trying to recover myself, I was making the same mistakes again and again and again.

I want to be found acceptable, and I need to let that go. Sangre sucia. [I]niquitatem magis quam loqui aequitatem. I know what that means now.

It means I need to take responsibility for myself.

And still... I wait for a sign that it's okay to do just that.

~~~

The morning of this post, I received that sign. Scrolling my dash because it's too early for the alarm and too late to go back to sleep, I see a thing and am reminded what it personally means for me. I recall the public history of it, how it went from Point A™ to Point B™ and how that became intertwined with the history of that branch of my family and how I came to understand what that personally means for me.

I saw the thing and realized just how much of a fucking coward I am. How I have burdened myself with unnecessary complications so that I have the excuse to do nothing but cry under the covers that no one loves me and how hard it is to be alone in this cruel world.

Which is true. But why am I remaining in this false comfort? In this set of circumstances that I would be encouraging my worst enemy to do their best to get out of, but here I am, turning over and going back to sleep.

Sure, I could try to do something and fail, but at least I fucking tried.

I know I'm waiting for the cycle to reset. I'm waiting for the inevitable trip so I can fall and skin my knee and be told what a horrible person I am for daring to think that I can be better than the filth in the gutter.

As if that same filth in the gutter wouldn't hesitate to kick my ass and send me back out.

I'm standing again. I have been stripped bare and forced to see myself for what I am and instead of turning away in shame, I am standing.

Okay. This is what I have. This is what I am. No amount of shame or wishful thinking is going to change this. If I am going to be what I have always been, then I need to step up and take responsibility for myself. Those who watch will judge me according to their definitions. I can't change that.

This is not going to be a walk. There is no safe speed to move forward here. There will be obstacles and confrontations and private derision and public aggression and there will always be someone telling me that I'm not clean enough to sit at their table. Okay. How is any of this new?

There are demons and there are demons and there are devils and there I am.

Okay. Let's go.

[who-is-sunny-d]

Today, Matt & I had a conversation about optimism, pessimism (glass full status, you know), and being a yes person etc. It was very enlightening.

Turns out, we’re both yes people. But he said he’s a glass empty type, whereas for me, it depends on whether I’m drinking or pouring, or if I’ve dropped it and it’s shattered. But generally, I tend toward the positive and optimistic.

The funny thing was that despite being yes folks and me being pretty optimistic, people tend to regard him as a no person and me as a Debbie Downer. We discovered that this is likely due to our autistic tendency to be more vocal about the things that upset us, and less vocal about our little autistic obsessions (as people are generally alienated by our geeking, so we have learned to keep it under wraps), so we probably come off as grouchy, negative people, but we’re actually very chill and generally open to whatever.

We’ve grown very adept at adapting, if you’ll excuse the alliteration, due to being suddenly and dramatically thrown into situations we have to just learn to deal with. And I realized that for me, that’s basically my life story, but my grandparents always dealt with it so gracefully that I never even knew it was a bad situation, except when gram would pull me close and ask me in a hushed voice not to mention certain aspects of our situation to anyone, like when our utilities were cut off, or when we were living in a van after an eviction.

I didn’t even know we were living in it at first, I just thought we were camping. Neither of them ever complained or made it my problem or showed dismay about things. It was just how things were now, and we had to deal with it.

I still ended up developing adjustment disorder later in my life, but I think mostly, that stemmed from my mom’s sudden extended absence from my life when she joined the navy, then her drastic personality change when we were reunited, and from there it just spiraled due to things always getting blown to hell the moment I grew comfortable and began to trust my circumstances. It always happens, so now I’ve learned to fear happiness, and although I have the mental ability to switch myself into survival mode to get shit done and change the situation at the drop of a hat, I eventually break down once things are in place.

If the situation is completely out of my control, like getting dragged out of my bed by cops and beaten in the street before being sent to the hole due to my ex’s never-ending desire to make my life a living hell, I skip survival mode (at least after unintentionally kicking the cops’ asses trying to escape) and revert back to infancy. Literally. When stuff like that happens, I curl up in a fetal position and cry until I’m bushed, then sleep until I can’t, then repeat the process. I can’t eat, especially when they deny me my fucking anxiety meds and expect me to just deal. All I can do is cry, sleep, repeat.

But that doesn’t happen every day, and I hope to god it never happens again. Also, I don’t blame my mom for any of the things mentioned above. She joined the Navy because it was all she could do, and no one comes back from boot camp as a whole person. She was soft and sensitive and very loving before she joined, but when I moved back in with her, she had become… someone else. I can’t help if some of my mental trauma stems from her either directly or indirectly, just as one can’t control their genetics.

That’s why I have a hard time talking about my early traumas. My mom takes it as a personal attack, even if I am calm and simply explaining who I am and why, not pointing fingers or assigning blame. It’s just how things are, and I wish she would learn to make peace with that fact.

I have a hunch (read: evidence) that both my grandparents are autistic. So I would assume that my mom would be, too. But oddly enough, she doesn’t really seem like it. Autistic people, at least the ones in my family, including my husband, seem to internalize 99% of their emotions, which explains why I never knew just how hard things were when I was little and we were trying to survive. It’s a little different now with social media, because now we can internalize it in person, but if we feel strongly about something that’s bugging us, we can post about it to let off steam, and who cares if no one even sees it? You just rant a little bit and forget about it.

Thus, people who only know anything much of us from social media can easily make the assumption that we’re whiny little negative Nancies. In truth, though, this isn’t who we are.

It has made me realize that if I’m going to be on social media, I should try to have my presence reflect how I really am. Or maybe I should just keep away. I’m still working that part out.

[all-might-can-smash-me]

Dad/Family headconons

Masterlist

Aizawa, Taishiro, Toshinori, Sir Nighteye, and Hawks

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Despite him being that kind of nonchalant, I don’t give a shit about anything kind of person.....he’s a family guy

Loves kids

He just wants you to have a huge army of kids following alongside you hand in hand to visit him at work.

Looks forward to being able to relate to someone else with his quirk

Doesn’t care if they are all girls, all boys, a mixture of both, or even fostering or adopting, he’s for everything

Was kind of afraid to open up about that side of himself when you two got married, but you are all for it too

Feels that he can handle it with your help thanks to having some experience with dealing with his students

Is slapped in the face with shock when you two have your first 2 or 3 kids because infants are, you guessed it, nothing like teens who are all emotional about becoming a prohero

Guess he would be prepared for whenever they would get to their teenage years

Except for periods because he didn’t know anything about them but he’ll probably take the time to learn about it from you

Still happy over his growing army though

Still loves the chaos of it all, plus it’s good to have Aizawa to control their quirks when they start to develop

The chaos also reminds him of his own time in school with his few friends he had....they were always so vibrant and loud unlike him and he kind of envied it (secretly)

Yamada and Kayama (Present Mic and Midnight) loves to visit his little army and spoil them with toys and snacks even if Aizawa disapproved of it

You helped hand out the toys and snacks.....Aizawa could suck it up

Napping piles are normal in this household, so don’t be freaked when you see all of your children curled up or around Aizawa under a pillow fort in the living room.

It breaks his heart everytime though when his kids beg to take a stray cat home and he has to say no....but he’ll end up going back on patrol to feed it and then probably cave in and bring it home anyway

He’ll just shrug off his children’s accusations of him being a ‘hypocrite’ for saying no to their pleas earlier and say something like ‘Well I said you couldn’t do it, nothing about me though’

The tea parties are lit and he’ll crush anyone at a video game

Taishiro Toyomistu/Fatgum

Really never thought about having his own kids until meeting Kirishima and Tamaki

Life was changed FOREVER since meeting them, now he would like to have his own family

It was kind of confusing to finally have the talk of having kids a couple of years into your marriage, but your views on having kids were changed too after meeting the two UA students

He let you on thinking just one or two kids were great, but you didn’t know if you should have been surprised that you were in the hospital room pushing out your 5th child

It was kind of funny to see Taishiro freaking out even if it was his 5th time next to you in labor

Your kids were so use to it they just sat out in the hallway doing their schoolwork or playing games on their iPads as Kirishima and Tamaki watched over them (your labor would always catch them while they were out on patrol)

I picture that all his kids are girls

He uses the excuse “just one more kid, maybe this time it’ll be a boy”, It’s NEVER a boy

I feel that he’s the dad to sneak home McDonald’s fries or ice cream to his kids despite you not liking it

Will take the blame when you catch one of your daughters munching on fries on the way back to her room (daughters will also try to take the blame, but how the heck could girls 13 and younger sneak out all the way to McDonalds)

He’ll also get all his daughters together to bake a cake and also decorate it. The creativity shown by his daughters will always amaze him.

He and his daughters would even clean up the kitchen together...mostly so that you wouldn’t get mad upon seeing the kitchen as a disaster

Gets way into watching Barbie’s Life in the Dream House and secretly really loves our queen Raquelle

All Might/Toshinori Yagi

Just wants one little girl

To spoil her ROTTEN!

Seeing his friend David Sheild’s daughter Melissa grow up and look so happy always made him envious. Young Midoriya also played a huge role in his desire for at least one kid

One child was enough for the two of you and thankfully your first and only child was a girl

Gran Torino will also spoil her rotten along with Sir Nighteye

Will not be embarrassed to be caught sprawled out on the ground with your daughter playing with dolls

He’s actually quite proud of the fact that he doesn’t mind getting down and dirty when it comes to playing with ‘girly’ things with his young daughter unlike other dads

Loves to play Studio Ghibli movies for your daughter.....but Yagi is way more into it

I say this because Toshinori will try to hide his tears while watching My Neighbor Totoro as your daughter is fast asleep on his lap.

He will also sneak in a rated pg-13 hero movie from the United States in when your gone too....and then he’ll act surprise when your daughter would repeat the fowl language she heard in the movie

He would and WILL spend hours on YouTube to learn how to braid hair and put bows in and ribbons

He would bring her to work a lot too to see class 1A in action

Daughter will forever be his ‘baby’, so he HATES the thought of her starting to date and get married.

So when she admitted that the boy ‘Todoroki’ in his class was handsome while heading home one day from his work, he swore off boys....

He wasn’t surprised though, she was always managing to get Todoroki to hold her hand while Toshinori would have class 1A doing scenarios in teams and showing off her hair to him and asking if he noticed anything different.

Todoroki is a good sport, he held her hand and always complimented her hair...

Yeah she was mad at Toshinori and you made him unswear off boys, especially Todoroki

Brings your daughter to work just to brag about how he did her hair to EVERYONE

Mirai Sasaki/Sir Nighteye

Eh....he didn’t want kids, never had the desire tbh

Though something about UA students’ charming personalities making these heroes want families. Mirio got him thinking one kid couldn’t be so bad

You were shocked when he asked to have a kid, but you agreed....after discussing it for awhile to make sure he wanted this

I picture him having one cute, little shy boy

Like the cute little boy with glasses who wears those cute shorts with a bug related shirt that just wants to search for roly-poly in the dirt and grass in the back yard

Very quiet and a bit shy around new people, but is literally the most polite little boy in the WORLD

Nighteye will use his quirk on his son when out looking for bugs to just see if he missed something in the grass or dirt, but that’s as far as he’ll use it

The reason why Nighteye thinks he’s so funny is because your son (and you of course along with mirio) are the only ones who laugh at his jokes, especially your son

Your son finds ANYTHING his dad says or does hilarious. His dad made a gasp of excitement along side his son upon finding a millipede? Instant laughter will follow

Those bouts of laughter from his son is the best feeling in the world to him

Tried to make your son an expert on All Might, but gave up when he came to his conclusion that your son just wasn’t into it.

It was kind of weird at first to find out his son was just simply NOT into heroes, but now he just loves the fact that his son likes what he likes and doesn’t let himself get swayed by others, even his own mom and dad

If you can’t make his little boy, his pride and joy, laugh? Sorry, but don’t talk to Nighteye or his son ever again

He will sit and listen to his little boy go on and on and on and ON about anything and never get bored (or show it). He will sit and listen intently about the cool facts about the bug he found or a plant.

He’d even listen to the longest explanation about a tiny little squiggle on a piece of paper that he drew on if it was being told by his little boy.

Will even put a meeting on hold just to answer a FaceTime from his son from your phone just to listen to him talk about a leaf he made a pressing of....and will sit there with the volume all the way up on his phone too so the others in the room can hear as well.

Will spend all night pinning bugs to a board to frame and label just for your son

Keigo Takami/Hawks

He didn’t even want to date tbh

Though when he met you? The cliche ‘love at first sight’ happened and soon the two of you were married pretty quickly and boy was he a happy man

He didn’t really even want kids either. He just didn’t want to have kids and somehow they end up with a childhood like his that’s not the greatest or most normal, plus he was happy with the little domestic life with you.

But then IT happened. You know, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much and poof, a baby? Yeah....

He was TERRIFIED, but once your first child came into the world, a new sense of happiness sparked within him, like his own eyes opened for the first time to the world

This happened twice more, ending up with his happy family consisting of you, his two boys, and his little girl.

He’s the kind of dad to have his wallet FILLED with pictures of his kids and you. He will shamelessly show them off to fans while on patrol and also to Endeavor....even if he’s seen them a trillion times. Also his office is filled with framed pictures too

He also gets in trouble a lot along with his two boys for playing to rough and loudly within the house by you, especially for flying and being too competitive with video games and ANY activity he would take part in with them.

What can he say? His sons were like the best friends he was never able to have as a kid, he wanted to take in the beauties of having an energetic family

He doesn’t play favorites, but when it comes to his little girl? Sometimes he’ll catch a feeling of her feeling like she’s the odd one out when it comes to her two older brothers and he can relate to that feeling.

So he’ll set aside some dad and daughter time to do the things she likes, like read, color, and draw

He would even let her do his hair with tiny braids and color pieces of clip in hair and many butterfly clips. Keigo would also then wear it out proudly on patrol and check his reflection MULTIPLE times to make sure everything was in place.

He would then shout to the press and paparazzi that his daughter did his hair, showing it off in the process

When the picture would come out with the headliner ‘Hawks’ New Look Thanks to Daughter’ for the news the next day, the look of pride and awe on your daughters face upon looking at the front cover of the magazines and newspapers at the store you and his family would shop at would absolutely melt his heart melt

He’s the first one to pull back the covers to let his children climb in when scared by a thunderstorm or the spooky shadow in their room even if they may be getting ‘too old’ to be doing that...according to Endeavor however, so that information might be wrong

Bribes his kids not to tell you that he entered the house through the window and not the front door

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-One

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.

***

The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?

The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.

By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.

Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.

Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.

“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”

Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”

“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.

“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.

Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.

Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.

“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”

As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.

Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.

Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.

“What?”

“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.

“I agree, but—”

Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”

Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”

He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.

Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”

He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.

Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.

***

Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.

“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”

“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”

When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.

Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.

Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.

“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”

“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”

“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.

“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”

A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.

“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”

Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.

Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”

“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”

“Guys!” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”

Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”

“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”

Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”

“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.

“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”

“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.

“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”

“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.

Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”

“But it’s what he’ll think.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.

Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”

“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”

Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.

“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”

Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.

Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”

Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”

“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”

“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”

“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.

There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”

Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.

In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.

When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.

“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.

“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.

A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.

“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”

Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.

Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”

“I can hear you,” Azriel says.

“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”

“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.

“So can I,” Emerie nods.

“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”

Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”

She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”

“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”

Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”

She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.

God, having friends sucks.

Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”

***

Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.

Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”

“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.

“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.

“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”

“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.

“What tone?” Cassian repeats.

Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”

“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”

“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”

She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”

But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?

He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.

Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.

Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.

“What are you doing?” Nesta says.

“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”

Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.

Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.

“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.

Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”

“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”

Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”

Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.

Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”

Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.

Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.

Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.

“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”

Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.

“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.

“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.

Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”

Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.

When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.

Az starts, “What a fake little—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”

Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.

“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.

Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.

“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”

Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”

Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”

He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.

“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.

“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.

Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.

“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.

“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.

“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.

Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.

Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”

Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”

Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”

Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”

Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”

That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.

Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.

God, sometimes having friends sucks.

***

a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland

[ezzydean]

“ i could have lost you today! do you know what that would have done to me? ” - Peter & Stiles

Stiles manages to hold his tongue until they’re safely tucked away in Peter’s apartment. Away from their enemies and allies alike. Away from the world that seems so determined to take every last bit of Stiles’ happiness and chew it into mush before spitting it out to dissolve on the concrete of the abandoned strip mall parking lot that is his life, complete with weeds struggling to survive as they spring up through the cracks and crawl across the pitted concrete.

So maybe he needs to take a few deep breaths and step back from the cache of flowing words and artful descriptions his creative writing class has tucked away in his mind.

It doesn’t matter what words he uses. He’s angry and frustrated and on edge and the way Peter is looking at him like he wants to pin him down and gobble him up is not doing anything other than make him even angrier.

“That was dangerous, Peter. Dangerous and stupid and ridiculous and if I’m saying it was stupid? Me. The undisputed king of doing stupid shit without thinking it through? You know it was fucking stupid.”

“Oh please.” Peter rolls his eyes as he saunters towards his bedroom to change out of his dirty clothes. “I’m a werewolf, darling. There is very little in this world that can even leave a scratch that doesn’t heal within a few hours.”

“Yeah and one of those things is a band of pissed off hunters who have gone rogue, no longer follow a code, and are systematically taking out smaller packs one by one.” Stiles doesn’t bother to raise his voice. One: because he’s tired. Two: because he knows that Peter can hear him no matter where he is in the apartment, even if he whispered.

He throws himself on to the couch, spreading out over it so Peter will have to either move him, sit on him, or sit in the chair off to the side when he comes back. Yes he’s being a little bit petty. But he had just watched Peter throw himself into a fight with a bunch of off the rail hunters who were hellbent on destroying anything and everything supernatural that they could. It doesn’t matter that Peter managed to not get hurt this time. It doesn’t matter that Issac and Derek had swooped in with an almost eerily synchronized move to pull the attention off of Peter.

Stiles had still seen it. He had seen the blade oozing with the twisted version of wolfsbane these particular hunters had been known for. He’d seen it centimeters away from Peter’s chest before he had been grabbed by Isaac and yanked out of the way. A millisecond later and that blade would have been in Peter’s heart. He’s going to be having nightmares about Isaac being too late for weeks. About Isaac reaching out and the blade already in Peter’s chest. About Peter on the ground bleeding and gasping and fading away because this particular wolfsbane blend is made to be quick and vicious and damn near impossible to burn out of a werewolf’s system.

Stiles is good. He can do a lot of shit. And maybe, maybe, if they were mated or bonded or had claimed each other or whatever he’d be able to save Peter even on the brink of death.

But they’re not.

He appreciates being the one to warm Peter’s bed and he knows that neither of them are with anyone else. But they’re not really even with each other so it’s only a small consolation.

Peter looms over him and Stiles peels his eyes open and glares up at him. He doesn’t let his eye rake over Peter the way he wants to. Doesn’t let himself give in to these instincts to curl around Peter and protect him.

Peter doesn’t want that. Peter doesn’t want Stiles to take up that position in his life. In his bed? Sure. On his side in a fight? Definitely. By his side in life? No thank you. Peter’s made it pretty clear where Stiles stands in that regard.

He gestures for Stiles to move his legs and when Stiles refuses Peter raises his brows. “What has you in such a mood? I barely even got a scratch on me and the hunters were put in their place. Everyone wins. Except the hunters, who are dead now.”

“Barely got a scratch?” Stiles hops to his feet, rage flooding him so fast that Peter actually leans back when Stiles leans towards him. “Barely a scratch? You were, quite literally, a hairbreadth away from death, Peter. If Isaac hadn’t grabbed you when he did you wouldn’t be here now.”

“But I am. Here and unharmed.” Peter reaches out for him and Stiles bats his hands away. “It was a risk, Stiles. We all take them every time we go into a fight.”

“Not all of us take unnecessary risks, Peter. You’re the one who taught me that unnecessary risks are just that: unnecessary.” Peter crosses his arms across his chest and takes a step back from Stiles.

“Be that as it may I still don’t see what has you so upset about this whole thing. So I took an unnecessary risk. What is the big deal?”

“The big deal? The big deal is that I could have lost you today! Do you know what that would have done to me? What losing you would do to me?”

Peter stares at him for a moment, words sinking in, before he scoffs and looks off towards the windows.

“You’d survive just fine without me. I’m sure you wouldn’t even miss me for that long. There are plenty of others out there who would fall over themselves to be with you,” Peter says quietly.

“I don’t care. I don’t want any of them. I want you, Peter. I don’t care how many people out there would be willing to be with me. I didn’t choose any of them. I chose you.”

Peter’s lip curls as he lets out a growl. “Oh, please. I’m not a choice. You know it. I know it. Hell even the hunters who come to try and kill us all know that I am, at best, a convenient fuck for you.”

Stiles’ mouth is already open to snap back when the mention of hunters makes him snap it shut. The hunters had been talking amongst themselves just before Peter had leapt into the middle of them and the whole plan had gone out the window. Is that what they had been talking about? Is that what they had said?

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Peter.” He waits until Peter drags his gaze from the windows and looks at him. “You’ve been my choice since before I even knew you were an option.”

“What?”

Well. This was either going to end in some really amazing sex and a new stage of their whatever they’ve been doing or it was going to ruin the best thing he’s ever had. But he is the undisputed king of doing stupid shit without thinking it through after all.

“You’ve been my choice since before I even knew you were an option,” he repeats. “The only reason I haven’t given in to my spark’s need to bond with you, to claim you as mine, is because you’ve never seemed to want anything more than a convenient fuck out of me.”

Peter’s eyes widen at ‘bond’ and ‘claim’ even as he winces at having the ‘convenient fuck’ part thrown back at him. He stares at Stiles and Stiles knows Peter is listening to his heartbeat and subtly scenting the air to measure the truth of Stiles’ words. Stiles learned a long time ago how to control his heartbeat and mask his scent but he had promised to never do it while the two of them were alone and fuck Peter is so blind if he can’t see all the ways Stiles bends for him where he’s steel for everyone else.

“You’ve never wanted that,” Peter finally whispers. “You’ve never—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “No.”

“I’ve wanted it since the day you gave me a key to your apartment and told me you trusted me with it. You. Peter Hale. Trusting me with the key to your apartment. The key to your safe—”

Well shit.

Peter was blind to how far Stiles was willing to bend for him and Stiles was blind to how much Peter had already bent by him by giving Stiles his trust.

“As much as I loathe to admit it about myself,” Peter says softly as he reaches out for Stiles. “We’re both idiots when it comes to each other, aren’t we?”

Stiles collapses into Peter’s arms with a laugh. “Yeah,” he huffs as he buries his face against Peter’s neck. “But I’m your idiot. And you’re my idiot. So I guess it works out in the end.”

“I guess it does, darling. I guess it does.”

[eliemo]

Behind Closed Doors

Summary: The light sides are still learning how to help Virgil recover, and Virgil is still learning how to ask for what he needs. 

TWs: past abuse, blood and violence mention, past manipulation, yelling, arguments, misunderstandings 

Notes: This chapter literally would not exist without @self-taught-mess​ they’re amazing I love them - sympathetic light and dark sides, taglist at the end

Masterpost

It wasn’t like he’d never had any privacy before. 

Virgil had spent most of his life alone, and as much as he’d hated it, the isolation had been preferable to the beatings. 

Everybody had wanted as little to do with him as possible, and he’d understood perfectly. The only time any of the Others would enter his room was when they were furious, throwing open his door without warning, slamming it against the wall so loud it sent Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketing before a hand was even put on him. 

Now...just like with so many other things, the rules around his privacy were proving to be different. 

The light sides actually came to see him. He spent less time cooped up in his room now that he was gradually starting to feel welcome, slowly learning not to be so terrified to just walk into a room. 

If he tripped or stumbled, if the floor creaked under his weight or if he talked just a little too long...they wouldn’t hurt him. They’d promised they wouldn’t, swore to him no one ever would again, and Virgil was beginning to trust them. Slowly. It was still...hard to believe that things could actually be this nice for him. 

And when he was in his room, safe and closed off, he quickly realized how much...calmer it was when people came to see him. Virgil was always hyper aware of movement outside his door, of footsteps in the hallway coming closer, of someone angry storming towards his room. He was still working on memorizing each of the light side’s footsteps, but it soon proved unnecessary. 

They seemed to understand he liked his space, but when they did come to find him in his room, Patton and Logan always knocked. Other than the few times Deceit had needed to speak to him, no one had bothered to do that before. 

Then again, before the light sides no one had come into his room with any intention other than to punish him. There was no need for knocking when he was in trouble anyway. 

Patton’s knocking was slow and gentle, and the moral side would always call out to make sure Virgil was alright with company before opening the door. 

Logan’s knocks were quick and curt, but there was no aggression or impatience to the sound, and he always waited until Virgil said it was ok to come in. 

Roman had been careful to give Virgil his space when he was up in his room, but the two of them had gotten closer in the recent weeks, and there had been a few times Roman would come to him for help with an idea or an invitation to movie night. 

It didn’t take Virgil long to realize that Roman...didn’t knock. 

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. At all. Of course Roman didn’t knock- he was Roman. He was grand and dramatic and he liked to make an entrance, barging into rooms with dazzling smiles and powerful words. 

And of course it didn’t matter to anyone else, because no one was pathetic enough to dwell on meaningless things like that. God- this was why people wanted to hurt Virgil. He was annoying and panicked over stupid little things like the way someone entered a room. 

Nobody had ever knocked on his door before. So Roman not knocking shouldn’t be fazing him in the slightest. 

Except...except before, whenever someone would enter his room without warning, it meant they were angry enough that the beating couldn’t wait until Virgil came downstairs. 

He knew Roman wouldn’t hurt him- he knew that. Roman had been the first one to promise him safety, to hold him and tell him he didn’t deserve that, to swear to protect him as vigilantly as Virgil protected everyone else. 

But every time Roman would barge into his room, footsteps thundering in the hallway just seconds before the door flew open, Virgil had a hard time remembering that. 

The sickening panic would return each time, defenses raising automatically, Virgil hunching his shoulders and tensing, waiting for screams and punches that of course didn't come. 

He always missed the first few things Roman said, busy fighting to calm himself down before the Prince could notice his distress. 

Because how pathetic would that be, if they found out a door opening was enough to make him want to throw up? Each time he had to fight to keep himself from scrambling under his bed in a desperate attempt to hide from a punishment that wasn’t going to come. 

So he stayed silent. They already had to be ridiculously careful around him, he didn’t want to risk pushing his luck by asking for something else. 

He should have known that plan was bound to go wrong. Most things in his life always seemed to. 

Virgil was already tense and on edge from a particularly bad nightmare, hiding out in his room all morning, still too anxious to go to anyone for help despite them assuring him it was alright if he needed it. 

So when Roman burst into his room, calling his name with his usual extravagance, it was of little surprise to Virgil that he snapped before he could stop himself. 

“Jesus Christ, will you just knock?” 

Roman froze, smile dropping slightly as he furrowed his brow at Virgil. “Well excuse me, Doom and Gloom. You wouldn’t hear it anyway if you have your headphones in.” 

“Yes I would,” Virgil argued. Unless he needed the noise to drown out rising panic, he always kept his music quiet enough to hear movement outside his door. “But still, it doesn’t mean you can just barge in like you own the place. What if- what if I’m changing or something?” 

Roman scoffed, and Virgil suddenly felt small and cornered. “Oh, please. You mean the two seconds it takes to snap our fingers to switch clothes? Wanna try another excuse, Stormcloud?” 

Even the familiar nickname, usually gentle and endearing, felt cold and patronizing now. Roman smirked and crossed his arms, and Virgil knew the Prince was just teasing him. He’d been a dick, and Roman was responding with their usual banter. 

Virgil swallowed, frantically trying to come up with an excuse. ‘I blindly panic every time my door opens because I think you’re going to beat me’ would just make things awkward, and Roman would probably laugh and call him ridiculous. Or get angry. “Well...what if…”

He trailed off as Roman raised a cocky eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“Well maybe I just don’t want you in my room, Princey!” 

He shouldn’t be getting defensive, he shouldn’t be lashing out to combat the sudden panic in his chest. He should just tell Roman he wasn’t in the mood- tired from another round of nightmares- and if the Prince didn’t leave right now, things would only escalate. 

“Oh, please,” Roman scoffed. “Of course you do. You need something to lighten the mood in here. Were you planning on sitting in the dark all day?” 

He had- at least until the tension in his muscles had seeped away, the nightmare becoming nothing more than a faded memory, and he could function like a human being again. He really, really was not up for company, and he would have said as much if Roman had just knocked. 

“Maybe,” Virgil snapped. “I didn’t realize that was a problem.” 

He tried not to think about how if he’d ever dared to speak this way to one of the Others, he’d have already been a bloody mess on the floor. 

“It’s not a problem,” Roman replied instantly, his voice a bit too sharp for Virgil’s liking. He won’t hurt him, he would never hurt him. He had to keep repeating the mantra in his head. 

Roman continued with a quick flip of his wrist, moving his hair from his face in usual dramatic fashion. It really shouldn’t have put Virgil so on edge. “I just can’t understand why you always hermit away in here. I’m just coming in here to say hello, and personally I think you should be honored that I actually want to step foot in here at all.”

Did Roman sound angry? No. No, he...he was just annoyed. Irritated and judgy, maybe, but not angry.

 So there was no reason Virgil should be curling up just a bit tighter to try and hide how bad he was shaking. He really needed Roman to leave before he noticed. 

“Yeah, okay, well maybe not everyone thinks the way you do, Princey,” he snapped back, voice just as sharp as Roman’s had been, if not more so. “Maybe if people wanted you in their rooms they’d invite you.” 

Roman scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Knight in Shaking Armor. If we waited for an invitation we’d never see you.”  

Ok, ouch. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault he’d spent his entire life thinking that everyone would try to hurt him if he stepped out of his room. (Yes it was. It was his fault, he was the one stupid enough to believe it.) 

“What’s your deal?” Virgil demanded, ignoring the dark, terrified thoughts telling him to just shut up before he got hit. “Jesus, I just asked you to knock! I didn’t realize you had such a problem with privacy, Princey.” 

“Well maybe I’d respect your privacy if you weren’t being such a jerk about it!” 

Virgil reared back like he’d been struck, stomach dropping as his heart began to pound. He knew he was pushing Roman unfairly but he hadn’t thought...he’d just kind of hoped the light sides would be more gracious about this sort of thing. 

A naive part of him had hoped they hadn’t had rules like that at all.

Virgil was still the embodiment of anxiety, still wired to respond solely with fight or flight. He was already in his room, practically cornered, which meant there was nowhere else to flee for safety. 

Fight took over Virgil’s instincts. He could feel adrenaline start up through his veins as he moved to the edge of the bed and sat up straighter, glaring at the Prince still in his doorway.

“Roman, I swear to god it’s not that difficult to knock on a freaking door. I do it before bursting into your room, but you can’t return the favor?” Virgil gripped his bed sheets to hide how bad his hands were shaking. He suddenly couldn’t convince himself he wasn’t in danger. 

“Seriously, I thought  you were supposed to be a Prince.” Virgil’s own voice was reminding him of the growl of a frightened animal, guarded and too aggressive for this to still be considered friendly banter. 

“Oh, forgive me for not obeying your every command, Virgil. I came in here to be nice. I didn’t expect to be shouted at the moment I stepped inside! You’re being utterly uncouth!” 

“Uncouth?” he echoed. “Roman will you stop being a child and just get out of my room?” 

Roman rolled his eyes but at least took a step back out into the hall, not bothering to close the door as he went. “Fine. I’ll just go tell Logan and Patton how ridiculous you’re being.” 

And then he was gone, storming down the hallway with an undeniable air of anger and frustration, and Virgil was left completely frozen on his bed with the dawning realization of what he’d just done. 

Maybe...maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he didn’t have to panic yet. They’d stopped themselves from hurting him, even weeks after their promise, so maybe they didn’t have any plans to use nonviolent punishment either. 

He...he knew better than to really believe that. But maybe if he hurried, if he explained himself, they would understand and give him another chance. Because for the first time, he had people who actually accounted for his feelings before making a decision.

Looking back on the way he’d just treated Roman, he didn’t understand why they didn’t just grab him by the hood and slam him against the wall until he couldn’t see straight. 

He scrambled off his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a moment to breathe, to will himself to stop trembling. Nobody was screaming for him, nobody was marching up the stairs to tell him of his punishment yet. He still had time to fix things. 

Roman’s remark about earning privacy was still ringing in his ears, an unfortunately familiar warning, and Virgil knew all too well what that would entail. But maybe he’d take it back if Virgil just swallowed his pride and apologized. 

He made his way down the hall, silently hoping he could make it downstairs before everyone decided it was best to go back to treating him like the villain. 

Those hopes quickly vanished when he made it to the bottom of the stairs and was immediately met with three pairs of eyes, all with varying levels of confusion and annoyance. 

“Oh, look who it is,” Roman announced and Virgil flinched, gripping the railing like a lifeline. “Patton, will you tell our local hermit to please control himself?” 

“Kiddo,” Patton warned, but quickly turned his gaze back on Virgil, frowning slightly. “Logan and I could hear you two yelling from down here. What’s going on?”

Virgil shrugged, suddenly intensely focused on his feet. “Nothing.” 

“He wanted me to knock,” Roman explained with a huff. “Which of course I would have done, if he had asked politely.” 

Logan raised a curious eyebrow, briefly glancing between the two. “Virgil, if there are boundaries you would like us to be aware of, you only need to say. There is no reason for a request like that to turn into an argument.” 

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered, fighting against the urge to flee. “I know.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Roman cross his arms, and he had to remind himself over and over again that no one was going to strike him. Even if they should. “Then why are you so worked up about it?” 

And Virgil had fully intended on explaining, on getting across to Roman that he knew it was stupid and selfish but when his door opened without warning it was impossible to see through his panic, to convince himself he wasn’t about to be left bleeding on his floor for the next few hours. 

But now, with everyone staring at him expectantly, cheeks burning red under the attention, he...he couldn’t. “I’m...I’m just tired.”

Roman laughed, short and void entirely of any humor. “He was tired. Well that excuses everything, doesn’t it?” 

Patton was watching Virgil with something much too close to pity. “Kiddos--” 

“You used to lock yourself up in your room all the time,” Roman complained, and Virgil felt that same spike of defensive anger. Because that hadn’t been his fault. Wasn’t that what they’d been trying to teach him to accept? “We just don’t want that to happen anymore!” 

Virgil tensed, holding the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. He...he hadn’t been trying to isolate himself again. Being welcomed and openly tolerated for the first time was one of the best feelings in the world. He wouldn’t trade his newfound family for anything. 

“Just...why are we even still talking about this? Why are you two involved?” 

He risked a glance up, wincing at the cold glare Roman was giving him, and the obvious confusion from Patton and Logan. 

“Because anger is not an effective way to communicate,” Logan said. “I understand that it is what you are used to, but it needs to be--” 

“Don’t say that to me,” Virgil snapped because- because no. No. He wasn’t doing that. He was not acting like the Others. He wasn’t like them. “Don’t ever say that to me, Logan.” 

Logan tilted his head, clearly a bit irked at the interruption. “Apologies, Virgil. But am I...incorrect?” 

“Yes! N-no...I- I don’t--” 

“Alright,” Patton mercifully interrupted, but his patience sounded forced. Virgil briefly wondered which one of them would lose their temper and advance on him first. “I think we all need to settle down.” 

Roman waved a hand at the stairs, and Virgil was glad no one was looking to see him flinch. 

“But it’s his fault,” the Prince argued. “He got mad first! For no reason!” 

“I just-” Virgil groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Look, just knock. It’s not hard.” 

Roman whirled back around to face him, eyes brimming with exasperation and anger. “But it doesn’t matter!” 

“Yes it does!” 

“Why?” 

Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but the words got caught in his throat. God, he was shaking so bad. Why couldn’t he just shut up and let them do whatever they wanted? They already put up with so much. 

The amount of pain he should have received as punishment for this conversation alone-

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let himself panic. It wasn’t like that anymore. 

 “Look, it’s...it- it’s not…” He found himself glancing at Logan, who always seemed to somehow know what Virgil needed, but the logical side just raised an expectant eyebrow. Virgil groaned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You- why are you being such an ass about this?” 

“Me?” Roman demanded, and if he noticed Virgil flinch back at the sudden rise in volume he didn’t say anything. “You’re the one getting worked up over something useless! I’m not going to adhere to your every wish, Virgil! Why does it matter?” 

“Because maybe I’m convinced everyone who comes into my room wants to kill me, Roman!” 

The outburst was met with silence, unreadable expressions on the other side’s faces. Roman opened his mouth to respond but Virgil wasn’t done. Anger had reared its head like an ugly beast, taking control in one last desperate defense. 

“Maybe if you all bothered to tell me otherwise sooner, I wouldn’t be such a- a hermit or whatever. I didn’t know it was such a problem- you never bothered to talk to me until I was useful, anyway!” 

That wasn’t fair, he knew that wasn’t fair. That hadn’t been their fault. He’d been horrible, a villain they all hated. It was his fault. It always was. 

The living room was silent now, all eyes on him, and Virgil fought the urge to pull up his hood and risked a cautious glance at Roman, who no longer looked quite so angry. Shocked, definitely, but not necessarily mad. 

Which was weird. Virgil was almost positive that if he’d taken that kind of tone with any of the Others, he probably wouldn’t be able to walk ever again. 

Logan cleared his throat and took a step forward, and Virgil instinctively flinched back with his arms raised to shield his face. 

“Virgil--” 

“Whatever,” he practically growled, and dammit his voice was shaking too much for them not to notice. “Just- forget it, guys.” 

And before anyone could call him back he stormed up the stairs, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his hoodie. He was still fuming, shaky and unfocused, and he channeled the rest of his anger into grabbing the handle and slamming the door to his bedroom as hard as he possibly could. 

It was hard enough to make the walls quiver, the sound like a gunshot ringing through the halls of the mindscape, and it made him feel better for about two seconds before he realized what he’d just done. 

Oh god. Oh god they were going to kill him. 

He’d started a pointless argument because he was too pathetic to get over something simple, and then he’d stood there and yelled at everyone like they had done something wrong. 

They weren’t going to hit him. They’d promised, and they’d proven over and over again that they didn’t intend on breaking that promise, no matter how horrible he was. 

And he’d certainly shown them just how horrible he could be today, hadn’t he? Maybe now they would finally understand why he’d been put through all those punishments for so long. It was so much easier to deal with him when he was in pain. 

The argument could be worked through. Maybe. But then he’d slammed his door and...and he knew what the punishment was for that. Roman had confirmed it himself. 

Virgil understood that. His room was a safe space, somewhere to stay when things got too overwhelming to manage, and for the most part the other sides understood that. 

So taking privacy away entirely was the most effective punishment they had access to since violence had already been taken off the table. 

It was preferable to the beatings, obviously, but it still made sickening panic coil in his gut at the thought of it. At least they seemed to be giving him some time to cool down before his punishment, the hallway outside completely silent. 

God, he was an idiot. He was so stupid. Why couldn’t he do one thing right? Why couldn’t he just be grateful for what he had and not ruin everything for once in his stupid life? 

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry over his own mistake. That had always just gotten him in more trouble. 

Virgil pulled up his hood, breaths still short and shaking as he crawled back into bed where he’d already spent a majority of the day. Maybe the longer he stayed cooped up in here, the longer he could avoid the repercussions. 

It was unlikely. Punishments were never on his terms. 

He kept his eyes firmly shut, wrapping his blanket around him and burying his face in the pillow in a desperate attempt at letting everything fade for the time being. He was exhausted, both from the nightmares and the fight, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake back up. 

- 

He didn’t get his wish, unfortunately, but it was clear he’d at least managed to doze off for a couple hours, his room much darker than it had been before he’d shut his eyes, faint sunlight no longer shining through his curtains. 

At first he wasn’t sure what had woken him, everything still and silent, but then he heard the quiet knocking at his door again followed by a gentle voice. 

“Kiddo?” Patton called from the other side. “Can I come in?” 

Virgil groaned, still groggy and disoriented, wondering why Patton was still bothering to knock. He knew better than to push his luck by turning him away, taking a steadying breath before calling back. “Yeah. Come in, Pat.” 

Virgil pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling his knees up to his chest as Patton slowly pushed open the door, hesitating in the entrance. 

“Hey,” he said softly, and Virgil wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or not. “Did I wake you?” 

Virgil shrugged, eyes on his rumpled blankets. “It’s ok.” 

Patton continued to hesitate in the doorway, and Virgil scrambled to figure out why the moral side was still being so courteous. Was it some kind of trick? Was he trying to figure out how to best explain what the punishment would entail? 

“You up for talking, kiddo?” Patton asked, and Virgil knew better than to think he actually had a choice. “It can wait if you need some more alone time.” 

Virgil shook his head, heart beating frantically in his chest as he willed himself to stop trembling. The weaker he looked, the worse it always was. He cautiously raised his head to glance at Patton, a silent invitation. 

The moral side took a step forward before pausing again, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Do you want the door open or closed?” 

Virgil blinked, glancing between Patton and the hallway behind him. He didn’t...look angry, but the idea of having an accessible escape route set him at ease just a little. 

He couldn’t meet his gaze, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Can you leave it open?” 

“Of course.” 

Virgil watched with tense shoulders as Patton, true to his word, left the bedroom door open and carefully made his way over to the bed where the anxious side was miserably hunched over and waiting. 

“Kiddo--” 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, cringing when he realized he’d interrupted. “I- I’m sorry for- for fighting with Roman and- and for yelling and...and for saying those things about you guys. That wasn’t- that wasn’t your fault. I- I should have tried harder but I was stupid, and I just didn’t--”  

“Slow down, Virgil,” Patton said softly, and Virgil instantly fell silent. “You’re not stupid. And we know you didn’t mean what you said.” 

Patton had slowly lowered himself down on the bed, keeping a few inches between them. He reached forward, slowly, and Virgil flinched back before he could stop himself, eyes going wide. 

Patton quickly pulled his hand back. “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby. It’s ok.” 

Virgil looked down at his lap, squeezing trembling hands into fists. He was hard enough to deal with normally, but he’d been awful today. He couldn’t imagine how much Patton was regretting his decision right now. 

“You...you can if you want,” Virgil said quietly. “I won’t- I won’t say anything.” 

Patton made a choked sound, eyes wide in disbelief. Virgil wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong this time, but he’d made him upset and all his defenses were suddenly up. 

“Sorry!” he said quickly. “S-sorry, I was just trying to--” 

“No, it’s alright,” Patton said, and Virgil jumped at the feeling of warm hands suddenly covering his own. “But I don’t want to hit you, sweetheart. I will never want that.” 

Virgil’s head was starting to hurt, spinning in the way it usually did whenever they had discussions like this. “But...but everyone’s mad.” 

“We had a fight,” Patton agreed, looking unbearably sad. “It got a little out of hand, and everyone needed some time to cool off. Do you think Roman should be hit?” 

“What?” The panic hit full force again, but for an entirely different reason, protective rage and disbelief clouding his vision just at the thought of the Prince being treated like that. “Jesus- no! Of course not!” 

Patton tilted his head slightly. “Then, why should you?” 

“Because…” Virgil trailed off, almost certain Patton wouldn’t like any answer he came up with. His voice was small and unsure when he spoke again. “I...I deserve it?” 

Patton shook his head, and Virgil wondered if he was even more annoyed at him for not understanding. 

“You don’t,” he said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt any more than me, Roman, and Logan do. You’re always gonna be safe here with us, honey. Even when we fight.” 

Patton looked genuinely hopeful, his hands still gently holding Virgil’s own, and even though it didn’t really make sense, Virgil found himself relaxing. Patton wasn’t going to hurt him. No one was going to hit him for this. 

“Ok,” he relented. “I’m...I’m still really sorry. For- for yelling and...and slamming my door and stuff.” 

“I appreciate that, kiddo,” Patton said. “And you and Roman need to talk this out when you’re ready. But first...can you tell me what happened?” 

Virgil shrugged, figuring it was fairly obvious. “I was being an ass.” 

Patton didn’t even correct his language, just squeezed his hand slightly and leaned forward to try and meet Virgil’s gaze. He suddenly felt like he was being read like an open book. 

“You lashed out,” Patton said, and Virgil winced. “And...while it’s not an excuse, you don’t do that unless you’re already on edge. So what’s going on?” 

Virgil swallowed, suddenly feeling trapped despite Patton’s gentle encouragement. “I’m just...I’m just tired and anxious. I get short tempered sometimes, you know that.” 

Patton was silent, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, and Virgil had a second of blind panic when he realized he wasn’t sure what the other side wanted him to say. 

Did it sound like Virgil was making excuses? Did he think he was lying? Was he expecting a different answer? 

Patton sighed, but he didn’t sound annoyed or impatient, giving Virgil’s hands another gentle squeeze. “Can you tell me why the knocking matters so much to you?” 

Virgil tensed, resisting the urge to pull his hands away. “It...it doesn’t.” 

“It does,” Patton said. “It obviously matters a lot.” 

“It doesn’t,” Virgil snapped, and- great, he was doing it again. “It- it’s dumb and selfish and I shouldn’t have yelled at Roman over it. I can- I can get over it.” 

He was absolutely not going to start crying over this. He didn’t think Patton would snap and hit him over it, but he knew how obnoxious it was to listen to. 

“Honey,” Patton said, in that gentle, understanding voice that could always coax Virgil out of his spiraling panic. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” 

Dammit. Patton really sounded like he cared, like nothing could convince him that it wasn’t just another one of Virgil’s useless problems that he needed to get over by himself. 

Virgil groaned, pulling his hands free despite the way his chest ached at the loss of comfort, instead moving to run them through his hair. 

“It...it’s just…” He closed his eyes again, deflating, suddenly too tired to keep fighting. “This- this is the first time anybody has come into my room because they wanted to. You guys- you guys want to see me when you come in here.” 

Patton was watching him carefully when Virgil opened his eyes, looking a little lost but beginning to understand. He nodded, gently urging him to continue. 

“Nobody...the Others never came to see me unless they...unless they were mad. And they- they didn’t bother to knock, obviously, if they were just- just going to h-hurt me. And then you and Logan knocked and- and I know it’s dumb but it just...made me feel like I had some control, you know?” 

He took a shaky breath, once again refusing to meet Patton’s eyes. “When Roman kept...walking in without warning I just...forgot. I kept forgetting I was safe. The only time someone had done that was when they were...you know. It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid and I can’t expect to--”

“Kiddo no.” Patton’s hands were suddenly slipping into Virgil’s again, and where he’d expected resentment or annoyance, Virgil found only quiet concern. “It’s not stupid! Not at all. Kiddo...Virgil, why didn’t you tell us?” 

Virgil shrugged again, hating how obvious his trembling had become. “Because it’s just...it’s just knocking. I shouldn’t...I can get over it, it’s--”

“It’s not just knocking to you,” Patton said. “It might be small to us, but that means it’s something we can easily do to make you feel safer, Virgil.” 

“But it’s stupid!” 

“It’s something you need,” Patton corrected, continuing over any halfhearted protests. “Remember what Logan said about your recovery? We’re all doing our best, but we’re gonna end up stepping all over your triggers sometimes. You don’t need to feel bad for helping us learn. You never should be afraid to ask us for something that makes you feel better.” 

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Patton this time, just miserably curled in on himself and frantically tried to think of an acceptable response. “I...I’m sorry. For turning it into a fight.” 

“It’s alright,” Patton promised. “But you need to tell Roman and Logan why this is important to you, ok?” 

Virgil pushed down his panic, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out of this. “Is Roman mad?” 

“Not anymore,” Patton said. “He knows he pushed you a bit, and he’s a little worked up about it. But he’ll be ok after you come down.” 

“It’s not his fault. I’m the one who--” 

“Placing blame isn’t important.” Patton slid off the bed, still holding Virgil’s hands, and carefully helped the anxious side to his feet. “Are you good to go downstairs? We can always wait.” 

“I’m...I’m good. I need to apologize.” 

Patton didn’t argue, just gave him a small smile and led them both out into the hall, hands still interlocked as they made their way down the stairs. 

Logan and Roman were in the living room when they arrived, sitting in silence on the couch and clearly waiting for whatever awkward scolding was inevitably going to occur after Virgil worked up the courage to properly explain himself. Great. 

“Hi,” he muttered, not sure how else to start, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs. He felt like a child, small and defenseless. “I’m...really sorry, you guys. All of you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you and- and I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean it.” 

Virgil heard Roman sigh, tensing on instinct until he glanced up to any anger or annoyance completely drained from his expression, his posture almost relaxed. 

“It’s alright, my Starry Night,” he said softly, and Virgil wanted to sob in relief. “I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive over something so silly.” 

And then the relief was gone, replaced with something cold and painful, and he suddenly remembered what had made him lash out in the first place. Because it...it wasn’t silly. It mattered to him. 

Luckily, he didn’t have the energy for anger anymore and Logan was speaking up before he could let himself say something stupid. 

“I also feel as though I should apologize,” he said, which was not what Virgil had been expecting. “While I was only attempting to decrease the tension, it appears I may have misspoken and succeeded in doing the opposite.” 

Virgil wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to dwell on the way he’d blindly snarled at Logan. “It’s fine, Lo. You didn’t do anything.”

“Still,” Logan said. “I want to make sure you are aware that it was not my intention to make any sort of comparison between you and...the people from your past. You are nothing like them, Virgil. And you never will be.” 

Virgil swallowed against the lump in his throat and quickly looked away, eyes suddenly embarrassingly wet. 

Roman made a sound that Virgil would have killed him for if he wasn’t suddenly so grateful for every person in this room. Even if he’d still lost the right to his privacy for however long they deemed appropriate, at least no one hated him. 

“Kiddo.” Patton was suddenly putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Virgil remembered they weren’t nearly done here. “Can you please tell them what you told me? About why it’s important to you?” 

Virgil thought he might actually prefer to fling himself into the sun than to admit it again, but Patton had said please and Roman was looking at him curiously, no judgment or tension to be seen. 

Besides, Roman deserved to know why he’d practically been screamed at out of nowhere, as shitty of an excuse as it was. 

“I still shouldn’t have yelled,” he said. “It’s just...before- before you guys, people only barged into my room if...if they were mad and didn’t want to wait until I came out to...do whatever they were gonna do to me. And I know it shouldn't be a big deal but- but when you open th-the door without knocking I just...panic. I- I forget that I don’t have to be afraid of you.” 

His words were met with heavy silence, and Virgil’s legs suddenly felt weak, knees wobbling under his weight. He dug his nails into his hoodie sleeves, refusing to meet Roman’s eyes, not ready to face any scorn or disbelief. 

“Virgil,” Roman said, barely a whisper. “Oh, Virgil I’m so sorry.” 

What?

Roman stood from the couch, but he didn’t approach or yell or call Virgil ridiculous. His eyes were wide and he looked...distressed? 

“I-I had no idea...Virgil I’m so sorry! I should never have gotten so angry with you, I...I should have just listened.”

“What?” Virgil hadn’t actually meant to speak aloud, but Roman was slowly walking forward, brimming with regret and hope as he reached for Virgil’s hands, which he numbly offered. “No, Roman don’t be- you literally couldn’t have known.”

“No, but I should have listened to you! I...I just thought...God, we always tell you to let us know how we can help you feel safe and- and I just got mad at you for it. I’m...Virgil I’m so very sorry.” 

“I should have just told you.” He’d messed up. He’d messed up, he’d lost privacy privileges and he’d made Roman upset. “I- I should have known you wouldn’t be mad. I don’t know why--” 

And then Roman had his arms around him, pulling him close in his familiar embrace of warmth and safety, and Virgil practically melted against his chest, returning the hug almost desperately. 

“Group hug!” Patton cheered, hurrying over to join as Virgil laughed. “You too Logan!” 

There was a sigh from the couch, though Virgil knew there was no real resentment from the logical side. “If I must.” 

The hug only lasted a minute or two, but Virgil let himself close his eyes and relax under the knowledge that he was still safe. Even if he’d messed up, even if he still needed to be punished, they weren’t going to hurt him. 

When they all pulled back, Roman lingered a moment with his hands ghosting over Virgil’s arms, smiling hopefully down at him. “Are we...good?” 

Virgil matched the smile, fighting to push down any thoughts of future punishment. “We’re good, Princey.” 

Patton actually clapped, grinning as he reached over to ruffle Virgil’s hair while Logan squeezed his shoulder, and Virgil was suddenly reminded that he was surrounded by the biggest dorks in the universe.  

“Thank you for informing us of the trigger, Virgil,” Logan said, blunt as ever but somehow...Virgil didn’t really mind. “You deserve to have control over who enters your room, and we will all be careful to respect your privacy in the future.” 

Virgil stepped back, a panicked ache returning to his chest at the reminder of what was coming. They were going to be careful in the future, which meant the world to him, but…

But he knew how this type of punishment went. He knew that he’d be suffering sleepless nights of staring into an empty hallway, always on edge and constantly looking over his shoulder, feeling miserably exposed and vulnerable. 

“Virgil?” Patton asked softly, and Virgil abruptly realized how tense he’d gotten, jaw clenched tight because he refused to cry over a punishment he deserved. “You ok?”

They were all so...nice. They were so, so kind to him. Maybe...maybe they’d be a little more lenient with this too? Maybe they’d at least tell him how long it would last in advance. 

“I- I know it’s kinda selfish to ask,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but...how- how long until I can have it back?” 

His question was met with silence and blank stares, and he saw Patton frown and glance curiously at Logan, who furrowed his brow in response. 

Virgil flinched, even when no one moved, because he’d just managed to repair the damage he’d done, just gotten them to stop being angry with him, and now he’d messed everything up again-

“Virgil,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil warily met his eyes. “Until you can have...what back?” 

Virgil blinked and glanced briefly at the others, wondering if this was some kind of trick. But all he was met with were confused, worried stares, and he was painfully reminded of the first time he’d asked when they planned on hitting him. 

“My...my door?” 

He immediately regretted saying anything when Logan’s eyes went wide. “Your door?” 

“Wait, you think we’re going to take your door?” Patton asked, sounding oddly alarmed. “Why on earth would we do that?” 

“Because...because I have to earn privacy,” he said, like it was obvious. He sort of thought it was. “I was loud and I- I yelled. And I slammed my door, so obviously--” 

“Did they do that to you?” Patton asked. “Did they...did they say you had to earn your privacy?” 

“I- I mean, yeah. If I was too loud and they didn’t think I learned my lesson with...you know...the usual stuff, they’d take it down for a while.”

“Kiddo--” 

“Only sometimes, though,” he added, like he needed to defend them. “They- they knew I got really on edge when I couldn’t...uh, close myself off. I- I can’t really sleep without my door, so could it...maybe only be a couple days? I promise I won’t ever--” 

“We are not going to take your door,” Logan cut him off, watching Virgil with something unreadable behind his glasses. “That was yet another form of abuse, Virgil. You do not have to earn your privacy.” 

“You don’t have to earn anything,” Patton jumped in. “Your door isn’t a privilege!” 

Virgil shook his head, that same lost, hopelessly confused feeling returning with a vengeance. He wondered why it was always so hard for him to understand kindness. “But I thought...Roman said I had to earn my privacy, I thought--” 

“What?” The Prince looked affronted, taking a startled step back. “No I didn’t! I would never imply something like that!” 

“You...y-you did.” He wasn’t trying to argue, he just...didn’t understand. “You said...you said you wouldn’t respect my privacy if...if I was a jerk. After...after I yelled. I thought that meant--” 

“Oh, Virgil no.” 

And then Roman was pulling him into another hug, and as confusing as it was Virgil couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

It only lasted a few seconds, the Prince pulling back to cup Virgil’s face in both his hands, forcing him to look Roman in the eyes. 

The Prince gave an almost lopsided smile, his hold gentle. “I really need to start thinking before I speak, huh?” 

“What?” Virgil couldn’t shake his head without risking dislodging Roman’s hands, only able to stare with wide eyes. “N-no, it was my fault. I’m the one who--” 

“I’m the one who ignored your discomfort, Virgil. I wasn’t thinking. If anyone’s at fault here, it’s me.” 

“But I--” 

“I do not believe blame is important,” Logan spoke up, and Roman and Virgil quickly turned to him, the Prince’s hands dropping to his sides. “And we definitely do not need another argument over who is at fault.” 

Virgil winced, hunching his shoulders even if Logan sounded more amused than annoyed. “Sorry.” 

“No more apologies necessary,” Logan said. “We are all still learning to respect and understand each other. It will take some time and a lot of work, but today was a good learning opportunity. For all of us.” 

Virgil didn’t quite relax yet, still reeling from the revelation that he didn’t have to worry about losing his door now or ever, and entirely unable to comprehend how today could be anything other than exhausting for everyone. “How?” 

“You did really well explaining to me what was wrong,” Patton said, quickly continuing before Virgil could argue. “It took a bit of coaxing, but you’ve been taught to be scared of opening up, kiddo. That’s not gonna go away overnight.” 

“But you did it,” Roman added. “You were brave, Stormcloud, and I’m proud of you. And...and now I know what you need, and why I hurt you. I...I should have realized sooner, but--” 

“It’s ok,” Virgil said quickly. “It’s...it’s ok. You...you know now, right? And I- I know you won’t get mad if I tell you the truth.” 

“Of course,” Roman promised. “Of course I won't be mad at you. I- I know I messed up today, but I swear to you I’ll do better next time.” 

“We all will,” Logan agreed. “There will be misunderstandings and mistakes, from all of us, but they can always be worked through. You’re safe here, Virgil. That will never change.” 

They...they meant it. All of them, watching him with unabashed hope and adoration, wanting him to believe them. And he did. Even when a part of him, the parts that had been hurt over and over again, screamed at him not to. 

“Ok,” he said, still quiet and unsure, but steady all the same. “And I...I get to keep my door?”

He was almost afraid to ask, like maybe he’d crossed some sort of line by bringing it up again and all of their kindness would be abruptly ripped away. But Patton just smiled sadly and took his hand. 

“Nobody’s gonna take your door away,” he said. “Privacy isn’t something you earn, you don’t ever need to worry about that. We won’t hit you, kiddo. But we’re not gonna take away the things you need to feel comfortable, either.” 

Virgil’s throat felt tight, vision blurring as tears gathered against his will, but something loosened in his chest. “Oh.” 

He felt lightheaded, far away and a bit dizzy, and he was suddenly reminded of how little sleep he’d gotten, how endless the miserable night had been. 

“How about we move over to the couch?” Patton suggested, running his hand through a teary eyed Virgil’s hair. “I’ll get us some food, and you can doze off when you’d like, Virge.” 

Virgil nodded, not able to do much else in the moment, smiling when Roman began to lead him over to the couch, gently rubbing his back. “Sounds good to me, Padre.” 

Patton had sandwiches and chips on the coffee table in a matter of minutes- or maybe time was starting to move in a distant blur now that Virgil’s exhaustion was starting to catch up with him. 

They ended up curled up together with a vaguely familiar movie in the background, Virgil rested against Roman’s side with his head on Logan's shoulder. 

“Thank you.” It was nothing more than a quiet murmur, and he didn’t bother to wait for the response before shutting his eyes, letting himself drift away. 

He didn’t have any more nightmares that night, waking up the next morning tucked into his bed with his bedroom door closed.

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[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

------------------

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

------------------

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

------------------

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

------------------

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

------------------

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

------------------

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

------------------

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

------------------

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

------------------

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[bellamyblake]

The perfect sleeping arrangement

for @star-sky-earth

Alternate Universe-Canon divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Mommy!Kink, Nightmares, Anxiety Disorder

Bellamy always tries to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but at night he's breaking apart-anxiety and nightmares are tearing him up, yet he won't let Clarke take care of him. Unless she insists and he starts opening up to her. 

The only time Bellamy ever allowed Clarke to take care of him was at night.

During the day it was all about him doing everything he possibly could-going hunting, passing by medbay to bring her lunch, toss a scarf over her naked neck so she doesn’t get sick, ask her mom if she got anything for breakfast over her rolling eyes, make sure she comes back home before ten even though there’s a council meeting that night that he won’t attend because of his guard shift.

And it wasn’t just about her really-still, two years after they set their camp and started actually building it, he was taking care of the hundred as if they were his own children just like when they first landed-he brought Jasper a new jacket, fixed the roof of the co-joined cabin that Harper, Monty, Miller and a few other kids used, made sure to raid long-forgotten bunkers for winter supplies, participated in the shoveling of the snow, smoaking the meat from the game he had caught, helping Raven with the electricity solutions she needed figuring out as well as taking up as many guard shifts as he could especially during the winter when it was harder for the delinquents.

He even volunteered once a week in the small day care they opened last fall, reading books and telling stories to the kids in the midst of giving them a few history lessons here and there.

Overall he was stretching himself a little too thin and Clarke hated it even though whenever they fought about it, he always made sure to remind her that she’s no better than him.

And that may have been true but the thing was, he refused to let anyone ever take care of him, even her.

Even though he made sure she was fine all the damn time and it was the little things that broke her-him making her tea in the evening, bringing her hot water for her freezing feet and making sure she warmed up after her enthusiastic run in the back yard when the first snow hit, him tucking her up at night even when she kicked the blanket or finding the right kind of animal skin so he would sew her gloves for the winter.

He had even learned how to knit from a grounder woman during the summer festival and when they got back to camp he secretly traded a few sweaters for some yarn, only to start working on a beautiful blue scarf for her that he wrapped around her once the first winter days arrived.

It was great being with Bellamy but it was also heartbreaking, watching him give all of himself away and never expect anything in return.

Even when they kissed or had sex he always made sure she’s came first, always made sure to show her just how much he loved her, whispering words about her beautiful body in her ear as he teased her clit and bring her over the edge.

But when Clarke wanted to do the same, he’d try to get away, refusing the attention.

Some mornings she’d feel his hard cock against her butt and reach over to take him, turn around and kiss him, try to give him a good time but he’d kiss her forehead, mumble something like “I’m fine, princess, have to get to work, maybe some other time.” and slip away leaving her angry and sad that he just denied himself pleasure.

She knew why he did it, she had seen it from the moment back at that tree on their unfortunate day trip-he didn’t think he deserved it even though she had tried to make it known, even though she always made sure to show him how much he means to her, how much she loves him-but it wasn’t about that, it has never been about that-the fact remained-he didn’t believe he was worthy of being loved, of pleasure, even when it came from the person he cared for most in the world and who cared for him just as much in return.

The thing was, he tried to hide his problems away from her as well and that had been the last straw to turn things around.

At first it was his inability to sleep because of anxiety-he had a few days or even a week sometimes every month when he couldn’t sleep-nightmares plagued him and left him weak and exhausted but he would try to hide it from her at first until one night she came home and found him so tired that he had passed out by the hearth, having only just started the fire.

She can't even move him no matter how hard she wants to. She kneels down, puts her hands under his armpits and tries but he's so heavy. On top of everything he's all wet from the snow-his jacket's peppered with fastly melting snowflakes, his hair was drenched-the curls stuck to his forehead, he was freezing and she knew his boots leaked too, so she had to get him out of it and warm him up.

”Come on, Bell, wake up, let's get you to bed.” and he manages to wake up, get to a half-awake state but he's so out of it, like a drunk five year old who had absolutely no idea what was happening to him.

”C-larke?”

“Yeah, come on, please I can't lift you on my own."

“I'm tired.” he mumbles.

“I know, but you need to get to bed.”

“Why?”

“Because it's cold out here you'll get sick”

“I'm fine...it's by the fire...just...leave me”

“No, I’m not leaving you, come on, please.” she’s desperate at that point, feels her own tears picking up at her eyes.

“It's okay, I like it here.”

“It's the wooden floor, your back already hurts, it's time for bed, please help me, please,” he groans a little, too tired to even lift his head and look at her but then she adds “for me.”

And that does it.

He manages to lift his feet just a little so she can drag him to bed and spray him diagonally at first, then she starts undressing him slowly, he's moaning everything hurts him-he's absolutely exhausted, tired to his very bone, hadn't slept in days, worked all through it too on top of it.

He's a baby when she undresses him he goes “I’m cold.”  when he doesn't have clothes on or “Ohh, my feet!”  when she takes his boots off and finds his blisters.

She’s pretty sure he’s only ever saying that because he’s not coherent of anything happening around him and he’s just a child speaking his mind.

It wasn’t just a one time deal, though-it kept happening and it worsened significantly with the change of the seasons-when winter settled he got bad, really damn bad and his anxiety made him jumpy, sad and insomniac.

In the spring it was a little better but still quite hard and the hot summer nights would throw him into another nightmare spiral that could last a month and leave him absolutely exhausted until the autumn winds hit and allowed him to breathe somewhat.

She takes him to Jackson when she comes home one night to find him passed out in his work clothes again. This time he's too tired to fully wake so she has to pile the blankets and pillows on the floor and sleep with him there to make sure he's warm enough.

Clarke figures out quickly that he loves being spooned, held, kissed-he groaned content when she ran her fungers through his hair-he liked being warm but he didn’t wear clothes in bed except for his boxers and he enjoyed most of all when she tucked him in first after taking all of his clothes and then sliding in bed, wrapping herself like a monkey around him and holding him tight.

Jackson had prescribed him some anxiety meds but after talking to some grounders at the summer Polis trade between clans, Clarke found herbs they could use to brew as a tea for him to drink.

It didn’t always do the job but it helped significantly.

Still, she figured out he had a need for her late at night in those vulnerable moments and the more they occured, the more he allowed himself to be like this despite the constant battle in his heart.

He liked being pampered, liked her momming him, taking care of him like that.

But there was still something that tips the scales and it comes from the most unexpected places of all.

Second year around when the camp is up and running, all of them have to go through the mandatory health check ups.

Of course, Bellamy had tried to get away with his, sneak out but Clarke had grabbed him by the collar-literally and dragged him there for his mom to do it, knowing if it was her, they probably would end up with her pinned on the cot, him on top, pushing into her, instead of her taking in his pulse.

And that’s when it happens-her mom takes in his blood pressure and finds it too high, listens to his heart carefully and furrows her eyebrows as she focuses. Clarke feels the cold spread through her from her back through her entire body when her mom tells them things are out of norm but that if he takes some blood pressure medicine to regulate it, everything will be alright.

Clarke hates herself for it though-she should’ve noticed it sooner. She always let herself be held by him and she had noticed, as she rest her head over his chest, that his heart beat too fast but she thought it was just him being too tired or maybe the anxiety was making it worse for him but she never once thought something could be wrong.

That’s when things changed and she refused to let him get away with being taken care of anymore.

His heart beat became her good night lullaby.

During the day he was still Bellamy the guard, Bellamy the hunter, Bellamy the protector of his silly kids starting with Jasper, Bellamy the love of her life who brought her lunch.

But at night things shifted.

He’d sit in bed and wait for her to come out of the bathroom.

“Took your anxiety meds?” he nods seriously “The blood pressure ones?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?” he had  stupid phase where he tried not to take them for a few weeks so they could save recources and ration them and she hadn’t talked to him for days after.

“I’m sure, Clarke.”

“Good boy.” she praises as she comes over “Time for bed now.” she lays him down covers him up and he looks at her with big brown beautiful eyes.

”You coming?”

“Right in, you big baby.” she promises as she leans over and kisses his forehead.

“Can you hold me?” he’s learned to ask for that with time and she had made sure to show him how proud she was of it.

“Of course.” she tucks him in and then quickly slides in on the other side of bed, wrapping herself around him, her arm over his chest and leg thrown over his. Her other one sneaks under his neck and she pushes his head to her chest so that he’s a little lower than her and her chin cover his head. That way she had quick access to his hair and she runs her fingers through his curls gently, helping him relax.

Because at night she sleeps deep, she doesn’t always hear when he wakes up from his nightmares or terrors and the only thing betraying him would be the dark circles under his eyes in the morning, so she has to ask every night how the previous one had been because only then would he be honest.

“How was last night?” he knows the question will come so he shivers a little as she holds him.

“Not too bad.”

“How many times did you wake up?”

“Once” he lies. She tightens her grip on his chest.

“Your shirt was soaked, Bell.” he shrugs and closes his eyes but she insists ”So? How many times?”

“Three.” he lets out quietly and she wraps herself tighter around him

“Why didn't you wake me up?”

“You know I can't.” she knew he wouldn’t, he never did. Unless she was there to scold him and force him to lay still while she took care of him after a night terror, he wouldn’t say a thing.

He had admitted once that he would wake up gasping for breath but force himself not to move too much and instead just stare at the ceiling while he calmed down so he wouldn’t wake her up.

She hated it. She hated whatever made him hate himself so much that he’d refuse to reach out even to her.

She knew it was about the way he was raised-his mom loved him according to his words and fond memories of her, but she was stern and had expectations for him especially after Octavia was born when the real hell began.

He had anxiety then too, night terrors as well, he may have developed this heart condition just because of the constant stress he was put under, he just had no way of knowing it.

One night as she was holding him he admitted he wouldn’t sleep at night after O was born, he’d check on her and his mom all the time, then sleep by the door when they knew there would be random check ups in Factory.

He’d fall off his bed as he tossed in his nightmare sleep, he’d shake all the time, grow restless or too tired, get angry sometimes-all signs of what he was still suffering from now.

Something else that happened lately as she came to find out-because he was so exhausted from his lack of sleep, he’d take short naps in hiding, away from her, so he wouldn’t bother her with his pain.

He’d go to the small overhang they had in the backyard where they kept the woods and sleep there and she’d hate it when he did that because it was so cold there she worried he’d get sick or he'd hide out in the kitchen while Murphy prepared dinner after bringing in the game he caught with the hunting party outside. He'd even spray on one of the metal tables at Raven and Monty's tent where they discussed plans for the camp.

So she knows, comes to figure out that spooning him and holding him helped a lot so all of this didn't have to happen. So he wouldn't have to hide away.

But something else did too.

Clarke would ask him if he’s okay, if she could do something else besides holding him but he’d of course shake his head and grumple a soft childish “I’m fine.”

She’d know better do, could always tell by the way he folds into her if he’s more vulnerable than usual, if it’s worse that night than the previous from the way his hands tremble or how he pushes his head into her hand looking for her touch.

In those nights, like tonight, she slides her hand down to hix boxers, digs in and pumps his cock to hardness.

He gasps a little, pushes his back into hers and looks up, searching for her eyes.

He doesn't want her to worry so much, so he tries to tell her it's okay but she wouldn't hear it and she jerks him off like this from behind. She knew exactly how he liked it by now-starting slowly, teasingly from the tip of his cock before sliding all the way down and cupping his balls for a moment before taking him in again.

His legs kick off the blanket just a little, he arches his back and she reins him in, calms him down, by kissing him softly, starting from his cheek, to his chin, sliding down to his neck, peppering him with her love, making sure to pay attention to all the freckles she sees in her way.

Her other hand is still in his hair-tucking at his curls, moving his head just the right way to expose more of him to her, give her a better angle as he gasps into her arms and calls for her untill he comes gasping, head buried in her chest, begging to be held, tighter, to be cuddled.

Finally, she lets him roll over when he's spent and he buries his head in her chest.

Clarke knows what he wants.

He loved sucking her tits after a good blowjob like this but she teases him a little like a boy who wants to be fed in the middle of the night but his mom's sleeping.

Bellamy buries his nose between her tits, breathes her in, lets her run her fingers through his curls, soft talk him, baby him until his quiet moans turn to desperate ones and he starts sucking, searching for her through her thin shirt.

“So impatient.”  she jokes “You want some of that big boy?”

He whines, writhes against her just a bit, searching for more like a desperate hungry kid.

“What's up?” she runs her fingers through his hair once more while he keeps trying to bury deeper into her, probably hating the fact that she decided to wear a shirt tonight but it was winter and she was cold. “You hungry?”

He groans, buries his head even closer, searches for her nipple but can't find it through the awful angle that her tits are in now that she’s laying on her side “Want me to lift that up for you?” she asks grabbing the hem of her shirt that is in fact one of his “Want to suck on mom's tits?”

He looks up then, moves away a little and she wants to laugh at how cute and adorable he is-his mouth hanging a little, saliva drooling on his chin from his desperate attempts to get to her tits.

He gives her a soft hurt look, his eyes so lost and desperate, the barest of nods and she just can't deny him when he does that-he’s so sweet, so gentle, so broken.

And so exhausted.

“Maybe this will help him fall into a fitful sleep.” Clarke thinks as she cups his cheek and runs her thumb over the dark circle under his eye.

He's so tired, it's the absolute picture perfect of a boy turned baby needing his mom and a hungry for his partner man.

She can’t handle it, would be lying if this wasn’t doing things to her too, so she raises herself up just a little and pulls her shirt off.

His reaction is immideate, he doesn’t even wait for her to fully lay back down when he takes the nipple of her right breast in his mouth and sucks on it hard.

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her up closer to him, wants to feel all of her pressed to his body, needs to have her there with him.

He doesn't just kiss her he sucks on her like a baby that's expecting for milk to come and it leaves her gasping and thrusting into his leg at the feel of her own wetness pooling into her but it is him that breaks her heart- he's so desperate for love and affection it's absolutely devastating for her.

It's noisy, he's smacking on her like a hungry baby and he's beautiful, so damn beautiful.

But he also never forgets about her-he sneaks his hand down to her ass and squeezes it, which makes her panties drench with her wetness and she grinds a little into him but she doesn't need release-this is about him, just him.

He gets a little hard again but it's not about that either now-he just wants to suck on her breasts and move his hands down her ass then up her back, then to her stomach-he loves touching her stomach, the softness there, the round curves that make her arch her back a little, makes her moan above him, reach out and put her hand on his shoulders, looking for something to support her.

Then he goes down to her panties, sinks in a finger into her making her gasp as he moves to her other breast, smacking just as hard, desperate for her beautiful breasts, desperate to beheld in her arms, to be vulnerable around her but also to love her, to let it pour out of him in any way possible.

And when he's had enough of touching her he brings his fingers up, pulls away for just a moment so he could spread her wetness around her nipple before sucking onto it hard again.

“Bellamy-” she gasps and he moves away from her nipple for just a second, peppers her chest with soft little kisses, moves to the valley of her breasts, drags his tongue there before sucking onto the skin just above her right breast and pulling her closer to him by the waist.

“Bell-”

He moves away a little, looks up at her asking if he did something wrong, worrying like always but she just takes his face in her hands and pulls him in for a kiss. She’s as desperate to have him as he is her but Clarke knows this is about him, so after she lets him go they just pant a little, breathe with hurry and desperation after their recent endeavours.

Her hand falls to his chest, his fast beating heart and she wants to command it to slow down.

“Ready to fall now?” she asks and he sneaks a glance down to her chest again before he looks right up, not daring speak out his desires but trying to silently ask for them anyway.

Without words.

He could never speak for himself.

But she would.

“You can take one if you want to.” she prompts him gently tugging at his neck and pushing him back to her chest.

“You don’t mind?” he asks and his voice comes out too small, too scared for her liking.

Clarke hurries to shake her head.

“In fact I love it.” he tilts his head a little as if asking “Really?” and she smiles “I love having you so close at night.”

HIs head falls and he looks down for a minute, accepting her answer, but trying to gather up the courage to ask something else.

“Will you still hold me?”

“Of course I will.” she promises and he smiles, beams really in a way she rarely sees on him which makes her sad because he should be like this all the time.

He quiets down after but not before slipping his hand back in her pants and sinking three fingers into her again, it's like he just wanted to be there, always, being the Bellamy that he is, to always give in return.

She grinds a little into him, he pumps her some but then they settle.

She watches him, cups his cheek runs her hand through his curly bangs smiles and kisses his forehead.

He gets a little shy like what he wants of her is too much, too weird maybe but she confirms again with a little nod that says ”It's okay, you can go ahead” and he wraps his mouth around her nipple again and smacks like a baby until finally he quiets and they fall asleep like this-his fingers in her and his mouth on her-the perfect sleeping arrangement.

[jerardeusebio]

Birth Day

I suppose it was understandable when I was seven, maybe forgivable when I was a self-involved cliché of a teen. But at 32, I’ve come to find—through the help of stoicism—that being entitled to a day is a delusion worth shattering. I had to learn first hand, on my 26th birthday, that the world doesn’t owe me anything just because it’s my birthday.

This whole story took place on January 18, 2015, the first birthday I was to spend with Dylan. Earlier on, it had been destined to be an unforgettable day, made extra special by Pope Francis’ visit to the Philippines, which the two of us, despite our considerable reservations about the Catholic Church, decided to take part in. The Pope was scheduled to tour Manila and later hold Mass at the Quirino Grandstand. The date fell on a Sunday. 

I had been so determined to make a day of it, that I even convinced my family, who’d be coming from Los Baños, to join me and Dylan. I proposed we grab dinner when it was all over. In the end, we all agreed that this was to be my birthday celebration.

From our F. B. Harrison apartment, Dylan and I braved the streets of Manila to catch a glimpse of the progressive Pope. We left once I got a text from my family that they were on their way. Soon enough it became clear that reaching the venue would be a challenge. It was hard enough we had to do it on foot, but of course we had to deal with the crowd. Prior to that day, I had only seen such large gatherings on television. We had the most grueling time getting through the dense throng, squeezing past countless elbows and knees, breathing each other’s air (possibly a death wish in today’s context), trying to outsmart everyone in finding the perfect spot in which to encounter the Pope, who was at this point still going around, peripatetic in his mobile. And the rain, oh, the rain didn’t help either. These were to be the most disgustingly profound hours of my life.

There were at least two reasons why my family—Pa, Ma, Marky, and Thea—weren’t able to join me and Dylan that day. For one, the crowds intimidated them. From a distance, it was just a sea of people on the streets. The view was even more overwhelming when seen from the LRT station. My family despised crowds, but I had hoped they’d make an exception for the Pope! And yes, because it’s my birthday, for me. Another reason, and perhaps what contributed the most to my disappointment, was that communication lines were jammed. Literally, the City of Manila had cut off phone reception as a safety measure. Because of this, my family had no way to contact me or Dylan, no way to find out where we were exactly, no way to be advised that they needed raincoats because umbrellas were not allowed, and no way to inform me that they had changed their minds about the whole day.

It was only when Dylan and I were out of the rain and sitting at our nice table in Makan Makan, Manila Ocean Park that I’d learn about my family getting as far as Quirino Avenue before deciding to retreat. They were also not going to share a meal with us at this nice restaurant because they were, in fact, already back home. I was stunned. Little did I know that when Dylan and I were singing Our Father with the mighty congregation, my family was watching the whole thing on our TV, roofed and dry.

I felt the flush of disappointment spread through me as my mother explained herself on the other line. Though she sounded equally disappointed at how things went, when she greeted me a happy birthday, I could only focus on how it all felt sucky. I remember feeling my feet, stinky and wrinkled in my rain-soaked socks. Dylan and I would’ve gone back to our apartment except we were starving and Manila Ocean Park was just right where we ended our rainy pilgrimage. Once I told him my family wasn’t coming, he ordered pad thai and laksa for just us two.

I put the phone down, frowned, and began to express my sentiments. Looking at Manila Bay through the glass walls, I articulated how disappointed I was, how I felt that my family didn’t really try, that they seem to have missed the point of the day—my birthday—and therefore didn’t try harder to come to me, to celebrate me. I must have gone in circles, as I tend to do when I act up. And I must’ve sounded exceedingly annoying, too, because the way Dylan castigated me right there, as soon as I finished saying my piece, even as the waiter meekly placed a large bowl of steaming laksa between us, was so intense and so surprising that it took me a few moments to realize that he was actually angry. 

We’ve only been together six months at this point, and seeing him defend my family and—in the same breath—point out my entitlement was a strange sight and a debilitating experience to sit through. Caught off guard, I let my intangible ego take a beating and my tangible body, wet and worn out, release the tears. Once it started, it was hard to stop. I cried as I shakily brought a spoonful of soup to my mouth. I cried as I curled the noodles with my fork. I cried as I sipped water from my glass. I spat a few futile rebuttals. And when those were debunked, I concentrated back on my feelings. I never thought anyone could be chastised in this manner on their birthday, after seeing the Pope in the flesh, and after successfully squeezing through a throng of Filipino Catholics—all through a cold and steady January downpour. 

Over the next few years, I would go back to that day and remember how I felt. But I also would mostly review my speech and behavior. I tried to look at the whole day from a stranger’s perspective, a mental exercise which has enabled me to question the way I’ve been taught about birthdays, and wonder where I could’ve picked up that sense of entitlement. Where had I learned to make other people sacrifice their comfort and do things they weren’t really up to just for me, because it was “my day”? Come to think of it, most birthday parties and weddings demand something from their guests—from wearing tacky, expensive, and uncomfortable clothes to requesting cold, hard cash as presents. So many of what we unquestioningly design and do breed such dangerous entitlement. Why had I felt that that was acceptable behavior? 

In my internalized disappointment, I had forgotten all the other things that were beautiful about that day. I focused on what didn’t happen instead of what actually did, on what the circumstances should have offered me instead of what it so generously did, which were nothing short of magical: seeing Pope Francis (the Vicar of Christ!) up close, the electrifying singing and chanting, and the romantic dinner overlooking Manila Bay, paid for by Dylan’s credit card. I had focused on what I thought I deserved and should’ve gotten, insisting that I was entitled to them, no matter what the cost. And each time I revisited what transpired that day, I’d be more and more convinced that, though Dylan was harsh, he was also right.

Dylan would apologize a couple of years later, about the way he did what he did. This, after I expressed to him how that day scarred me. I accepted his apology, but quickly explained how it was, in retrospect, a good and necessary thing. I had needed shaking and, more than anything, someone who’d exorcise the brat out of me. It’s clear to me now that the only way I would’ve listened to reason was to have been dressed down, wet and hungry, on the day I had deemed for so long was mine.

Today, I have a completely new philosophy for and way of celebrating January 18th. Since 2016, I’ve deliberately associated my birthday with my mother, who really did most of the heavy lifting. I vowed that celebrating my birth should mean celebrating her and all the things she went through to bring me into this world. What I now do—which is what I did this year—is wait for 2:01 PM to strike (the exact time I was born), and spend the entire minute holding my mother in a tight embrace, thanking her for the life and nourishment she unselfishly gave, for choosing to carry me for as long as she did.

As for Dylan and I, well, we’ve since gone back to Makan Makan every year. We grew to highly regard their laksa, which we’d always order and consume to the last drop. This year, without meaning to, we ended up making vegan laksa for my birthday dinner at home. And except for Dylan’s cooking and that 2:01 PM hug, I’d say my birthday was pretty uneventful, modest, and every bit happy.

[mintyfrosty]

Back To Square One

Hello all you wonderful people!!

Ya’ll want more merfolk Au stuff?? I gotchu fame. Small one-shot under the cut >:3333333

You know.

Most humans didn't find themselves to be half fish somewhere in your early 30s. Right happened to be an exception.

Despair following his every moment, frame tight and compact against the rocky edging on the cave's underwater cavern. Caramel eyes gawked blankly at the dozens of grains of sand that littered the ocean floor. Too many to count in a lifetime. In a way, an odd sense of loneliness captured his spirit, mainly for two reasons. The first being he was alone in a literal sense, his fri-- acquaintance named Reginald had swum off somewhere to get the two of them a meal for the evening. And the second, well, he didn't know of any miracle stories of humans turning into merfolk, let alone if there was a way to revert it. It didn't make sense; he just...fell in a batch of glowing, purple water, sunk to the bottom and suddenly he was equipt with a tigerfish tail.

And with it, everything he was familiar with.

His whole life was gone.

His friends.

His family.

His crew.

His ship.

His food.

His bed.

Gone.

Simple as that.

But just because it was gone, didn't mean it didn't stab a deep wound in Right's spirit.

"Right?"

A voice. High pitched. Familiar.

Sullenly, the taller of the two looked up from his arms that were crunched in a huddled position, nothing less than a glare coming under the brim of his hat. The other had a satchel strung over his shoulder down to his left hip (Er- top of his tail on the left side?), swimming over gently to the man's side. It was good, however, that the two knew each other for about a month before this 'incident'; made the whole process a little bit more bearable. Or, at least it would if the two weren't in a slightly discourse at the moment.

When Right was still human, his ship had swept up the merman in a net and said merman immediately lost it. Turns out, merfolk don't take kindly to figuring out your species is the reason that your ocean has been limiting its food supply or polluting your oceans with junk (even if Right wasn't guilty of either of those. He was a pirate, not a fisher). As a result, Reginald...lost trust in him, even though Right had assisted him for about a month whilst the merman recovered. Perhaps it was related to Reginald's 'clan' situation. He didn't know. Didn't seem to matter now.

At least, however, Reginald was being much gentler and pushing his feelings on the matter behind him to assist the transformed human. That was something Right could appreciate.

The purple painted merman took a seat to the left of Right, pulling the satchel in front of him and unclipping the button that held it together. The shark mercreature was sure to slightly uncurl himself out of his misery as his gaze fell to the contents the other brought out. A variety. Recently slaughtered fish. Some kind of cod. Prawns. Was that octopus? 

"I, erm, didn't know what you fancied, so I tried to find as much as I could." Explained Reginald, putting the batch of octopi to the side; seemed to be one of his favourites. Right, however, went slightly pale at the suggestion. Eating raw fish? Well, prawns were okay sometimes. But cod? Let alone octopi? That sounded like a slimy mess of distress. 

The other must've caught his disgust, as he began saying something along the lines of: "I...understand you're not used to this. But, unless I'm wrong, you-- er-- drylanders don't eat fish fresh, so, it could be better?"

To be fair, Reginald was as much in the dark as he was. And, luckily, he was somewhat correct; getting fresh fish was extremely rare on the surface. Or, at least, being freshly killed.

So, hesitantly, Right reached an arm forward, hands grasping roughly at the cod and inspecting it. Quite clear to see that Reginald had done all the hard labour of cleaning the thing of its insides before presenting himself. A small feeling of gratefulness developed in his soul. Thoughtful, it was. Very kind. 

The shark-merman did find, however, that it was much easier to bite into and chew things with his newly sharpened, second row of teeth. And, frankly, wasn't as bad as he was expecting. Yes, the texture was horrid and he had to push the thought back of eating the thing raw but...not terrible.

"'anks, Reg." Mumbled Right underneath his breath, eyes focused on the meal in his hands. Too focused to not see the bright light shine in Reginald's purple and black eyes, turning his head with a snap. Didn't last long, as the sound of crunching octopus flesh met his finned ears. Well, not after a soft 'you're welcome.'

And now it was quiet.

Both of them, Right knew, were confused. Of course, the taller of the two was much more distressed than he was bewildered, caught between a wave of different emotions. He didn't handle them well; that went for most emotions. Stupid feelings. Stupid attachment. Stupid; all of it.

"I...erm--" Reginald's voice hit his ears, eyes only turning to meet Reginald as his teeth sunk into his cod. The shorter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry-- I don't know of any known...solutions to this. But-- I'm sure I can find something in time. I-I can assure you, though, I'll try my best to be as fast as possible to get you back to normal."

... What?

"Yer gonna...find me a cure?" 'Cure' was probably a bad word to describe the term, but, both of them knew they were thinking about this situation as if it were a problem. Right turned his attention fully now, letting the cod rest in his hands that fell into his lap (lap?). The other had a crimson look on his face now, looking down at the ground, fumbling with his hands slightly.

"I...figured it would be...appropriate because, well, you helped me a great deal-- and that-- well-- how I--" Reginald brought a hand to his face, rubbing it with his webbed fingers, letting out a small groan of frustration. "--look. I'm sorry about being upset over the dry lander thing on the ship. Ugh-- the clan's been in such a slump. And we've messed up heist after heists because of those wooden whales. And I was frustrated and upset-- and I just--"

The purple and gold merman slumped his face into his hands. "I'm so sick of how miserable The Toppat Shells and the answer was right there, even though you were already so kind to me. I wasn't thinking; I was just mad and upset. And now that's led to--"

"Oi."

Reginald cut off his rambling, looking up from his hands to look at the small concerned yet stern expression of the other merman in the cavern. A hand came to his shoulder, grasping it gently. "If ye 'ink f' a second t'at...t'is--" Right gestured to his lower half. "--is yer fault, yer wrong. Yeah, maybe it was a result of some dumb s'it ye were upset wit', but t'ings were gonna turn out dis way because of the 'ole...raid on the s'ip t'ing."

"No-No, I'm not saying that." The brunette let out a sigh, brushing a curl out of his face and slumping against the back wall, not moving from the comforting presence on his shoulder. "I-- erm-- just believe I owe you some payment for...everything you've done for me. How I reacted was uncalled for and...consider this an apology, maybe."

Owed him payment? That was an odd thing for an ex-pirate to hear.

He wasn't paid back for anything; that's just how things were on the surface. Steal. Work as a crew. Get the job done. Do it all over again. Right supposed, however, that it did sort of match his out of character performance of helping a dying fish on the beach and growing slightly attached over time. A lot of things were out of character. This whole damn situation was wrong.

A sigh left Right's throat, coming out as a string of bubbles as he brought his hands back into his lap, too leaning back.

"Can't 'ave that, 'orry. If t'ere's one t'ing 've learned being a 'aptain, ye never play princess. Ain't yer responsibility ta change me back, when it ain't even yer fault. Kinda my business, 'onestly. But, if yer committed, we'll...figure it out together, suppose."

Octopi falling to the ground in a stunned grasp, Reginald's eyes turned up and met the brown ones that belonged to Right, blinking several times to understand what he had said. The ex-pirate held back a smirk, feeling slightly satisfied on getting an upper hand. Of course, it didn't last long, since his expression turned into painted, crimson blush at the response from the other.

"S-Sorry, could, erm, I hug you?"

...Hug? Uhm-- It wasn't an odd request, of course. But Hugging

"Erm--" Right let the cod drop into his lap, brushing a hand behind his head to scratch his hair, even if it wasn't itchy. Might as well not bring another problem to this situation. "I mean-- sur--"

Right didn't need to say one word more, as Reginald was suddenly on his chest, wrapping his arms around the other's torso in a tight embrace, face buried into his shoulder. Taking a sharp inhale, the taller of the two felt his face heat up, despite being the cool waters of the seafloor. With much hesitation, Right wrapping his arms around the other, trying his best to not hit his fins or something along those lines (he didn't have a clue to how sensitive they were). Heh. It almost seemed like Reginald was just as choked up at the situation as he was, despite that not being true in the slightest. However, he seemed to be greatly upset by it, at least.

It only lasted a moment, the smaller individual pulling back, keeping his distance and looking slightly awkward. It was clear that Reginald seemed to express appreciation and gratitude through physical affection, even if it was platonic. Didn't exactly clash well with Right's nature of pushing people away when he was emotional. But...it was manageable. The ex-pirate let out a chuckle, scratching his head once more with a cough of bubbles. "'ow about...we start again? Like, bef' all t'is bullshit 'appened."

Before the pirate ship. Before things had gone pear-shaped. Before when the last time they saw each other was on the beach.

The merman before him took a moment of stunned silence before his lips formed into a smile, sticking his hand forward.

"Alright. Hi there. My name is Reginald Coperbottom; second in command of The Toppats Shells!"

A firm handshake was met with a wave of bubbles.

"'ello. 'm Right."

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: Don’t Keep me Waiting (2/?)

I’m back! Chapter two is finally here and, as promised, it’s a bit of a beefy one!! I do hope you’ll like it!

A special shoutout to Cassie and my sister, for basically creating the newly added character, and that anon who totally didn’t guess who was coming a week before I posted the chapter xD

The noise inside the tavern hits them like a tidal wave the instant they open the heavy looking oak doors: a cacophony of people talking, friends cheering, music playing and orders being shouted from one side of the room to the other. 

On one hand, it makes Wilbur flinch and recoil, his ears ringing with the sudden switch from being in the quietness of a mostly desert street to this; the good thing is nobody really pays any particular attention to their group entering. They do of course gather some looks and stares - they're a big group after all, most people here are either in small, four-people groups or even smaller. 

But Techno's trademark pink hair is safely hidden under a hood, in order to allow him to walk around without getting constant stares - respectful, fearful or otherwise. They're here to have fun, not pick fights; at least that is what they had decided on before signing up for the tournament. Except for Tommy: to quote the little demon, they were there to win.

Nevertheless. 

Wilbur is there, at that moment, in that tavern, to play and to share his music with a willing audience. So, while most of the others hurry to grab a big enough table and some extra chairs, Wilbur makes his way towards the innkeeper's desk, tail swinging back and forth, mind already running with ideas on what to play for this specific audience - adventurers are a picky sort, they either like your song or they boo you out of the tavern, and he wants to give a good impression especially with the tournament coming up-

The innkeeper sees him and Phil approaching, his eyes darting to his brand new splendidly hand carved guitar - he will never ever ever be able to repay Tubbo - before he lets out a tired sigh. Which comes crashing down onto Wil's mood like an avalanche, covering instantly all his bright ideas and expectations. 

It's Phil's hand on the small of his back that brings him back into focus, prompting him to regain the sway in his step - no time to mope, they're here for at least another month.

"I don't suppose you have a spot open for tonight?" He asks, putting on his best vendor voice, and he can see the tiredness in the eyes of the person in front of him. 

"I do not. You can have half an hour in two days. Name?" The person asks, voice flat with the face of somebody who's had to repeat this process so many times just tonight. So Wilbur swallows down his protest - half an hour in two days is a horrible deal - and nods amicably. 

"Wilbur, Wilbur Soot." The innkeeper looks to be thinking intensely for a moment - a spark of hope shines in his chest as he hopes for a moment that his name will be recognised, since he's spent the past years building up his fame by working tirelessly -, then they shake their head and write down something that vaguely resembles his name next to some numbers. Wilbur smothers the irrational, embarrassing disappointment that threatens to rise in his throat.

"You have my thanks, good sir!" He adds enthusiastically, voice pitched a bit too higher than normal, because a part of him feels for the poor soul who has to deal with people of all sorts, and swivels on his feet.

Phil's hand on his shoulder brings him out of his own mind as he's definitely not storming away from the poor innkeeper's table. He doesn't even need to say anything: Wil deflates instantly, tense shoulders sagging instantly and a long sigh leaving him as he leans into the elf. 

"I really wanted to play." Wilbur grumbles as Phil's hand moves from one shoulder to the other, effectively bringing him into a half-hug and ruffling his hair with a chuckle. 

"I know, and you're going to." The elf replies, tone calm and reassuring, and Wil can't help but ache a little, feeling like a kid all over again and not liking it even a little bit. Once, he would have stayed quiet and stewed into his own brooding mood, but he knows now that he can rely on the others for situations like these. So he ignores how awkward he feels at protesting for something as silly as this, and lets himself pout. 

"Half an hour is so little, though. And since we're not taking any jobs for a while it could help with paying for the tavern." Phil quietly hums in response and experience tells him that he's pondering over a good answer. Wil's eyes scan the tavern - bigger than he first realised - looking for Tubbo's bee, as he figures it's going to be the easiest thing to recognise in the literal sea of adventures of all kinds.

"You know we don't need it. And I'm sure once they hear how good you are, they'll be asking you to play every night." Phil comments, starting to guide him towards what he thinks is the right direction, but Wil is a bit more preoccupied with preening, slightly flustered, due to the compliment. One would expect him to be used to them, but the thing with his friends is that praises from them always feel a little more true, a little more honest, and they always hit him in the best way possible. 

When they join the rest of the team - clustered around a single medium sized table - Wil's mood has significantly improved. 

There's food already waiting for him and as soon as he sits down a fox jumps in his lap and curls up, snout raised towards him to slowly blink at him before he buries his head in his tail. 

Wilbur starts digging into his meal with gusto, lightly scratching behind Fundy's ear as the shifter decides to take a nap.

The tavern is, overall, a nice place. It's cool to see so many adventurers gathered together, and hearthwarming to be able to see many new friendships blossoming. 

After the team announcements that same morning, there are some people that have found themselves needing to look for strangers basing themselves only on names - or worse, nicknames. 

Wilbur figures that the people that are in the best position to find their teammates are those who have been paired with bards, as there have been half a dozen different people performing ever since they sat down to eat. 

Luckily for him, his own team has no such problems. Tubbo, Niki and Fundy, on the other hand, are still waiting to learn who their fourth is going to be. Since the training grounds will soon be open for team practices, starting from the next morning in fact, they plan on looking for them there. 

Tymora, or Lady Luck, has apparently other plans for them.

It's nearing midnight when a short man with only one eye and a thick Draconic accent walks up the stage for what seems like the hundredth time that night. In his hand, the same piece of paper that has been progressively getting more and more ragged as the evening went on. He unfolds it as he walks up, thanking the tired looking bard that is leaving the stage, and it rips in half - his only reaction is a sigh and a shrug.

He squints, putting together the parchment and pursing his lips as the two ripped halves slowly mold back together, then calls out, somehow magically raising his voice over the sound of the tavern's clients talking and clapping for the leaving bard.

"Next up: Quackity! Come up the stage!"

Fundy's fox claws suddenly dig into Wilbur's legs, making him wince in pain and choke on his sip of mead. A split second later, he's got a lap full of disgruntled mage. 

Tubbo, on the other side of the table, is standing on his chair in order to see the stage over a firbolg's shoulders - holding himself up by using Tommy's head, who is extremely unwilling. 

"A bard?!" Fundy exclaims, prompting Wilbur to move his eyes from the stage towards him with a frown.

"What's wrong with bards?!" He asks, helping him get off of him and into his abandoned chair. Before Fundy can find a way to put his rebuttal into coherent words, Wilbur's eyes snap back toward the stage as people are starting to give a quiet, tentative clap for the newcomer.

The kid looks human, probably about Niki's age, and he sits down a bit awkwardly on the stool he brought with himself before plucking a couple of strings on his guitar. They're sitting quite far from the stage, but Wilbur's trained eye still manages to catch the fact that that is an old and well used one - his heart squeezes just a bit at the thought of his former source pride and joy, the guitar he travelled with ever since he left home.

Wilbur knows, viscerally, of the fear that always precedes a performance, especially in front of a new crowd. Especially in front of adventures, whose tastes are ever changing and easy to sway from the crowd's perspective: adventurers either like you, or they don't, and if they don't you're not gonna have a good time.

And yet. 

After checking his guitar, the kid looks up with a bright smile and a confident expression and starts playing - no buildup, no further introduction, no boisterous announcements of his titles or fame. 

And by the gods does he play. 

He's good, but he's not just technically good: he's an entertainer, plays with his guitar as much as he plays with words and with the crowd - clearly making up verses for his songs to fit what happens around him, bantering with the adventurers that step up to his plays of words. Sometimes he bursts out laughing mid verse and despite that his fingers never stop flying over the cords, his laughter becoming part of the song itself. 

Halfway through, he catches Techno's eyes: the shifter raises an eyebrow and Wil simply nods, so Techno nods back

The tiefling is glad to know that they both think he's good, they had been worried about leaving the three newest additions to their team alone with a random stranger. 

And if the enthusiastic way the rest of the team is clapping for him, they're going to get along more than well.

Half an hour later a flushed and visibility sweaty Quackity makes his way down the stage, followed by a thunderous applause and some occasional claps on the back; one passing adventurer even thrusts a pint of ale into his hands, prompting what looks to be a flustered reaction from the bard as he quickly makes his way out of the tavern. 

Either that or he needed some air, which was completely understandable, especially after such an active performance. 

Wilbur is about to comment on the stellar introduction they just received when the sudden noise of hands slamming onto the table - their table - makes him jump in his skin.

"We have to go and say hi!" Declares Tubbo, still standing on the chair - now with Niki helping him not fall to the ground. 

Tommy nods enthusiastically next to him and even Fundy seems to be about to agree. To be quite honest, Wilbur wants to join in too and is therefore about to stand up when Phil raises his hands to get them to slow down. 

"You're gonna scare him if you all corner him outside. How about his three teammates go, on their best behaviour?" The elf concludes, shooting Fundy a pointed look. 

The shifter gapes, looking extremely insulted, then he starts to protest and finally he sighs with a pout. Ah, the wonders of people arguing with Phil. 

"Alright, no pranks and no scamming. Pinky promise." Fundy huffs out, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching down into his chair. Wilbur does his best to chuckle under his breath, because he's not any better, he's just not the target of the reprimand for this time. 

Then, Phil's stare turns to his left. 

"You too, Tubbo. No scams." He states, prompting Tubbo to almost fall over as he agitatedly protests, spluttering out indignantly.

Exiting into the coldness of the night is almost a shock, especially when compared to the almost too warm air inside the tavern.

The sounds coming from inside are almost completely silenced, and when they close the doors behind them the stillness of the night is all they can hear. Fundy shudders for a moment, his body struggling to adapt to the lack of heat, when his instinctive reaction would normally be to morph back into his fox form. He snaps his fingers together, conjuring a small flame in his hands to keep himself warm, and sees Tubbo moving closer to him before he remembers that ah, right, the kid can't see in the dark. 

Still, it's not hard to find their objective - their future friend, as he's already been dubbed by Tubbo. Quackity is leaning on the outside wall, right next to an illuminated window, pint abandoned on his side as he looks at the night sky, one foot tapping on the ground as if following a silent melody. 

In the beginning, the plan had involved Niki leading the way, so that she could introduce the three of them and they could all make arrangements to meet the next morning at the training fields, so that they could all be friends and hang out and win the tournament. 

Said plan is instantly scrapped the instant Tubbo lets out a small gasp, eyes going wide as he hurries to duck around Niki, swiftly avoiding Fundy’s hand reaching out to grab at his shirt. The young human scrambles to reach the sitting bard, who naturally flinches and stares in confusion at the kid running towards him. 

As Tubbo finally gets close, he stops and points at Quackity’s head.

"Hi! You have a moth on your head." 

Fundy’s groan is so loud, it reaches the two of them even though he is currently a couple of steps behind and hiding his face in his hands. Niki’s high pitched giggles follow suit, and are soon joined by a shocked burst of laughter - loud, bright, just like his music - from the human sitting in front of Tubbo. 

"I- Hi! I do?" Quackity asks, voice tilting upwards as he looks up, as if he could be able to see his own head by rolling his eyes into his skull. 

Tubbo giggles seeing him go cross-eyed, and reaches up to gently take the moth in his hand. The little bug’s wings flutter a little as he is moved, apparently not glad to be disturbed from his perch, but he seems to begrudgingly accept his new spot since Tubbo holds him close to the light coming from the tavern’s window. His wings are very pretty, a light grey with black streaks into them that look like the splatters of ink that cover the pages of Tubbo’s various notebooks - his ever growing collection of plans and schematics for new and old projects. According to Tubbo's admittedly limited experience with moths, this one is smaller than one would expect. Very tiny and friendly - "just like you!" Wilbur would probably say if he were there. 

"Aw, look at him! Isn't he cute?" Tubbo coos at his new friend, prompting a slightly awkward chuckle from Quackity as the man moves just slightly away from the insect.

"I'm not a fan of bugs, but, uh- he does look fancy." Q eyes nervously the other two, but Tubbo ignores it, too taken with his new little pal to take care of trivial things like introductions. Niki just smiles warmly and opens her mouth to do so - possibly to also reassure the poor human - , but Tubbo is already speaking again.

"My friend can speak to bugs! He said moths always think of food and light." Quackity is once again seemingly stunned, stuck between the awkwardness of not knowing who the people surrounding him are and the confusion regarding the topic of discussion. He blinks, shooting a look towards the bug in Tubbo's hand before quickly looking away with a light grimace, choosing to focus on Tubbo himself.

"Well, little buddy better not get hurt trying to reach a flame!" Q jokes, letting out a small chuckle. Tubbo's face turns from awed to serious in a split second, his other hand moving to cup around the moth.

"That won't happen, I'll protect him!" He answers determinately, nodding solemnly towards Quackity, who can only gape for a moment before bursting out laughing again, shaking his head a little. 

"So, uh … Is there a reason why you've cornered me, or are you just fans?" He asks after a moment, once his chuckles have died down, turning a raised eyebrow towards Fundy and Niki, still standing a bit awkwardly behind Tubbo. 

"Oh, we are your teammates! We recognised your name and figured we should say hi." Niki explains with a smile, moving to crouch next to Tubbo so that the young human can move the moth closer to her.

"You- oh! Oh! -" Quackity exclaims, eyes widening and suddenly looking at them with less confusion "-That's good to know, what a coincidence!" He comments, chuckling to himself as he wipes a hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness that comes away with it - he really needs to wash up.

"And yet! The gods smile upon us." Niki says with a smile, watching as the moth flutters his wings to move from Tubbo's hand to hers.

Nobody seems to notice the unimpressed look that Quackity shoots towards the night sky, but Tubbo's eyes snap towards him the instant he lets out a deep sigh.

"I guess so. Anyhow. I'm going to pass out on my bed, I'll see you tomorrow morning?" The human asks, tone a sweet mixture of enthusiastic, hopeful and exhausted as he moves away from the wall - his guitar in one hand and the untouched mug of ale in the other. 

Tubbo nods enthusiastically, grinning widely at him; next to him, Niki smiles kindly, while Fundy goes for a much more noncommittal nod of his head.

Quackity's eyes linger on the three of them for just a moment more, as if trying to figure something out, then he nods to himself and raises the mug to mimic a toast in their honour, opening the door to the inside of the tavern.

"Don't keep me waiting!"