#just lying to make yourself sound smarter/trying to relate to someone until someone else calls you on it & you fold like a pack of cards lol

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

Part 1 of my Anne With An E memes: episode 3

Anne, at the beginning of the episode:

People who've actually been to school:

Anne: my brain is not the issue

Marilla secretly:

Gingers just trying to enjoy the show:

Marilla & Mathew watching anne leave for school:

Reactors: laughing at anne for talking to herself

Me knowing damn well I do that:

Me when Anne stopped to pick flowers:

Diana, when she saw Anne's hat:

Boys (who aren't Gilbert): *breath*

The girls:

Anne: *exists*

Josie Pie:

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter eleven

I’m backkkk <33 Enjoy!

Today’s chapter title comes from “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift and honestly? That song is Hotch and Reader’s song tbh

Chapter Warnings: fluff! Crime scene stuffs, case stuffs, and Hotch is an asshole at the end (what’s new?)

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Eleven: I thought, “Heaven can’t help me now.”

When you wake, you have a strange sense of Deja Vu. Hotch is shaking your shoulder again, only this time, you’re not in your bed.

“We’re landing soon,” he says softly, hand lingering on your shoulder, but you welcome its weight and warmth, forgetting for a moment that the rest of the team is on this jet.

“Mm, okay…” You bring the blanket underneath your chin, only this is when you realize it’s not a blanket.

You tilt your head down to look at the fabric, then lift your eyes back up to see Hotch isn’t wearing his jacket.

His jacket.

Oh my God.

He sees the realization on your face and smiles, but instead of commenting on it, he turns to start waking the others. As expected, Rossi didn’t sleep, but Reid is still quite frankly passed out. Emily, JJ, and Morgan are coming around, though, and upon seeing that, you scramble to get Hotch’s jacket off of you, catching Rossi’s eyes in the process.

“You were cold,” Rossi says with a shrug, and a smirk.

You shouldn’t be mortified, but you are.

After folding Hotch’s jacket over your arm, you wait until your boss is sitting back down to hand it to him with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he says, thinking nothing of it as he shrugs it back over his shoulders. When he sees you’re still looking at him like that, he adds, “You were getting goosebumps. Would you have rather I let you freeze to death?”

Is he making a joke? You wonder, with the corners of his lips tugging upward. You shake your head, saying nothing else.

No wonder you slept so soundly.

+++

Upon arriving at the local police station, you’re all met with the usual: desperate officers who want you to snap your fingers and find the unsub ASAP.

And, they always look pretty displeased when you admit that you need time.

You swear sometimes people think the BAU is made up of sorcerers who can see the future and not regular humans who are just trained to recognize and predict behaviors.

Regardless, they’re happy you’re here.

“I was shocked myself when I made the connection,” Sheriff Ansley says, nodding to the pictures of the other seven victims, with Nathan and Jonathan at the end. “Those others were so spaced out, we just… Oh, it sounds bad, but when you’ve got other problems coming across your desk, they can all blur together.”

“We understand,” you say, trying to be the comforting one here, even though you’re feeling more and more like time doesn’t exist and that you’ve entered a third dimension.

A few hours of sleep and jet lag can really do a person in. Especially with the added stressor of Hotch standing next to you.

“Morgan, L/N, I need you to come to the crime scene with me,” Hotch says, and your eyes widen the moment your name slips from his mouth. Is he trying to mess with you? You figured after covering you up on the jet, he’d make a conscious effort to be as far away from you today as possible. Just because Morgan is also coming along doesn’t mean much. Profilers aren’t dense.

“Prentiss and I will go talk to the victim’s family,” Rossi says, nodding to Emily.

Reid says nothing, too engrossed by the pictures and details tacked up on the board. Though, after a moment, he says, “I need a map of the town. Maybe the region. Yeah...the region.”

A little confused, Sheriff Ansely replies, “We’ll get that for you.”

JJ notices the confusion and says, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

With everyone focused, you pile into a vehicle with Hotch and Morgan up front (you purposefully sit in the back) to head to the crime scene. Sheriff Ansley leads in her car, and about two seconds in, you wish you would’ve thought to ride with her.

“You know I have to ask,” Morgan begins, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks over at Hotch. “What did you get up to last night? Get lucky?”

Hotch looks ready to backhand his fellow agent. “No.”

Morgan keeps going. “Come on, Hotch, it’s about time you get some.”

“For now, I’ll stick to the case.”

Morgan huffs, giving in, which you think is for the better. But when Morgan turns his head to look out the window, Hotch catches your eyes in the rearview mirror.

You sink as far down as you can in your seat, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

+++

You have no clue what you were expecting when you pictured the outside of Jonathan King’s house, but it wasn’t this.

A few police cars are already here, their men having already gone in to look around, but not touch anything. A few cars look tiny next to the monster that is the mansion you’re looking at.

“I thought this was a small town,” you mutter, closing the car door.

“Jonathan’s daddy was the owner of the only car dealership in town,” Sheriff Ansley explains. “They were big money.”

“I can tell,” you shake your head. “Definitely don’t have houses like this where I’m from.”

The sheriff chuckles. “Yeah. Before they built it, this was a wide open field. Tiny house. Space for all kinds of animals. Had a red barn out there,” she points off to where a gigantic pool complete with a rock waterfall is.

You hum. “A lot changes for the worse sometimes when money comes in.”

She looks at you then, almost like she respects you a little more now. Which isn’t unusual. The sheriffs in small towns don’t exactly like having to call the FBI in for help. Some do it rather begrudgingly. It’s more often than not that you find yourself being the bridge between big city and small town.

“Any signs of forced entry?” Hotch asks the first officer he sees and they shake their head.

“Nothing. But this damn mansion is so big…” He trails away, looking around at it all.

“I understand,” Hotch sighs. “If you find anything, let us know.”

“Hotch,” you speak up, nearly tapping his shoulder, but you quickly pull your hand back. “If this unsub is a woman, then it’s likely there won’t be any forced entry.”

The sheriff nods. “She has a point.”

“How?” Morgan asks, eyebrows furrowed over his sunglasses.

“Seriously?” You deadpan. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

He catches on, and drawls, “Go right ahead,” prompting you to shove his shoulder.

“Focus,” Hotch scolds. “I hear you. He probably let her in.”

“Did Jonathan have a reputation of being a player?” Morgan asks. “Take a lot of girls out on dates? Get serious with a lot of them but never marriage-serious?”

Sheriff Ansley nearly snorts. “Oh, yeah. He was the town’s bachelor. New woman every week. Swore every single one was The One.”

You nod slowly. “He must’ve picked up the wrong one, then.”

“Evidently so,” she replies quietly, leading the three of you into the house.

Hotch opts for looking around the house with the sheriff while you and Morgan go to Jonathan’s bedroom.

And he’s still lying there. Wonderful.

You nearly gag, but stop yourself. You’re never going to get used to this shit. At least there isn’t blood literally drenching the walls like that other case.

Moving on.

“Looks like it’s the exact same MO,” Morgan comments, idly checking the body for anything the officers might’ve missed.

You dig around on Jonathan’s dresser, drawers, nightstand, everywhere.

“This guy was seriously rich,” you mutter, picking up a few really expensive watches. Upon opening one drawer, you literally find a wad of cash. At least two thousand dollars, stuffed in between pairs of socks. “The unsub didn’t take this?” You hold up the cash to Morgan.

“She must not’ve spent time here,” he concludes. “Doesn’t look like she took any trophies either.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say, then crack a smile. “So you’re on my side then, huh?”

He turns his head, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s a woman.”

Morgan chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m on your side. This has woman all over it.”

“Kiddo,” you groan, tossing the cash back in the drawer. “Any clothes from the unsub lying around? I��m guessing she’s smarter than that.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing,” Morgan says, going into the bathroom. “The window in here is locked tight.”

“I really doubt she forced her way in,” you say. “He probably took her out on a date, brought her inside willingly, and didn’t realize until it was too late that he should not have messed with her.” You pause. “Does this place have security cameras? It looks expensive enough to have them. We should get Garcia to get the footage.”

You’re too busy rambling to see that Morgan has walked back into the room, only this time he’s eyeing you carefully.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Listen, I know these guys were…” He gestures rather than saying it.

“Rapists?” You say tiredly, placing your hands on your hips. No need to be afraid of saying the word around you. You’ve heard it plenty and said it yourself more times than you want to. “What about it?”

“I just wanted to say I know how good it can feel to see someone like that taken down,” Morgan says slowly. “And then you feel guilty for feeling good.”

You set your jaw, hating he’s right. You’ve yet to admit it to yourself, though. Isn’t it wrong? On multiple levels? You’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not relate to them so much that you understand why they’re doing this.

“And I know it can also bring up some bad memories, but, I’m here for you,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “I mean that.”

“Thanks, Derek,” you whisper. “It does...kinda feel good, but...I know it’s the wrong way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make a difference,” you shrug. “If I killed Trevor, I’d be taking the short route. That’s why I’m here. To make a bigger difference.”

He smiles then, gently. “And you’re doin’ it. Trust me.”

You let yourself smile, too. “Thanks. Now let’s get back to work before boss man comes in here telling us to focus,” you mimic Hotch’s voice and tone at the end, making yourself laugh as you turn back around.

And that’s when you have the absolute shit scared out of you because Hotch is standing there, frowning at you. Oh, he totally heard that.

“Sorry, sir,” you murmur, knowing you should apologize while you’re ahead.

Thankfully, to save yourself from embarrassment, Morgan’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it out and puts it on speaker.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“All of our other victims? Yeah, they were accused of rape, too. Four of them were acquitted or blatantly dismissed, three of them with such short sentences it probably felt like a vacation.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds about right.”

Hotch eyes you, but talks to Garcia. “Get us a list of anyone in this region that fits those same criteria.”

“Already done, and it is heading to JJ as we speak.”

Morgan shakes his head at how good she is. “Oh, and check and see if you can get the footage from Jonathan’s security cameras at his house. Y/N thinks he should have some.”

“She’s correct, I just found them,” Garcia says, no doubt through a smile. “I’ll send the footage over and start looking.”

“We should get back to the station and go over those names, see if we can narrow it down at all,” Hotch says. “Hopefully Garcia can get us something from that video.”

+++

Garcia gathers one thing from the video, but it’s not anything to do with facial recognition.

For now, it’s obvious this woman is a strong suspect because she’s the only one seen entering and leaving the house (she walked out right through the front door with her head down) in the window of time that Jonathan was killed. But...

“There’s not a clear shot at all,” Garcia says. “Because they’re… How do I put this? His lips are basically attacking her face and it’s a miracle they made it inside instead of just going at it against the door.”

Morgan snorts out a laugh, Reid (who is working on connecting the nine victims further) goes impossibly red, and Hotch shakes his head.

“Well, we’ve got a physical description now,” Rossi says, trying to see the bright side before Hotch loses it, you’re sure.

“Yeah, but it’s just a young brunette in a dress and heels,” Emily argues. “That’s nowhere near narrow enough.”

“Brown hair is actually the second most common hair color,” Reid supplies. “The most common is black, but they’re usually lumped together in studies. A recent one found that 84% of the world’s population has dark hair. But, of course, women are more likely to color their hair than men—”

“We got it, kid,” Morgan says gently, tapping Reid’s shoulder to get him to slow down.

“So,” you chuckle, “she has dark hair, which are the two most common hair colors.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a thought occurs to you. “Wait, can I see the video again?”

Garcia plays it again.

“Pause there,” you point to the woman’s hands. “See how she reaches for his wrist?”

“Where are you going with this?” Morgan asks.

It’s then that it occurs to you just where you’re going with this, and you try to hide your embarrassment.

“You can play it again.” After a few seconds, you get Garcia to pause again. “See? She tries to pin his wrists. She’s dominating. She’s the one in control there. See how his back is against the door, too? He didn’t start that way, she turned them around to get the upper hand.”

“So she’s confident,” Emily ponders.

“In sexual situations, at least,” you add. “Some women who are outwardly shy, but like to dominate in bed. It can be different for everyone.”

“So you’re saying we’re looking for a super quiet, shy woman?”

“Not necessarily. Given that she has had enough confidence to kill these nine men without anyone noticing, I’d be willing to bet she’s pretty confident now. It could be a newfound confidence, or she honestly could have always been this way. A lot of Dominatrixes are pretty confident outside of the bedroom, too. Maybe not in the same way, but they are. Just comes with the territory.”

“A territory you seem to know a lot about,” Morgan teases, poking your shoulder.

You scoff. “You wish.”

But your eyes find Hotch’s and you feel another rush go through you, all the way to your toes. You burn every single time you’re underneath his gaze. Averting your eyes quickly back to the screen, you try to shift in your seat in the least noticeable way.

It’s not like he doesn’t already know. If he seriously doesn’t know or at least have some suspicion, then you might suggest he get a new profession.

Redirecting the attention back to the case, Hotch turns to Sheriff Ansley and says, “We’re ready to give a preliminary profile.”

The team stands to head out to the main area. You and Hotch are the last two left, which you’re sure he did deliberately.

“You should take the lead,” he says, and you swear, your heart falls out of your ass.

“What?” You’ve never taken the lead on a profile in your life. Why would he just spring this on you right now? On this case, of all cases? Seriously?

He doesn’t change his mind. “I trust you to get all of the details right. And we’ll jump in when needed, but I want you to take the lead.”

You’re shaking your head. “Hotch, I haven’t—”

“It’s an order,” he says, voice firm. “Understood?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes what?”

Bastard. He did it again. “Yes sir.”

And your jaw nearly ends up on the floor when he smirks, a quiet, “Good girl,” falling from his lips.

Damn him. Now you’re supposed to give the profile? How bad would it be to let Emily take over so you can jump Hotch in the nearest supply closet?

You never find out how bad it would be because Hotch walks out and thanks the officers for being there, and introduces you, giving you zero time to recover.

“Thank you so much for your patience,” you say first. “The unsub we’re looking for is, in fact, a woman, confirmed by some security footage that was recovered from Jonathan King’s home. She’s a brunette, average height, attractive, and she’s confident. She’s killed nine times and hasn’t been caught yet, so she’s likely to be gaining confidence.”

An officer raises his hand, so you nod to him. “No offense...but your description fits practically every girl in this town -- I guess, besides the killing part.”

“That’s what we figured,” you admit. “Unfortunately, this kind of unsub is the hardest to catch. They don’t stand out at all, they blend right in. It’s partly why they go so long without being caught.”

“But they’re not impossible to catch,” Rossi adds, helping you out with the annoyed officers. “This unsub has already killed twice in a week, which could be a sign that she’s beginning to devolve. When they’re in this state, they are easier to catch because they tend to get reckless and forget things, change patterns, which is what we need.”

“So we need to keep a tight lid on this for now,” JJ says. “The media isn’t going to cover this at all tonight because we need our unsub to believe she’s still getting away with it.”

Another officer pipes up. “If the news isn’t gonna report this, how can we keep people safe?”

It’s a valid question. It’s one that you always get when you decide to not have media coverage.

“Keep an eye out. And don’t take any women home,” Morgan offers.

But that doesn’t seem good enough, because the same officer says, “All due respect, sir, but asking a man not to do that is like asking him not to breathe.”

The amount of laughter and you got that right’s that you hear from the other male officers makes your stomach twist. Morgan’s small laugh makes you want to smack him.

“Well, try to refrain for a while,” you state plainly, bringing the focus back around. “If you can help it.”

Another officer says, “I don’t know if I can…” and clicks his tongue mockingly.

“Well, this unsub targets rapists,” you say loudly, placing emphasis on the word. “So if you aren’t a rapist, consider yourself safe and sound.”

That causes an uncomfortable silence to settle over the room, but you could care less. It should make them uncomfortable. It’s unfair that it’s something women have to just live with. It’s bullshit.

Emily and JJ share a look with you, the only kind women can understand. Makes you want a drink. And it’s not even late afternoon yet.

Rossi helps draw things to a close while Hotch practically stares you down. Not subtle at all. You feel it, and for that reason, you don’t look at him. But he’s hard to ignore.

Especially when he walks over and says, “I need to have a word with you,” and walks past you, giving you no choice but to follow.

Well, you could choose not to follow, but you’re not so sure you want to take your chances there. Not that the thrill of the idea doesn’t get you all excited, but now is not the time or place.

So, with your heart racing and your annoyance showing clearly on your face, you follow your boss to an office at the end of the hall. He’s waiting for you, already inside, and he doesn’t look happy.

What’s new?

He shuts the door behind you, his arms crossing over his chest again.

After a few moments of silence, you raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Don’t be a brat,” he says sternly, causing your stomach to twist for different reason. “And don’t say what. You know what.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t, actually. That’s why I asked.”

He looks ready to absolutely devour you in the worst way possible, yet he doesn’t move. “I understand that after the case in your hometown—”

“God, why does everyone keep bringing that up?” You’re two seconds away from throwing your hands in the air like a child, but you stop yourself after the look he gives you.

“Because it just happened three weeks ago,” he replies, voice even. “And because it took a toll on you. That’s not something to be ashamed of, it’s just a fact.”

“You’ve never been up my ass about cases like this, not until you found out.”

“My knowing has not changed anything,” he says, and you think he might mean it. “And last I checked, this is your first case with a female unsub attacking rapists.”

You could punch him. You really want to punch him. “What’s your point?”

“I need to know that you can be objective,” he says. “I know you relate to our unsub. I know how easy it was for you to put yourself in her shoes. You did it almost immediately. I bet you knew it was a female unsub within the first few seconds of the debriefing.”

He’s right. Dammit. “And?”

“I need you to be on our side of this case.”

“I am!”

“Are you?” He counters. “If you knew who this unsub was, would you turn her in?”

“Are you suggesting—”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes! For God’s sake, yes, I would turn her in.”

“Are you being honest with me?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you have something else to say you might as well say it while we’re alone.”

He doesn’t move. Or say a single word.

So much for that.

“Look,” you uncross your arms, tired of fighting already. It’s exhausting on any normal day, but pair it with jet lag and it being between you and the man you obviously care for, and it’s a million times more exhausting. “Yes, I get where this unsub is coming from. Honestly, if it was legal and if there was a market for a job like what she’s doing, I probably would’ve gone into it instead of the FBI. But there isn’t. Because killing people is illegal. So I decided to go to the FBI to make a bigger difference— a real difference. Yes, I relate to the unsub. I get why she’s doing what she’s doing. But just because I get it doesn’t make it right.”

“Good,” he nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have even had to say it.”

The room falls silent.

Hotch sees it then, that look in your eyes. During the profile, it was all determination and confidence. When you entered the office, it was bratty and defiant. 

Now, it’s hurt.

That’s all he sees. And frankly, that’s all you’re feeling.

Since he doesn’t say anything else, you take it upon yourself to say, “Excuse me,” and join the team in the conference room with only one question on your mind.

Does he not trust me at all?

Next chapter

[shortcakemonster]

Go-Away Green pt. 9

Summary: You try to fix everything you messed up, but you get caught up in wondering if you should.

TW: Some dark thoughts in this one, more than usual for this fic.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10

Peter went back to class in a weird kind of haze. First off, he’d woken up, more or less, in an alley, dressed in his Spider-Man suit. With his mask partially off. And a random man he didn’t recognize webbed to the ground.

He’d had to ask Karen who the man was; Reuben Holt, the leader of a human trafficking ring, the associates of whom Peter had taken out the day before. He vaguely remembered being on the ship, diving into the ocean for some unknown reason...

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he’d managed to track this individual criminal down and capture him. Had he seen him on the ship the day before? He’d have to go through Karen’s footage to find out.

Or had Holt merely been trying to abduct someone when Peter found him, and this superhero’s arrest had happened almost out of pure chance? If that was the case, then where was the victim? They were close to Midtown- had Holt tried to abduct a teenager? The thought made Peter shudder.

He wasn’t given much time to contemplate all of this, as soon enough, a black van pulled up to the entrance of the alley and a half dozen people in black suits spilled out. Happy emerged from the passenger’s seat to briefly thank Peter for catching Holt and assure him that they’d have more information soon. After Peter dissolved the web fluid, Happy’s associates made quick work of restraining him and depositing him into the van before speeding away.

After realizing that school was starting soon, Peter went into autopilot and found his regular clothes, changing into them before heading to his first class. Going about this often-exercised routine on this particular day took about twice the time that it normally did, making him late to physics.

He all but lumbered into class, ignoring his teacher’s passive-aggressive remark about punctuality before making his way over to his desk. He couldn’t focus on the lecture at hand, and not because of his preoccupation with Reuben Holt, but because of a strange, indeterminate sensation slowly creeping up on him, spreading over his skin.

A warmth in his hand. Soft skin, fingers clutching his.

He furrowed his eyebrows. When was the last time he’d held somebody’s hand? And who had it been? Peter balled his hand into a fist, trying to remember the feeling.

Whatever it was, it masked over the subconscious suspicion that somebody was watching him. Occasionally, the feeling would bob to the surface, and Peter would look up to locate the source, until an odd forgetfulness drifted over him and he returned to his previous thoughts.

Ned approached him in the hallway between classes. “Are you okay? You seem really out of it.”

How could Peter even explain the feeling? He couldn’t focus, there were strange gaps in his recent memory... Was this the work of one of Holt’s associates? How had they accomplished it? Or was Peter losing his super senses?

He tried to put it into words that Ned (the best friend, not the guy in the chair) could comprehend. “I feel like I’m forgetting something really important.” Hell, that was all that Peter could comprehend, for the time being.

“Homework?” Ned suggested.

“No.”

“Is it May’s birthday, or something?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“The Stark internship?”

Peter shook his head, despite the two matters being partially related. “No. Well... I- I was in an alley before school started, with the suit on, and I can’t remember what I was doing there. There was just this guy lying on the ground, all webbed up. So I had to have taken him out, but I don’t remember doing that at all. On top of that, apparently he’s the leader of a human trafficking ring, which I helped take down yesterday on a freaking cargo ship, but I barely remember any of this! And I can’t- I can’t...” He mad vague gestures with his hands, as if they would help him find the right words. “There’s something else, I think. Something unrelated to all of this, I just... I’m missing something really big, here.” He curled and uncurled his fingers in a claw shape, that weird, empty-yet-full feeling still plaguing his hand.

Ned was, by nature, a very smart person, as well as Peter Parker’s best and most loyal companion in life. Regardless, he couldn’t quite absorb and decipher everything that his best friend had said. “Look, I’m sure if it was anything major, your senses would alert you, wouldn’t they?”

Peter shrugged. That was about a substantial answer as he could expect from anyone, for the time being. He decided he wouldn’t tell Ned about the feeling of being watched, he didn’t want to worry his best friend, especially if there wasn’t really any evidence in relation to the matter.

He had no choice but to continue his school day as usual, trying to look as normal as possible while obsessing over Reuben Holt and that weird feeling in my hand what is it doing.

Come lunch time, Peter got a call from Mr. Stark and excused himself from the table to go answer it. If it was more information on Reuben Holt, or if he could pick the billionaire’s brain for possible reasons as to why he was feeling so strange, then he was all for it.

In typical Stark fashion, Tony didn’t even let Peter get out a polite “hello” before diving into the topic at hand. “Hey, kid. Hate to interrupt you during your education, but I thought you should know that we got that captain guy in our custody, now. Sent the info to your suit, if you wanna look more into it.”

“Reuben Holt?”

“The very one. He was pretty out of it, but I guess that was (Y/N)’s doing. How’s she holding up, by the way?”

(Y/N)!

Peter felt himself light up with recognition. He smacked his forehead at the realization, disbelieving at the idea that he could forget you so easily. Hadn’t you talked, earlier that day?

He let your name fall softly from his lips, and that was his undoing.

An overwhelming mental tidal wave washed over him, making him slightly dizzy. The hand on his forehead was now being used to steady himself, keep himself grounded in reality. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. “Who?”

A pause came from the other end. “(Y/N)?”

Another wave; it was like he forgot the name the very instant that he heard it. Repeating the name to himself didn’t do any good, as it just started to sound like a weird jumbling of letters that didn’t belong on his tongue. 

“Mr. Stark, I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

“You introduced me to her two days ago,” Tony explained. “Super shy, powers of invisibility? Is this really not ringing a bell?”

And for one second, he had a perfect image of you standing before him. (Y/E/C) eyes. (Y/H/C) hair. A faint, but genuine smile. A soft hand holding his.

But then, a tsunami of mental weakening. And with it, several aftershocks.

Peter felt like he was going to pass out. He collapsed against the lockers, trying to steel himself against the sensation. Was that why this was happening? Was he sick? He hadn’t gotten as much as a cold since the spider bite.

“I don’t know anybody who can turn invisible, Mr. Stark,” he barely managed to gasp out. “I think I’d remember that.”

There was a moment of silence, which Peter used to try and gather his quickly disintegrating thoughts together, then-

“You know, I barely got any sleep, last night. I’m probably mixing some stuff up.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t even remember half of what Mr. Stark had said during the conversation, he was just glad that it was over, that he wouldn’t have to use his mental energy for anything other than trying to piece his memories back into place.

“Yeah, okay. Feel better, Mr. Stark.”

Another pause. “Thanks, kid. Good job on today. Bye.”

Night fell early over Queens, as was customary for the season. You’d exhausted yourself by trying to make everyone at school forget about you. On the surface, it didn’t seem like too difficult a task, as there was only a handful of people at school who even knew your name, let alone had any substantial memory of you. Sure, everyone at school was very smart, but the challenge was lost due to a lack of attachment to you.

But then there was Peter. Much smarter and much more attached to you than... well, anyone else you’d ever known, at least recently.

You hadn’t expected it to work so well. Factoring in his super senses, you thought that Peter would immediately pick up on your efforts. After all, his senses were what had gotten you in trouble in the first place. In this instance, you supposed that your powers were stronger than his, and for his sake, you would have to use them.

Neither of you were truly safe, anymore. Not with each other. A human trafficker had come after you, and that was indeed terrifying. But even more terrifying than that was what he’d intended to you with you.

Be a good girl, and you won’t get hurt. At least, not yet. We gotta get our information somehow, don’t we?

More likely than not, he would have used any means necessary to get information from you, and you had no doubt that the information in question would have to do with Spider-Man and his identity. And yes, you probably would have been able to get yourself out of the situation, given your powers. If you were desperate enough, your abilities could have worked in your favor.

But, still...

Before all this, your powers had been focused on keeping yourself in the shadows, keeping people away from you, protecting yourself. None of that mattered as much as protecting Peter.

That was what this really came down to. That was how your powers worked. When you really, truly needed to accomplish something, your powers always came into play. The boy at Delmar’s. The woman in the alley. The people in the shipping container.

And now, Peter.

Peter Parker didn’t think things through. He was vastly intelligent, sure, but his heart pretty much always ruled over his head. For his sake, you had to favor your head over your heart.

But boy, did it suck.

You’d only had a few days of friendship and attention before it was stripped away from you. Alright, you’d technically taken it away from yourself, and you had all the power in the world to restore things back to the way they’d been before, but of course, there was the issue of keeping Peter safe.

And besides, this was what you deserved, wasn’t it? He was better off without you, anyway.

Wholly invisible, you slowly opened the door to your apartment, ever careful not to make any noise as you entered. You were startled slightly when you saw your parents standing across from each other in the living room. Your heartbeat spiked when you saw your mom crying, until you saw the small, plastic device in your dad’s hand, and that he was crying, too.

You felt time stand still, all the oxygen leaving your lungs.

Your mother was pregnant.

As a child, you’d occasionally wish for a sibling, dreamed of your parents paying attention to someone other than you. You’d go to sleep at night, imagining your parents sitting you down and giving you the obligatory talk about how Even Though We’ll Have To Give A Lot Of Attention To The New Baby, It Doesn’t Mean We Love You Any Less. You’d seen that conversation on multiple kids’ shows. You’d heard your young classmates discuss it with their friends at school. 

That conversation was your childhood fantasy, and sometimes you would imagine being sandwiched between two other siblings, of being the infamous Middle Child, never getting any attention from your parents because they were too busy with their other children.

But now, in this particular circumstance, the news made your stomach sink.

You don’t matter, anymore. You never did.

For what seemed like the millionth time in only a few days, you felt a lump developing in your throat, the familiar tremble of your lips as tears began to form in your eyes. You covered your mouth with your hand in an attempt to hide a pathetic sob, but the noise prevailed in spite of your effort.

Your parents didn’t notice.

Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t this your dream come true? 

Your dad hoisted your mom up by the waist and kissed her, then carried her into their bedroom. She laughed the whole way.

You stared wistfully as the bedroom door shut, the noise snapping you out of your daze. Eventually, you willed your legs to move and approached the doorway of your own room. The thought of this room being converted into a nursery briefly passed through your mind as you opened your window. You’d probably have to clear out your stuff to stifle any risk of your parents remembering you. They clearly had bigger things to worry about now, and you couldn’t get in their way.

You climbed out the window and onto the fire escape, noticing how much more difficult it was to accomplish this task when you couldn’t see yourself. The last time you’d done this, you’d merely been flickering.

You made the trek up the stairs to the rooftop, heaving yourself over the side and landing on the concrete. You lay there for a second, staring up at the night sky. The light pollution of the city often made it difficult to observe the moon and the stars in clearer detail, but they weren’t impossible to see. You liked how small the sky made you feel. At least, you used to.

You sat up and crossed your legs, staring at the neighborhood below. The perpetual state of traffic clogging up the streets, the pedestrians knocking into one another, the alleyway where only days ago you’d helped to rescue that woman.

Where Peter rescued that woman. Period.

You sighed, trying to suppress another bout of crying. It wasn’t like anyone would hear you up on the roof, and even if they did, they would be powerless to your ability to make them forget about anything you said or did.

How do you expect to survive the rest of your life without talking to people?

I don’t!

So, this was where you were, now. Your dream scenario. No connections, no relationships, no nothing. You’d perfected your “mind control” abilities, whatever the hell they ever were, and now there was literally nobody on the planet who could even think about you ever again, let alone care about you.

A choked sob emerged from your mouth, accompanied by a brief flicker to your form. You blinked on and off, like a shorting out lightbulb.

God, what’s wrong with me?!

Your conflicted thoughts were answered much sooner and in a much more literal sense that you’d expected, as a sudden sound of whirring machinery- almost like some sort of flying metal suit- suggested that you might have missed a few people in your efforts of self-erasure.

“Hey, there, Invisi-Kid. You got a second to talk?”

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[green-writes-sanderssides]

The Past is Just a Story

Summary: Anxiety and Deceit were never friends. However, maybe Virgil and Ciar were, just a little bit.

Warnings: Manipulative Deceit, fighting (verbally), cussing

This is a prequel(/sequel?) to The Aspects of Being Human! But it can be read as a stand-alone as well.

    “Deceit, it’s time we talked.”

    The snake’s room was a design Anxiety had never seen before that day. Sometimes, it was a massive ballroom or a gorgeous indoor garden. Other times, it was shrouded in complete darkness with his voice echoing around you, or just a simple bedroom mirroring Thomas’s. On this day, all there was in the center of a blank room was a round table with two chairs.

    A negotiations table, Virgil thought.

    As always, Deceit popped up out of nowhere, too good to “rise up” as the main sides did. He sat in one of the chairs with his white-gloved hands held together on the table. Anxiety never quite understood Deceit’s style; it was just a typical black and white suit with a top hat - a magician, master of deception and all that, but it didn’t go with his scaly reptile face at all.

    Not that Anxiety was all that much of a fashionista. He wore the same hoodie, every single day and night, with the same black jeans. But, hey, at least that actually fit his overall aesthetic.

    “You’ve outdone yourself, Anxiety,” Deceit began in a mocking tone. “You finally got our young Thomas to notice you. What an accomplishment!”

    Anxiety crossed his arms and scoffed, deciding not to sit down yet. “Don’t get mad at me, you know it wasn’t by choice.”

    “Not by choice?” The lying side stood up to be at level with Anxiety. His one snake-like pupil was possibly thinner than he’s ever seen before- not that it scared him. “Yes, because you totally didn’t choose to parade around with the main sides, and that totally didn’t practically force Thomas to hear who was finally complaining in his head.”

    “I was worried for him!”

    “Were you? Or is that the teenage hormones talking?”

    “I’m trying to protect him, Deceit!”

    “That’s my job! Yours is to stay-” the snake suddenly stopped himself, letting out an exasperated sigh and unclenching his fists. “You did come to me to fight.”

    “Right.” Anxiety let himself ease up, too. They were never going to agree on the situation at hand, but there were other things they could agree on, just maybe. He moved to sit in one of the chairs, gesturing with his chin for Deceit to sit in the other. “Sit. I believe we have some deals to make, correct?”

    Deceit, despite rolling his eyes, complied without any further complaints. “I’ll oh-so-graciously allow you to start, then. What are these so-called ‘deals,’ Anxiety?”

    “I’m not a dark side anymore.”

    There was a moment of silence, until…

    Deceit began to laugh without restraint. “O-oh, that is rich. You think just because little ol’ Thomas knows of your existence, you’re suddenly a light side!” The snake suddenly grew serious, leaning over the table and staring directly at the other. “Newsflash, Anxiety: Thomas hates you. You can never be more than a dark side.”

    Whatever game Deceit was trying to play, it wouldn’t work this time. They both knew the truth about Anxiety, though maybe the other side didn’t quite see the point yet. “I’m not a dark side, and I’m not a light side either. But, and this is the best part, I’m not like you either. Unlike you, Thomas knows I exist. I have power that you don’t.”

    “Maybe, but wasn’t that always the case? Isn’t that why I had to keep you in line? Besides, I still have power being invisible that you now don’t-” A look of realization suddenly dawned upon the snake, before an almost sinister smile grew on his lips. “Oh ho ho, Anxiety, you are smarter than I once thought. You want to work together.”

    “I think that would be beneficial for both of us.” Anxiety tried his hardest to keep his voice level and calm, despite the aggressive beating of his heart. God, he sounded like Logic. “Do you agree?”

    “What are your conditions?” he asked, not giving a yes or no. However, Anxiety knew that meant “yes” - it was an excuse for Deceit to both not lie and not tell the truth.

    “Obviously we’re never going to like each other, but if this is gonna work, we need some mutual trust.” Anxiety lifted up his hand as an example. “This? That damn silencing thing you do? That’ll be an example of a break of trust. We’re not doing that.”

    “Done,” Deceit simply stated. That almost surprises the anxious side; he thought Deceit would be a little less enthused about the idea of giving Anxiety that much trust, but apparently he really did want this deal. “What else?”

 ��  “In return, I won’t use any of my own abilities against you.”

    “Of course.”

    “And,” Anxiety was particularly nervous about this part. He was told all his life that this was something you don’t reveal to anyone, that it held power and trust that even most of the light sides somewhat understood - except Logic, who seemed to be willing to give his away to anyone. “We should exchange names.”

    The snake smiled, seemingly unsurprised by the offer. “You are just full of good ideas today, aren’t you? And that’s not even a lie.” He suddenly stood up, which didn’t surprise Anxiety. Deceit was never made to sit or stand in one place, for some reason. “Once we do this, there’s no giving it back. Do you have any other conditions?”

    The anxious side thought for a moment. Deceit seemed to understand the idea enough. With them as a sort of ‘team,’ they could both help and control each other. Deceit would have better control over the dark sides with them trusting Anxiety more. Anxiety had direct power over Thomas and the main sides along with the support of someone who could silence them with one motion. The point was, they were both protectors in their own sense, they just need the other to keep them in place.

    “No, I think that’s about it.” Anxiety stood up, too. No longer would either of them be taller than the other. He stretched out his hand. No contracts, obviously; they don’t really mean much when you can conjure up any piece of paper in a snap. “Deal?”

    Deceit took his hand without any hesitation. “My name is Ciar.”

    “...Keer?” Well, it’s not that Anxiety could really judge it. Maybe all non-light sides were cursed with weird names.

    Deceit- or ‘Keer’ rolled his eyes. “Yes, spelled C-I-A-R. You’re the first to ever be granted access to this information, so don’t go taking it for granted.” Ciar kept hold of Anxiety’s hand, a sign that the deal wasn’t quite over yet.

    “...Virgil. My name is Virgil.” It felt incredibly strange to say that out loud, but also… invigorating? Relieving? For people, your name is one of the first things you would tell someone. You would hear it over and over again, 24/7, every day of your life, and most wouldn't even think about it. Anxiety’s never even said his name out loud before, and now he had someone who would be calling him by said name? He was sure it was just as weird for De- Ciar, too.

    He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that name. Ciar. It just didn’t quite fit Deceit’s face, but he'd try his best to use it if he did the same for Virgil.

    After that initial encounter, Virgil and Ciar became a force to be reckoned with, yet most didn't even know. They both propelled each other forward and held each other back. For Virgil, It felt strangely safe, in a way. He never had to worry about going too far, letting the power he had win over his care for Thomas, because there would always be a snake to stop him. He also never had to worry about Ciar's influence becoming too strong, as now the deceitful side had Virgil to go into the front lines for him if ever needed.

    Sometimes, lies and fears went very well together.

    Virgil started to learn a lot more about Ciar, too. He saw the side of him that every facet had, the one that loved and cared for Thomas deeply. He would protect his host at all costs first and foremost, as would Virgil. However, Ciar was never one to willingly share these feelings, or any emotions in general. Later, Virgil would learn why:

    “My role as Deceit requires me to be skilled at manipulation. To be less emotional means to appear more in control. Ciar suddenly scowled. “Emotional vulnerability can also be an effective manipulation tactic, but it's not my… favored technique.”

    In all honesty, Virgil was terrified of Ciar's skills in manipulation. Not only could he manipulate someone as himself, a snake whispering in your ear, but he could also change into anyone he wanted to. Any side could do this, but Deceit was particularly skilled in acting out a side's role perfectly. He learned more and more about his tactics every day, though, and that certainly helped calm his nerves.

    Virgil also began to learn how to properly understand Deceit. Every day, month, year, he got better at understand lies and riddles that came from his mouth. Sometimes, Ciar even tested him on it. He doesn't know how he can tell between the side's truth and lies, as he doesn't have any real tells, but maybe it has something more to do with the subtle body language and tone you only know from someone you're with a lot.

    Most of their meetings were “business” related, but sometimes - not often, in fact quite rare, but an increased number every year - there would be… moments.

    Ciar does an exaggerated mimic of a stoic Logan or a dramatic Roman, making both of them laugh.

    Virgil gives Ciar an “insulting” nickname involving reptiles, and Ciar “absolutely hates it.”

    Anxiety would fall into panic because of a lie Deceit had him tell, and Ciar would reassure him that they were okay (It was the only time Virgil couldn't tell if he was lying or not).

    Ciar would be too tired to talk professionally, and next thing they know they're on the ground talking about birds.

    Virgil would walk in on Ciar wrapped in a hundred blankets in the winter, despite the still-warmth of Florida, and tease him almost mercilessly until the snake was hissing at him to leave.

    They weren't friends. They couldn't have been, not with how they opposed each other and not with how few and far between those moments were. But it was… something. There was a touch of care in there that Virgil never wanted to admit to.

   Thomas was 24 when it finally ended.

   Eight years of their lives were spent in that deal. At that point, it was an entire third of Thomas's and Virgil's life. For Ciar, likely being born later, it was an even bigger percentage.

   It didn't just break in one night. The partnership was never healthy, no matter how many better moments were sprinkled throughout. Deceit was still manipulating Anxiety, still wanting to keep him under the wings of the dark sides. It didn't matter if Ciar grew to care about Virgil because, in the long run, Anxiety would always be a threat to Deceit.

   Anxiety was Virgil and Deceit was Ciar, and they eventually had to stop pretending they were different people.

   “Ciar, we need to talk,” he said on that fateful night in September of 2014. By this time, Thomas was already posting Vines that were starting to get popular. Despite all that, those words made him feel like 16-year-old Anxiety again, nervously entering Deceit's room to make deals.

   He wasn't here to make deals this time. He was here to end them.

   That's what he likes to think, that he went in with the goal of breaking all deals with Ciar, but that couldn't be farther than the truth. In all of his life, Ciar was the closest thing he had and probably ever would have to any real bonds, and letting it go was not something he wanted.

   Without Ciar, Virgil would be Anxiety again. How lonely would it be to never hear your name spoken again? How painful would it be to have to run to sides who hate him because he wasn't allowed with the sides he grew up with any more?

   “I can't do this anymore.”

   “...What?” Ciar sounded genuinely confused, despite the increase in fights they've been having.

   “I can't be controlled like this anymore!” He surprised himself, how easy and quick it all came out of his lips. “The number of times you've told me I'm dangerous, I'm dark, I'm corruptive? The number of times I felt like leaving for good because you convinced me I was the bad guy? Then you turn around and make me do horrible things, make Morality hate me? So many times you convinced me to make Thomas tell lies to his friends knowing how it made me feel, knowing that the anxiety it caused made me sick to my stomach and near damn panicking, yet you did it so. Many. Times. And- and the worst part is, I knew this would happen. I knew making a deal with you would require me to deal with so much bullshit manipulation because you still think I'm a dark side, but I did it anyway. I-”

   “Stop,” Ciar interrupted Virgil's rant with a white-gloved hand up. “ Manipulation? Virgil, wasn't the entire point of this little deal to be able to control each other? You made this deal not just to control me, but because you knew you needed to be controlled.”

   “I thought I did because that's what you've been telling me for my entire goddamn life! I get that you think you've been protecting Thomas--”

   “Do you really think after all this time, it's just for Thomas?” At that moment, Virgil saw a change in Ciar's infliction. It was raw, unguarded, not the perfectly calculated side he was used to seeing every day. “Because it's not like we're all part of Thomas. It's not like, maybe, I aim to protect all of us, dark and light. This “manipulation” you speak of is totally not my last chance at protecting you!”

   Virgil laughed bitterly. “So let me get this straight, Ciar. You made me feel like the worst side in existence all my life, but, oh, it was to protect me! Then I manage to finally be acknowledged by our host, and you realize you're suddenly failing at your job, so you take the last chance you get to make me feel like shit. But it's all okay because it's to protect me, right?”

   “I'm keeping everyone safe!”

   “By lying and making me the bad guy!”

   “You're a fucking dark side, Virgil!”

   “Deceit,” the first break, “You're the dar-”

   Virgil's hand moved on its own to cover his own mouth. The second break.

   There was only a moment's pause, Anxiety and Deceit with the same shocked looks on their faces, before the hand was slowly removed. No words were said, no dramatic exits were made; Anxiety simply turned around and left.

   But later that night, when things were much more sorrowful calm, Deceit came to Anxiety's room. He was strangely vulnerable, not wearing a hat or suit jacket yet still keeping the gloves - not that it was surprising; even in the snake's pyjamas, he always wore the gloves.

   They stood side by side against the edge of Anxiety's bed solemnly, almost as if they were reminiscing.

   “One last deal, Anxiety.”

   “Deceit.”

   That's all that had to be said, yet just that made Anxiety choke up with blurry eyes. He would never be Virgil again, but strangely enough, that wasn't the only reason for his sudden sadness.

   He was going to miss saying his name, the name of what some might call Anxiety's abuser (though that word felt a bit too extreme on his tongue). He was going to miss saying a name in general, because there was no way he'd ever be trusted with one ever again. Although, the light sides seem to be a bit more carefree about names.

   Anxiety was supposed to feel free after breaking the deal with Ci- Deceit, but he just felt trapped in a whole new way.

   “So a video, huh?”

   “Hello to you too, Deceit.” This was the first time Anxiety was seeing, much less talking to Deceit in the last two years, yet he had a feeling the snake would give him a visit today. “Thanks for popping into my room uninvited, totally appreciated.”

   Deceit chose to ignore the comment. “You seemed to be acting quite antagonistic out there.”

   “Yeah, kinda had to. How else would I ever get the guy to listen to me?” Oh. Shit.

   The scaly side smiled wickedly. “Sounds familiar, doesn't it?” Something about this was… off. This wasn't the same Deceit, and Anxiety's not sure if it's better or worse. (Worse. Always worse.)

   Wait. “What the hell is with the new costume? You look like a wannabe Disney villain.”

   He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but then gave a low, breathy laugh. He even sounded like a Disney villain. “You see, Anxiety, I've had a change of heart somewhat recently, and I thought I should give you some credit.

   Anxiety raised a brow. “Your change of heart requires you to dress like you're gonna give a girl a poison apple?”

   “You were right, all those years ago; I am officially a dark side.”

   Oh, things would only go downhill from here.

//

   “Did he keep coming after that?” Logan asked from his spot on the edge of the couch.

   “After every damn video, pretty much.” Virgil started counting on his fingers. “Telling me what I'm doing wrong, how I'm making Thomas's life worse, saying I'm just like him, taunting me about my crush-” Roman's hand tightened around Virgil's at that one, making him smile just slightly.

   “How long has it been?” Patton asked worriedly, pressing against Virgil's side. “He doesn't still bug you, right Kiddo?”

   Virgil shook his head. “He stopped showing up after I revealed my name.” When he first heard the others call them Virgil, a sick feeling developed with the pleasant feelings he was having. It almost felt wrong to hear it come from someone else, and he knew there was another name he would never get out of his head.

   “Was he there before you… you know?” Roman whispered. He was trying to be respectful as possible, but Virgil could sense the bit of anger in his words.

   The anxious side had to let out a laugh at that. “He popped up, saw me crying on the floor, and left without a word. He definitely didn't know what I was gonna do.”

   Logan hummed. “But doesn't he see almost everything? He could have stopped you once he did.��

   He's… never thought about that before.

   Noticing Virgil's discomfort, the logical side changed the subject. “Why do you think he suddenly changed his opinion on himself and began using the ‘dark side’ label?”

   “Honestly? No clue, but here's a fun fact. I looked up his name once.” He didn't tell any of them the actual name, mostly because it would break their final deal but also because Virgil was a bit selfish and wanted to still be the only one with that knowledge. “His name literally just means 'dark.’ It's kinda sad, if you think about it.”

   “And why do you think he's been doing all these somewhat nice things for us suddenly? Is he trying to gain our trust so he can manipulate us, too?” He knew telling Roman all this would forever shape his opinion on the snake to be only evil, but that was just how Roman's mind worked.

   “I wish I knew. L, any theories?”

   “Well, while it may just be he simply wants to have more control over Thomas once again, I have… another hypothesis as well.” Logan used the hand he didn’t have intertwined with Patton's to adjust his glasses. “There was obviously a time Deceit cared for you, Virgil. Perhaps, and this really is just a hypothesis, he still does, but knows an apology would never be enough to fix things. In response, he comes up with a plan. Step one of that plan is to gain some of your trust back by doing good deeds for your friends.”

   Virgil groaned, burying his face in his hands- well, hand, as Roman was definitely not letting go of the other one anytime soon. “Can we talk about this later? I don't want to think about this anymore.”

   “Of course, Kiddo. We'll continue this later, whenever you're ready to talk more.” Patton wrapped his arms around the anxious side in a warm hug. “I'm so proud of you, for telling that story and living it. Don't you ever forget that, okay?”

   “I won't.” Virgil hugged the father figure back gratefully. “Thanks, Pat.”

   “I am not one to dwell on the past, but…” Logan reached over to put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. “I'm glad that despite everything you've been through, you were led here.”

   “I am, too.”

   Later that night, in Creativity's room, Virgil had himself wrapped in his boyfriend's arms. This was a typical occurrence, sure, but something about this instance felt different. Virgil felt... like he was being protected, more so than usual.

   Maybe Deceit never truly knew what it meant to protect someone because he never felt protected himself.

   “You know I'm never gonna trust that snake now, right?” Roman suddenly spoke into Virgil's shoulder. “And you bet I'm never letting him around you alone again.”

   “Yeah,” Virgil sighed. He wanted to say the same, but he wasn't sure if that was true. If Deceit ever really did want to be redeemed…

   “Do you ever miss him?”

   “Why?” Virgil moved away just enough so he could look at Roman with a taunting face. “You jealous or something?”

   Roman made a noise of protest, an offended hand pressed against his chest. “I don't get jealous! I really am just curious. I know you weren't quite friends, but you two clearly had some empathy for each other, right?”

   “I don't miss him anymore, but…” the anxious side let out a sigh. “He was pretty much the only side who bothered to talk to me. He trusted me when everyone else hated me. And yeah, he made me feel like shit, but he was the only one there to make me feel better, too. The years between now and that fight were possibly worse than my time with him.”

   There was a pause before Roman wrapped his arms tightly around Virgil. It wasn't the same protective grip from before, but something much sadder and one the anxious side had grown quite used to. It was of guilt and fear, it said I'm not leaving and please don't leave at the same time.

   “I'm sorry,” Roman whispered. They've found in their months of dating that the romantic side was not good at comforting people. He was a man of action, striking at anything who dares to hurt him or the people he loves, but Virgil's problems are different. You can't strike panic attacks or, in this case, years of neglect with a sword.

   Recently, they've been developing more systems that work for them, including nonverbal communication methods. Virgil taps against Roman's back three times, making the romantic side loosen the embrace. For most couples, that would symbolize something like I love you. He’s seen Logan doing the same thing to Patton a couple times.

   For them, though, it has grown to have many meanings depending on context, but it's always relating to a phrase Patton once told them:

   The past is just a story, and the ending is what you make it.

@paleblue-dots you said I could tag you in my writing so hi