#never not paranoid about missing someone post plague so :))) i am Sorry :)))

[florbelles]

LYRA FAIRBANKS, fc5 ✤ JOCELYN PERALTA, fnv ✤ LILLIAN FITZGERALD, fo4 ✤ AMARA of VALLAKI, d&d ✤ RIONA LONICERA, d&d ✤ IVY BONNET, twc

tagged by @firstaidspray, @corvosattano, @shallow-gravy, @roofgeese, @henbased, @jendoe, @shadowglens, @shegetsburned & @leviiackrman to use this picrew, ty beloveds!!

sending tags to @unholymilf, @adelaidedrubman, @belorage, @phillipsgraves, @queennymeria, @denerims, @shellibisshe, @minaharkers, @jackiesarch, @indorilnerevarine, @noonfaerie, @aartyom, @morvaris, @arklay, @cybilbennettgf, @poetikat, @loriane-elmuerto, @strangefable, @purplehairsecretlair, @trench-rot, @derelictheretic, @nokstella, @nightbloodraelle, @gwynbleidd, @teamhawkeye, @playstationmademe, @fourlittleseedlings, @devil-kindred, @nuclearstorms & anyone else can @ me xx

[thinking-outside-the-giftbox18]

Striped Carnations and Anemones

Summary:  This was my personal idea of an alternate ending: What if Robin escaped but becomes the Snatcher anyways? Also a sympathetic approach to Queen Vanessa, but doesn't change the fact that she literally froze a kingdom.

I have posted this story on Archive of Our Own, incase anyone wants to check it out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423690

The cellar grows cold each passing day, or was it a week… or month...maybe longer? Prince Robin would’ve guessed immediately if it wasn’t for his hands going numb to tally off an hour as his arms hung from the chains. But nevertheless, he no longer can care about his body as it is going to expire anytime right now. He had guessed why his beloved would make such decisions, but it was no excuse for her to go insane...He can still hear the children scream as the ice captured them like a rapid plague. If only he had saved them, they are like his own children. Robin hung his head low, wanting to give up the ghost, yet something told him that he doesn't want to die like this...If he ever dies, it should not be in the cellar that was turned into a makeshift dungeon. He wants to be back outside to the forest, an odd choice to draw out your final breath but all he wanted was to see the stars…

"Ummph…!!" Was what he let out when the rusty chains broke, letting him fall to the ground. The cuffs are still on both his back arms, but he can move them a bit, which means…He looks up to see a torch that hasn't been lightened…'This place needs to be a bit warm.' Robin thought and like on command, the torch was set ablaze and the cellar took on a golden hue...but the Prince felt something else warm up in his body, it was what he had felt after crying for a very long time. He turned to leave the cellar, his body was weak but the fire in him helped as he walked up the stairs and out the cellar basement.

In the living room, the green wallpaper dulled when the darkness engulfed the manor, the only light there was near the portrait of her and her Prince, but it was dim. Vanessa played on the piano, remembering her lessons her mother had forced her to practice every single day when she was a little girl, then she smiled when she remembered how her Prince would surprise her with a duet as he played the violin. It made her horrible memories go away, she swayed with her fingers that played a love song that had a somber tone. Then the door behind her opened, she turned and expected that it was the wind who blew it open, no...It was her Prince. He looked directly at her, his Queen, just as she wanted it to be. Vanessa couldn't be happier as she waltzed her way and embraced her beloved Prince, "I miss you, My Prince~ Now we can be together forever~" she whispered softly to him like it was a secret, she rested her head on his chest, not minding his clothing that was slightly chilly and picking up dust. Her Prince looked down at her and gave a soft smile, "'Forever' you say, My Queen?~" he asked in a tone that would make her melt. Vanessa nodded her head, nuzzling her cheek against her Prince's disheveled cravat, she sighed when he placed a hand to stroke her darkened blonde hair on her head. She was drawn to his embrace even more.

"...I don't love you anymore." So calmly Robin said as he pulled himself away from Vanessa, who looked up at her Prince alarmed. He looked down at her with his amber-gold eyes, she saw no emotion, no glint of happiness or love...not even anger, that Robin hid well. "You're bluffing...you always tell odd jokes…!" Vanessa tries to reason while in denial, her Prince? He doesn't love her anymore? That's preposterous! She chuckled and giggled but she was the only one laughing, Robin kept staring at her blankly with a serious aura. Vanessa's ruby eyes gleamed in fear, "My...My Prince...Why…? Why don't you love me…?? What have I done that made you feel that way?" She then remembered why he was chained up, her eyes scowled, and prepared her claws to permanently keep her Prince for herself once and for all. "Was it that red-head who sold flowers?!! Did she change your mind?? Are you falling for her while you're engaged to me??! ...Explain yourself, Prince!!" She can only scream in the empty living room at Robin. He took her clawed hands calmly, keeping his sights on her, "Why would I love you when you destroyed our home…?" Vanessa's face went blank, she looked at Robin like a deer in front of the hunter. Now that he mentioned it, she might have done minor damage around the Subcon Manor after what had happened. Robin let go of her hands and folded his arms sternly, he had never done that gesture in front of Vanessa as he narrowed his eyes at her. She tries to come up with a reason "...Because I love you so much and was willing to fix what we had accidentally destro-!" Robin raised his hand to interrupt her, "I'm sorry, ' We '? I don't remember allowing you to turn our citizens to ice sculptures. And I definitely was absent when the kingdom was, how you put it, 'accidentally' destroyed…!" He controlled his volume to not scream at her, he wanted to express how distraught he truly was at her, yet he remained calm again.

Robin and Vanessa were both silent, Vanessa had now seen what she had done, "I was...I...You arrived days after Mother's-" she was interrupted again, "I knew. I knew that you needed me after her passing, that was why I had put a hold on my studies just to comfort you...I knew that you were scared of suddenly being the Queen without me being by your side. That is why I would still call you 'My Princess', so that once I am back to stay, I'll help you get ready...I was a fool who was deeply in love with you." He wanted to cry as his heart kept breaking, Vanessa wanted to comfort him but she couldn't, "My...My Prince...I am truly sorry for hurting you."

"You did more than just hurt me, my dear... You killed me. " Robin stated as he looked dead at Vanessa's ruby eyes. Her jaw dropped, how could her Prince say that?! "P-Prince…?!" She exclaimed, but was ignored by Robin. "I never thought that you would do this to not just me, you killed my love for you, you killed what was left of our dying affection...and you killed our home, the kingdom we were meant to protect...just for someone you didn't entirely know...How cruel are you exactly, Queen Vanessa?" Robin addressed Vanessa with such poison that it made her wince.

"Better yet, you are the Queen, have you always seen me as your prince rather than a king?? Do you even remember my name?" The last question was meant to be a cold joke, but when he saw Vanessa's widened eyes as she covered her mouth with her claws, she wasn't fooling around.

"You...You really have no idea who I am…" He numbly said as he bowed his head down, he realized that there was truly no hope to save what was left. He didn't hear Vanessa's efforts to comfort him as she tried to get closer to him, she kept calling him as "Her Prince" and at times "Her King" as if that can make him feel better. Robin looked up at her tear-stained face, she felt truly sorry for what she had done and repeatedly asked for his forgiveness. Suddenly, there was a soft low chuckling from the Prince as he kept his head down but his body shook with the sound. Vanessa jolted back when Robin's soft chuckle turned into a full-blown hearty cackle, she had found his "normal" laugh unnerving. He laughed extremely hard that tears streamed down his cheek, just the sight of her Prince in utter despair made Vanessa's heart ache.

Robin calmed his laughter and wiped off his tears, he looked at his now-former lover with an unsettling calm smile before turning to exit the room. Vanessa followed him to the manor's main door, wondering where he was going to. "My Prince…?" Robin ignored her again when she asked quietly, as he then opened the doors. Heavy gusts of icy winds blew directly at his face and he remained apathetic, it was when he took one step out the door did Vanessa had started to panic. She grabbed his arm tightly, "Don't leave!!! Please don't!!" She had begged him to reconsider, but she looked up and saw his piercing gold eyes one last time, glaring directly at her soul...silent with concealed rage, a growl before a bite.

She fearfully lets go of his arm and watches him shakingly walk through the snowy storms, away from what was once their home. He crossed his arms close to his chest to retain his remaining warmth and kept his small smile despite the warm tears continuing to fall to the snow. He didn't stop when the winds had gotten worse, or when he heard his Vanessa roar in self-loathing, followed by a big bang from the manor doors closing. He doesn't want to stop just yet, he knows when to stop when he gets there.

It was a miracle that her frost curse didn't reach the forest, it remained untouched with the sound of crickets and the calm rustling of the leaves. Robin felt serene and looked up at the sky, thankful to see the stars one last time. He knelt down and rested his body on a patch of dirt and grass, ready to join the restless nature and those whose lives were snuffed out. But yet, he had a small thought, 'If only I had lived longer...What can I do if I remain free...after all this time…?' He chuckled to himself breathlessly before...

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A masked soul wandered around the forest as they tried to look for their friends, they were fine with the fact that the forest wasn't covered in spikes of ice or blocks of snow. But they didn't expect the inmost part of it to be in flames, they almost surrounded the soul, it wasn't scared yet they felt like they were watched, so they felt paranoid instead. They turned back to where they entered from, only for a wall of fire to appear, trapping the soul inside, now they are aware that someone or something knew of their trespassing. Then a pair of gold eyes appeared in front of the soul through the fire along with a wide eerie smile that made the soul freeze in their place. The next thing the soul knows is darkness, shades of amethyst and violet surround their vision, they shake in fear as they start to see snake-like phantoms from a distance, who watch the soul with blank glowing eyes. The masked soul was no longer in the forest but in a supernatural plane where the ground is not visible and the exit above is non-existent.

A dark rumbling voice spoke out, "Why, hello there~ Are you lost, young one?~" he said with a low purr from behind the soul, who turned and met the yellow glowing eyes of a dark apparition who towered over them. The eyes behind the soul's mask shrink and cower because of the apparition's wicked smile. "Now do not fret. I too was lost, but I don't want to be found...or else, I would get hungry~" He remarked with a dark chuckle, eyeing the small soul with a tinge of hunger, scaring them more. 'Poor thing...they can't remember how they got lost…~' He thought before getting an idea, "I'll tell you what. I am in need of souls to build a little place where you can feel safe from the cold. I had witnessed the Queen's powers and how it damaged my forest...Safe to say, I was more than furious." He stated while extending a boneless arm. The masked soul looked at him confused and watched his clawed hand get set ablaze with blue flames, only to disappear and be replaced with a rolled-up scroll. The taller ghost leaned to the soul and rolled out the scroll, letting the lost soul read it. "As written in this piece of paper: I would need your lost friends as well, and I would make each one of you all a body so that we'll start making a place you'll call 'home'... Do we have a deal?~" The ghost asked the soul as his eyes and grin glow together.

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Notes: I am working on an AHIT AU fanfic series, but I want to show you how I am as a writer because I enjoy making stories as much as I like to doodle a lot. I headcanon the Prince's name as "Robin", just in case you're wondering why he's not named "Lukas". So this is basically a surprise quick story before setting the stage. If you want to find me, I'm on Ao3 , Twitter, DA and YouTube.So please, leave your thoughts on this fanfic and not half-a!@ed insults/compliments. -Giftbox

P.S. I also headcanon that Prince Robin would later learn Flower language as an indirect way of expressing his true feelings when he became The Snatcher. Hence, the title.

[my-happy-little-bean]

Figment of My Mind

pairing: none~ warnings: mild swearing, body horror, death (though it is implied that it is imaginary), bloody imagery, mentions of poison, mentions of thunder storms, mentions of fire/allusions to burn-out, slightly unsympathetic!patton / morally grey!patton, unsympathetic!janus, remus, & virgil words: 3334

summary: Roman tries to make the right choice, but falls into something much more than just “wrong”. 

Or: the one where Roman chose neither the wedding or the callback.

a/n - hello, it is i, bean; posting some rough, angsty horror at like 1 am because that’s !! just !! where we’re at right now! working on everything but the thing we’re supposed to be working on! 

i was heavily inspired by the song “figment of my mind” by bruno major (someone pleeeease make an animatic with this song it’s great), so that’s what the lyrics are! it was also written to make @wisepuma23​ and @thesocialbookwormishere​ proud lol – they’re such talented beans, and i wanted to hop on their angsty train to horror town lol. 

i’m sorry if this isn’t the happiest journey, but i really enjoyed writing something! it reminds me of that angst i wrote for patton when “can lying be good” came out – ah, the good ol’ days of bean angst lol. 

enjoy!

[read on ao3~]

–– 

“i traveled into deep space to see what i could find a purple angel led me to the universe inside.

welcome to the real world not the dream you left behind.  that was all a figment of your mind.”

–– 

When Roman left his room, the stars in the sky were only still forming.

It was late at night. Thomas (and by extension, Patton) had already gone to bed in tears. They have been doing that all week.

Logan had confided in him a few days back, confessing that he wasn’t sure why Patton was crying. Patton had nothing to lose with the verdict Roman made. In fact, he still won in some ways. He had theorized to empty, static-filled ears that perhaps Patton’s tears were just a reflection of Thomas’ emotions; a normal reaction everyone dramaticized to illogical extents.

Then he theorized idly that maybe Patton was crying because he felt like he was wrong the whole time.

(Roman didn’t leave his room for two days straight after hearing that.)

They didn’t have much left for Roman nowadays, and neither did Thomas. The days crept closer to dreaded April 13th and no one made a sound. Nothing was being done, nothing was being made. It was as if everyone was haunted by Roman’s decision; as if the sound of the gavel was echoing everywhere he stepped. 

And then, as April 12th ended– when Roman finally thought it was all over–

he realized that neutrality in a war was the enemy.

(In a moment of hypocrisy, Patton yelled at him, “Dishonourable.”)

So that was why he was here, sneaking out through the hidden door of his room and into the Imagination. He moved swiftly across the fields of nighttime fog and dew-covered grass to the giant, steel gates guarding The Dark Side.

Or, the other side. 

(It hurt less to think of himself like an ‘other’ rather than...well, that.)

He stood before the towering gates. It made sense that he felt like he was crossing paths into the dark forest Disney movies warned him about. A streak of lightning cracked across the sky like splintering glass, and every three minutes, a maniacal cackle shook the ground at beneath feet. 

Leave it to Remus to be so dramatic. 

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, he thought wearily, gripping the hilt of his sword just in case. Would he even let you near him?

And then, a bitter thought: There has to be some family who will. 

Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed his shoulder. Lightening screamed with him as he turned on his heel and whipped his sword tall in front of him. 

“Show yourself, vil–”

Then, his vision cleared. 

It was suddenly raining in the Imagination, and Virgil stood in it, drenched.

“Virgil,” he hissed, slowly lowering his sword. “I could have killed you.”

“Can’t die.” The words came out as a low rumble, one that shook the earth beneath them in a different way. “Not real, remember?” 

“But you– but we’re–”

Virgil shook his head, waving a hand in front of him with a smug smile.

“Relax, Princey.” The old nickname pressed itself into Roman’s arm like a curse crawling on doomed lands. “Just some dark, 3 am humour.”

It wasn’t much reassurance, but Roman didn’t care. He was already clinging onto it tightly, never wanting to let it go.

“What are you doing here, J.D-lightful?” 

“Trying to figure out what the fuck you’re up to.” Virgil leaned forward, almost cockily. “What are you doing here?”

A pause. Roman forced his stare down at the rotten dirt below him. 

“I’m going to fix everything,” he muttered. 

Virgil skipped the first obvious question. “And you think Remus is going to help with that?” 

“I think something there will.” Roman pressed his feet into the ground with a snarl. He gripped onto the hilt of his sword even tighter. “If I go now, Remus will never even need to know.” 

Roman noticed how Virgil grit his teeth and clutched the sleeves of his gridded hoodie as if it’d swallow him whole and make him disappear completely. 

“What do you even need in there?” 

Roman turned his back on him as another crack of lightning shattered the glassy sky above them.

“Remus controls intrusive and destructive thoughts,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And what is the only destructive thought plaguing all of us right now?” 

The answer hung between them, dead as the grass impaled by the ends of the metal gates.

“What if Thomas had gone?” 

“So you made a decision then.” Virgil’s voice, despite its venom, held an edge of worry. “A bit too late to figure out what the right choice was, no?”

Roman huffed, standing tall despite the fact that his words made him shrivel. 

“If you’re just going to stand there and be completely unhelpful,” Roman growled, walking towards the gate and grabbing the handle, “I’m just going to take my leave now–” 

“Wait.”

Roman stiffened at the layered tone of Virgil’s voice. He spun around to face him against his will, being forced to look at the hooded side. 

Virgil suddenly stuck his hand out, and Roman saw a glimpse of dark eyeshadow painted in thick layers over itself under his eyes.

“If you cross, you know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” 

Roman blinked. “What?” 

“You– do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?” 

“Not the point of an adventure, is it, Marilyn Morose?”

Virgil groaned. “I should let the damn thing eat you alive, Jesus Christ…” 

“Seriously, what are you talking about?” 

Virgil waved his hand, still outstretched. 

“Let me take you.” Another bolt of lightning pierced the sky. Roman felt as if it was going to fall on him at any second. “If you can survive with me, you’ll probably leave with what you really wanted.” 

Roman stared at his hand, as if the offer in it grew legs and was crawling up that inky checkered sleeve. Virgil’s words seemed to swarm in his head, and he didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but something told him that he needed to listen.

Virgil’s hand floated between them like a paranoid ghost.

And so, with a deep breath, Roman took it. 

–– 

“we flew amongst the patterns, impossible designs they’d been there the whole time hidden by my eyes

if i’d had a body it surely would've cried but tears were a figment of my mind”

–– 

Roman felt himself fall apart when he touched Virgil; as if Virgil was passing sharp sparks between their palms, and those sparks were finding cracks in skin Roman didn’t even know existed.

It felt as if his entire world flipped vertically, the ground defying the laws of reality and throwing him, somehow, onto the floor at the other side of the gate. 

Roman couldn’t even feel Virgil’s hand anymore. Instead, he just felt lightning stab his chest and blur his vision, a swirl of purple, yellow, and green swimming in front of him.

Then, it all stopped in an audition room. 

Virgil was nowhere to be seen, but Roman could feel him everywhere. He made himself believe that it was just because Thomas always felt this way before an audition.

Maybe it was the monotone filter of it all. Everything in the room—the camera, the table, two chairs, the walls—were various shades of black and white. 

And he was standing, stuck, in front of the empty chair. He still felt dizzy from whatever hellish trip Virgil had sent him on. He wanted to stumble on his feet just to make it feel more real, but he was rooted on the ground, completely still.

Then, lightning struck the two chairs and when the smoke cleared,  Deceit and Patton were staring at him, 

their eyes crossed out in yellow, drawn-on dashes. 

“SING.” 

Roman felt himself reel back at Patton’s voice, and a piano– out of sight, out of mind– began to play. The moral side had leaned over the table and slammed his fists into its surface, dark cracks in the wood blossoming from the contact. The noise was so loud, yet useless in muffling the haunted ivory keys, which played a hollow echo of Roman’s favourite audition song.

Fuck. 

Deceit said nothing, but he did smile at Roman in that kind– no, deceitful way he always did.

Did Deceit always have that line near his lip?

Roman shook his head. Forget Deceit. This audition wasn’t what he wanted. This was Thomas’ dream. This is what they had to choose. Mary Lee and Lee would surely understand, and so would Patton. He was selfless all the time, he deserved this. Deceit was right. 

In fact, Patton, in a fabricated moment of clarity, could possibly understand that now. Perhaps his command was actually encouragement; encouragement Roman missed oh-so much. 

Roman cleared his throat, straightening himself up. He could suddenly feel the ghost of Thomas mirror his movement in a lag. 

The role didn’t even need Thomas to sing, but Roman did as he was told anyway. Maybe he had to play along to hold this decision in his hands and save everyone. 

He smiled bravely.

“When you come home to me, I’ll wear a sweeter smile, and hope that for a while you’ll–” 

“FAIL.” 

Roman blinked. But he was perfectly in tune with– 

“FAIL!” Patton screamed at him again, lunging forward over the table, which split in two. The sound of the piano above them began to eerily croak.

“Patton, I–” 

“YOU FAILED!” Patton pointed at him as the accusation slipped his lips. Yellow poison leaked from the corners of his snarl and the piano went out of tune into a mess of sharps and flats. 

Deceit sat still. 

“DISHONOURABLE.” “WRONG.” 

The words suddenly began to layer over each other in what felt like an infinite descending tone.

“YOU SIDED WITH THE VILLAIN AND–” 

“HOW COULD YOU LET HIM GET AWAY WITH–” “WHAT KIND OF HERO–”

Roman finally tore his feet from the ground in shock. When he looked down at what initially bounded him, he saw yellow snapdragons coated with blood from his ankles, which was now pierced with thorns. The red and the yellow was so sharp– too sharp– in the midst of the black and white of the audition room.

On the broken piles of flowers he stepped away from laid the ghost of Thomas; on his knees and shaking.

“–FAILS?”

He felt tears slip down his cheeks and freeze into sharp crystals digging into his skin. In front of him was a broken dream, a broken man, the wrong choice–

And in the corner of his eye, Roman watched as Deceit grinned;  the line extending his smile cracking. 

Out through the cracks leaked blood. 

–– 

“i was shown a few things I'd been getting wrong she told me i’m a good man and have been all along

by the way I heard her say, ‘there’s no such thing as time it’s all a figment of your mind’."

–– 

Roman’s scream ended when he was flipped upside down,  now standing at an altar with a bouquet of yellow carnations.

The tears from the audition room were no longer piercing his skin, but they lingered as static in the form of a sticky residue. He was very certain that he was going to kill Virgil once he got home. This black and white world was somehow too bright, too daunting. 

And he left him alone in it.

Roman focused his vision on the new sight in front of him, holding his bouquet tightly like some kind of chilling reminder. 

A bride and a groom were walking away from the altar, their backs facing him. People were in the crowd, throwing the same yellow carnations into the air. It was a happy sight, despite the monochrome tinge. Violins sang brightly in what felt like the perfect photograph. 

Perhaps this was the choice Virgil was talking about; the one he’d leave with; the one he really wanted. Yes, he could want this. Maybe he even needed this.

Because at the end of the aisle was Patton, black and white with a sharp grin. 

Another layer of violins was placed on top of the pre-existing ones. 

“kiddo, i’m so proud of you!”

Roman’s breath hitched, holding the bouquet tighter. Mary Lee and Lee were already gone, yet everyone kept throwing their flowers. 

“you’re so good.  so good.”

“my hero.”

Roman broke into a wide grin. This decision felt so close. Patton’s voice felt like a rush of summer air in the midst of a cold, winter night. The words felt like they were close– so close– to carrying Roman on his back closer towards this decision; like they were already spinning the hands of the clock back and–

Patton suddenly became blurry in his vision, and a green figure appeared beside him, 

holding a dead Thomas by the neck.

Shit.

A familiar cackle cut through the illusionary Shepard tone created by the violins, which once played a sickly sweet melody in his ears. Roman looked at Remus, horrified, and then at Thomas. 

Thomas was wearing his wedding outfit — Roman recognized it because he helped choose it, of course. And it was beautiful. 

But at its seams were falling ashes; crispy burnt ends to such a beautiful suit. 

And Thomas was white as a sheet, slowly crackling away in embers where he hung.

Remus’ grin was made of bloodied pearls, his white streak cracking and spreading in patches to other parts of his hair. He threw the Thomas corpse– was he really dead?– onto the ground and pulled back his morning star by both hands, ready to strike–

Then Patton stepped between Remus and Thomas, holding his hands over his face to catch the spikes of the morning star before it could finish its swing down. The violins shrieked with Patton and Roman watched as his hands began to bleed upon contact. The flowers were still being thrown, as if to celebrate this horrible victory.

Patton, struggling against Remus' persistent force, let out a heartbreaking sob.

“...how are we still being hurt?”

“why is he getting worse?” 

“he shouldn’t be here, thomas is good–”

“–because you chose this –”

Roman’s heart broke when Patton stiffly met his eyes.

“what more are you going to do to stop this?”

Roman started to run towards the horrid sight, almost against his will. The violins hung above him, the chords pulling him back by his wrists, still attached to the bouquet of yellow carnations.

And he was screaming; screaming Patton’s name and crying as the petals of all the flying flowers slashed sharply at his face. The aisle seemed to make itself infinite, as of stringing Roman along on a treadmill moving too fast. 

He could see the outline of Remus amidst the slowly-paling flower flurry; bright green with a thick red puddle pooling around his feet. He saw the outline of his grin, blood dripping from each tooth.

Patton’s voice was barely a whisper, yet was loud enough for it to echo all around Roman’s head.

“you’re not doing enough.” 

“he has to be stopped.”

“stop this, hero, stop–”

And when Roman finally reached the end of the aisle,  Thomas was nothing but ashes on the floor. 

Patton stepped towards Roman, who slowly backed away. No no no no no–

Then, Patton grabbed the bouquet he was holding.

Roman gasped and looked down. Patton was bleeding red, palms cracked with scars and holes from Remus’ weapon. 

He at least tried to save Thomas, Roman suddenly realized. What did I do? 

Patton’s hand pierced the thorny stems of the carnations and his blood mixed with dripping green venom. 

His tearful eyes met Roman’s.

“...what did you do?”

The air around Roman thinned. He looked over Patton’s shoulders and saw Remus, grinning and holding up his bloodied morning star. 

It was on fire, and it caught onto the white cracks in his hair.

––

“waking with eyes closed from technicolor dreams crystal kaleidoscopes were singing blue and green

realer than real in front of me if only you could see what i could see”

––

Roman was fa(i/l)ling. 

He was stuck in a spinning kaleidoscope; and circling him were shattered fragments of the horrible decision he made– the decisions he could make. 

The memory of Deceit’s blood-soaked smile in the audition room. 

The sight of Remus grinning with fire crackling embers in his hair. 

The thought of Patton, glitching into two with his hands holding his head, being torn apart.

The view from below the towering gate (the lightning shattering the glassy sky)

and Virgil, standing in front of him with white cracks in his eyeshadow, pulling his hand back from Roman

to wrap himself in his old hoodie.  

The violins had stopped and the piano had paused. What did this mean? Roman tried to hold himself around his feeble body — if he even had one right now. 

No. He shuddered if he even could– no he was real. He was here, he was real,  and he was failing. 

Anxiety crawled through the cracks in his vision. He was straining his eyes trying to look at each fragment of his mistake. What did he need to do, what did he want to do, what was right, what was–

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

NO! Anything but this, he wanted to plead. This wasn’t it, he was supposed to be good– he couldn’t fail– what has he done?!

Suddenly, each fragment snapped and cracked in front of him, the kaleidoscope shattering piece by piece. 

And reflected in each broken shard was Roman.

Paranoia’s voice echoed in his ears: 

“Then why did you leave with this?”

––

“i slowly found my body, color began to fade i heard a piano playing a knowing serenade

this world feels backwards to my open eyes ‘cause it's all a figment of my mind.”

––

“–atton, if you touch him, you run the risk of–”

“–ET ME GO! ROMAN! ROMAN, WAKE UP, PLE–”

“–fucking stupid, how could he be so–”

Roman gasped, feeling himself seize up and face darkness. His head suddenly ached and he rubbed the spot he hit as he heard a low grumble from his left.

“Roman!” Patton. Roman shuddered. Patton’s sobs made him want to keep his eyes closed even more. “Roman, open your eyes, you’re home.” 

“Patton, you mustn’t alarm him.” That was Logan. “And Virgil, are you okay? See, this is why I told you not to stand so close...”

A part of him was reassured to hear logic return to him. The nightmare must be over then, right?

He blindly grabbed to his left, as if to apologize to the side he hit, and felt stitches crossing in small x’s on fabric. A sigh of relief; there was Virgil. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Virgil’s voice sounded so distant, yet so clear. “You could’ve gotten hurt, going there alone–”

“Now what did we say about alarming him.”

“Roman.” Patton’s voice stung the most, an echo of the hell he just fell through. “Roman, open your eyes. It’s me– it’s us.”

And so Roman obliged, like he always did with Patton. 

…

When Roman opened his eyes, he saw that he was back in his room, lying on his bed, staring at a blurry, white ceiling. As he sat up, Patton’s sobs grew louder and Logan’s breath hitched. 

Virgil stayed quiet.

“What is it?” he asked groggily. Patton dissolved into more tears. Roman watched as Logan, sliced in half by navy blue and grey shards, held Patton close. 

“Guys?” he asked again. He looked at Virgil and frowned. Some patches were grey, why were they–

Roman gasped, pushing past his family and turning his back on their grief. He made his way to the mirror in the corner of his room, tearing the hair in front of his eyes aside. 

And staring back at him in his cracked mirror were irises split in half. 

Black and amber.

-

click here for a new and improved masterlist of all my writing if you’re interested ^v^

[marvelmando]

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - seven

notes: updating rather quickly because i felt bad about the cliffhanger :) i really enjoy y’all’s feedback, so hit me up!!

contains: discussions of mental illness, angst

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 3.1k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

SEVERAL HOURS OF WAITING ON THE ROOF HAD PASSED BEFORE LOGAN SHOWED UP. Marin had stopped crying at some point, eventually began to breathe evenly despite the sharp pain pounding in her ribs every time she inhaled. Her wrist started to throb again and the skin was blooming with dark purple and blue bruises, growing yellow from the swelling.

Getting on the jet and walking back into the Institute was a haze; the last thing she remembered was climbing into her old bed and sinking her face into her pillow. She cried herself to sleep.

She barely got three hours of nightmare-plagued sleep before a pounding at her door woke her up. Without waiting for a response, her door flew open. Lucy was there, storming into her room, eyes quite literally on fire.

"Where the hell were you, Marin Frost?!" Lucy bellowed, flames erupting on her skin.

Despite the growing temperature of the room, Marin felt numb. She shrugged, laying her head back down and pulling her knees into her chest, burrowing into her comforter.

"Answer me!" Lucy continued shouting, to no avail. Eventually, she gave up and stomped right back out of Marin's room in a blaze of heated fury.

Only a minute or two had passed before someone knocked on her door again, except this time, it was gentler. Marin didn't bother looking up to know that it was James, Lucy's boyfriend.

"Marin," James said kindly, but Marin only screwed her eyes shut. James sighed. "Marin, we don't know exactly what happened that morning, but we understand why you left. Even if we aren't really showing it." He paused, presumably giving her the opportunity to speak. She didn't. "When you're ready to talk, you know where to find us."

Marin was glad for James' respect, enough for him not to take a look into Marin's mind and find out for himself. She didn't move as she heard his footsteps recede, or when the door clicked shut behind him. She counted to ten before throwing the covers off of her.

She walked numbly into her bathroom, grabbed the plastic cup she kept on the sink and filled it with water from the tap. She guzzled down three cups before the ringing in her head finally stopped. She raised her eyes to the mirror above the sink.

The first thing she noticed was the large bruise on her cheek, slowly fading as the water she drank stitched together the broken blood vessels. Her eyes were tired, the dark brown of her irises dull and lifeless, and the delicately thin skin under them purplish-black with fatigue and stress. Her cheeks were hollowed, jaw pronounced by sunken jowls. She looked like shit. But at least her wrist didn't hurt anymore.

"Marin, please see me in my office." Professor Xavier's voice echoed between her ears, inducing a long-awaiting migraine and reactivating the tinnitus ringing. Chugging another cup of water for courage, Marin left her room, not bothering to put on a pair of shoes or socks.

It was early enough in the morning that the halls were nearly void of students, but the ones that did pass her gave her looks.

Marin felt a strong wave of déjà-vu as she pushed open the wooden door that separated Charles' office from the main hall.

Marin noticed Charles sitting in his hovering wheelchair by the window this time, eyes glazed and staring out at the bright green front lawn. Marin took the seat farthest from him, remembering the last time she visited his office.

"Did you know that I cannot read your mind?" Charles suddenly said, unprompted. Marin's eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Then why can you speak to me in my mind?"

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I should clarify that—it is not that I can't access your mind, I just simply can't access your memories."

Marin's eyes followed him as he moved behind her and to her other side, stopping his wheelchair barely a foot away from her chair.

"Which is why I had no other choice but to believe that you were the cause of your parents' deaths."

Marin tensed, waiting for him to lash out, or something equally as terrifying. But he never did. "I must tell you something, Miss Frost—a confession that has haunted me since I first made the decision to erase any recollection of you having other powers besides your hydrokinesis."

Marin blinked at him. "You what?"

Charles cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning, yes?" Marin just stared at him, and he took her reaction as an ‘okay’.

"Your grandmother was a mutant, Marin." What a hell of a way to break the ice, Professor. "She harnessed the ability to manipulate energy, from what research I could gather. However, she hadn't discovered her powers until long after she gave birth to her son, Jamie—your father—out of wedlock. Your grandfather wasn't an option for your grandmother, and, unable to raise a child on her own, she surrendered him to an orphanage—unaware of her own powers, or the genetics she'd passed along.

"Your father, we believe, was a telepath, much like James and I. But growing up virtually an orphan, with very little education or experience, he didn't recognize his symptoms as a result of his mutant genetics. When he was found talking to himself, around age eleven, he was kicked out of the orphanage out of fear that your father suffered from schizophrenia. He lived on the streets until he was nineteen, where he met your mother and fell in love.

"I'm assuming that once you were born, your father was already very paranoid, and tried to place a mental block on you, despite not knowing what he was doing. The inexperience and lack of control over his powers led to a somewhat permeable blockade, and thus the reason why I can still access your mind. I cannot read your mind, but I can project thoughts to you.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I knew this from the beginning, Miss Frost. I can only assume that as you grow older, your father's influence diminishes with the time that passes; and as of the past couple of months, if projected strongly enough, I'm able to access your dreams." At her suspicious glare, he chuckled. "Don't worry, I still can't read your thoughts just yet."

"That sounds fake but okay." She muttered under her breath. Charles flashed a hint of a smile, but otherwise said nothing of it.

"You have to understand, Marin, that I cannot determine for myself what happened the night your powers emerged." Charles began to look guilty, which surprised Marin slightly. "There is another matter, however, that I think needs to be addressed."

Marin looked expectantly at him.

"When you first arrived at the Institute, your powers were extremely unstable. They were like nothing we'd ever seen before, even by mutants that could manipulate energy, like Mary, or your grandmother." His face grew dark. "We assumed that you were experiencing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after witnessing your parents' deaths, which was heightening your abilities.

"I should have learned my lesson after Jean, but even she agreed that the best thing to do was erase your memories of your other powers. They were far too dangerous, to yourself and the other students. And seeing them reemerge in the last five months has made me reexamine the ethicality of continuing to keep these powers from you."

Marin stared ahead into blank space. Somehow, she wasn't surprised—as if Charles telling her this was nothing new to her, it only opened her mind to memories long forgotten. But she'd have time to evaluate them later because Charles was still talking.

"So you're not going to make me forget again?" She looked to him, and he frowned.

"No. No, we're going to do what we should've done eight years ago. We're going to train you to control them." He nodded and swiveled his wheelchair to face her again. She didn't know when he'd turned away. "I know now that you aren't responsible for your parents' deaths, Marin. Your powers were not a cause of them, only a byproduct of whatever you witnessed."

Marin averted her gaze down to her hands, which had migrated into her lap.

"Why does everyone else think that I did?" She asked, her voice quiet and broken.

Charles sighed sorrowfully. "Naturally, I'd had to inform the other adults that run the Institute what circumstances you were found in. In my folly, I revealed to them what my conclusions were, and they, too, believed them, none-the-wiser. From there, it may have been overheard by some of the older students, and then spread from there. It also did not help that your decline in control over your powers was well-known amongst the students, and it wouldn't have been difficult to presume that the lies being spread were true."

Processing the heavy load of information being dumped on her, Marin didn't speak for a full thirty seconds. "Why didn't you just tell them you weren't sure? That you couldn't read my mind?" She eventually asked.

The Professor exhaled. "I believed that if it got out, there was someone whose mind I couldn't penetrate, it would've made you a target. Or, with your chaotic powers, it would have made you a potential weapon. At least, it was what I told myself, to save my reputation from scrutiny. Now, I know that it was entirely for selfish reasons, and I am truly sorry for that, as well, Marin." Charles looked sincere. For all the years that Marin had known the man, admitting his own faults was an extremely rare occurrence, and if he was admitting this now, she had little doubt that he was lying. It didn't make the truth any less painful, though. But Marin was tired of all of the negativity, and despite her better judgment, she found herself forgiving him.

"So what now?" Marin crossed her arms over her chest. "Everyone still thinks I killed my parents. Everyone still treats me as though I need to be avoided at all costs." She shook her head. "And after enduring that shit for nine years, I'm frankly fucking sick of it."

If the Professor was affected by her profanity, he didn't show it. (After all, he'd been around Logan's filthily explicit language for decades, now, and was unlikely to be fazed by anything Marin could come up with.)

"Then I believe an announcement is in order."

+++

Marin shuffled to her room that night, emotionally exhausted from the events of the day. Everyone seemed to believe Professor Xavier's claims that she was innocent, and some even approached her afterward to apologize for their less-than-friendly behaviors. Marin was grateful but ultimately disappointed to find that she didn't care as much for their forgiveness as she'd expected. All she could say was that her name was cleared among the mutants. But she found that it wasn't their forgiveness she wanted so desperately.

Right after his speech, Charles called her back into his office, where he began the process of returning the memories he'd kept covered. She spent hours sweating and writhing in his chair as he unveiled one memory right after the other, and by nine that evening, Marin's mind was her own again.

Walking into her bedroom felt different after. It seemed so much smaller, somehow, even though she'd only been out for half of a day. She filled a cup of water, silently mourning her reusable bottle left behind in her duffel bag, still at Peter's apartment. I wonder if he threw it out, she distantly thought. Marin didn't know what she hated more—having to leave before she could explain herself and leaving him to fear her like everyone else had, or knowing that keeping it a secret from him and Tony Stark was the worst thing she could have done, and condemning herself for doing it anyway.

While ruminating, her door opened. It was Lucy again, but this time, she looked calm, and even a bit regretful. "Can I come in?" She timidly asked in the doorway. Marin nodded, and Lucy stepped in, closing the door behind her.

Marin shifted on her bed so her back was supported by the wall, and curled her feet underneath her. Lucy hesitantly sat on the side of the bed, a couple of feet down. She didn't speak for a while, and Marin knew she was thinking of what to say, so she waited for her patiently.

"I'm sorry," Lucy eventually said, looking Marin straight in the eyes as she turned to sit crisscrossed directly facing her. "I'm sorry that everyone believed that shitty rumor—including me. I'm sorry for being a terrible friend, or not a friend at all when you clearly needed someone on your side." What Marin liked about Lucy was that she didn't turn on the theatrics, she didn't blubber and beg for Marin's forgiveness like some others had. But she was rubbing at her wrists, a nervous habit Marin recognized, surprised though because it was a very rare sight. "What I'm trying to say, is that I was wrong about you. In more ways than just your past."

Marin raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

Lucy exhaled through her nose. "I thought you were a reckless, walking dumpster fire, to be honest. With how you constantly acted out—whether it was by disobeying orders to go play hero or refusing to take group training seriously. You're terrible at working in a team, you always used your powers way too often and for the stupidest things, too, and you skipped school so you could go study by yourself. You stole food and hogged the computers, you hated sharing, and you—"

"Okay, I get it." Marin cut her off, growing annoyed.

"I was getting there." Lucy snapped at her impatience. "Marin, I thought you were the worst kind of mutant. Like another Logan or young Cyclops—because we've all heard those stories from Jean—but you're not. You're selfless and principled, and sure, your social skills leave a lot to the imagination, but you're good." Lucy's lips curled into a small, gentle smile. She shook her head, amusedly. "You're not a good mutant, Marin Frost, but you're a hell of a great superhero."

Marin was stunned into silence. Of all the people in Marin's life, Lucy Webb was the last person she expected to say something so nice and genuine. Marin couldn't find the words to respond, but it was fine since apparently Lucy wasn't finished.

"I mean—you're still kind of a shitty superhero, but you've got potential. You definitely need to work on your people skills, and—oof—"

Marin threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Lucy. Though she still rankled to think about the times when Lucy had reprimanded her, hearing such praise now was more than enough for Marin to forgive her. Lucy laughed, hugging her back. They pulled apart after a few seconds.

"And, for the record, I'm sorry for what I said that day." Lucy mentioned sheepishly and didn't need to elaborate for Marin to know what she was referring to. "It was unfair of me and totally uncool—not to mention very unprofessional to say in front of such a young audience."

Marin smiled at the mention of Mary. She made a mental reminder to say hi to the young girl when she got the chance.

"Apology accepted."

"Good." Lucy nodded once, and stared at her for a moment, thinking. "Now... wanna tell me where you've been the past two weeks?"

Marin sighed. With how much she'd yet to unpack herself, she figured that she could use an extra mind. "So, I went back to Queens, right? And the superhero I met from the night in April, Spider-Man, had this really fancy new suit..."

+++

"Well, shit." Lucy said about an hour later. She propped her head up with her hand as she laid on her stomach next to Marin on the bed. "And you really went to D.C.?"

Marin rolled her eyes. "Is that really all you're getting out of all that?"

Lucy waved her hand flippantly. "Nah, I'm just thinking out loud."

"Well, what do I do?" Marin groaned, thumping the back of her head against the wall. "Those weapons dealers are still out there, probably making more alien weapons."

"Well, you said the FBI showed up at the ferry, right?" Lucy wondered. "So don't you think that, knowing they've got the feds on their tail, they plan on laying low for a while?"

Marin pondered the idea. "No... after all, they didn't stop when Spider-Man caught onto them. If anything, they were just bolder than before."

"Yeah, but... no offense to your spider-boyfriend, but he's not exactly as intimidating at the FBI." Lucy pointed out. Marin remembered his conversation with Aaron Davis with a pang in her chest.

"Why does everyone think we're dating? He's not my boyfriend." Marin shook her head. "But I guess that's somewhat true, though it doesn't change the fact that I've got a really bad feeling about it."

Lucy nodded, studying the look on Marin's face. "But you want him to be?"

Marin looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You like him, don't you?" Lucy grinned knowingly. "You like Spider-Man!"

Marin scoffed. "Please. I've known him for all of two weeks." Her face dropped. "And besides, he thinks I killed my parents. There's no way that he'd want to be anywhere near me right now."

"Oh Mare," Lucy sighed sympathetically, and the nickname sent a new wave of pain into her heart.

"It's tomorrow, you know." She deflected. The space behind her eyes burned with the desire to cry. "The day they died." She sniffed wetly, hugging her knees to her chest. "It's been nine years. Nine years, Lucy. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I can still see my father—"

Lucy sat up, and crawled next to Marin, rubbing her back soothingly as the words got stuck in her throat. "I know, Marin." She shushed. When Marin had calmed down enough, Lucy told her, "My mom died when I was nine, you know."

Marin looked at her in shock. "Really?"

Lucy nodded, giving her an empathetic look. "Yeah. She was sick for a while, but it got really bad, towards the end." Lucy looked off into empty space. "She had a stroke when I was at school. I never said goodbye. When my dad came to get me and told me the news, that's when my powers erupted." She shook her head solemnly. "I was just lucky that no one was killed. My dad got the worst of it—he's blind in one eye because of me."

"Not because of you," Marin assured her. "Because of your powers. You aren't your powers, and you didn't do that to your dad. I promise."

Lucy smiled gratefully and sniffed a bit. She laughed. "God, being a mutant is real shit, isn't it?"

"Probably," Marin grinned. "But I think it's worth it sometimes."

taglist

@dark-night-sky-99​ @pushmeinablackhole​ @demi-starzak​ @-thatgirloverthere-​ @silver-winter-wolf  

[just-an-anxious-mess]

Get Rid Of Me (Part 1 of 2)

Second Part

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of suicidal thoughts, blood, suicide attempts.

Also I’m actually sorry for this one, it was quite draining for me to write.

Anxiety stared out of the window, entranced by the moonlight that streamed into his room and lit everything up almost as brightly as the sun did. He loved looking at the moon. For some reason he always felt much calmer when looking at it.

He managed to tear his eyes away from the window and climbed into bed, the moon unable to keep the thoughts at bay for long. Today had been particularly terrible. He'd had a mild panic attack which caused Thomas to have one too when he was about to go on stage for an audition.

Roman had been furious and just about managed to get Thomas through the audition. Afterwards he'd proper laid into Anxiety with harsh words to tell him how he always made things worse.

Anxiety closed his eyes with a sigh, he could handle what Roman said because it was no worse than how he described himself. The one thing that had stung slightly was the comment Logan had then made about him being a disorder rather than an actual trait so it was expected of him to mess everything up for the rest of them.

Apparently he was never meant to exist and should have been erased long ago. Anxiety wasn't a trait everyone had and people even took medication to get rid of it.

Suddenly Anxiety had a thought. What if Thomas were to take it? How would it affect him? Did he really care anymore? He was tired of the comments and horrible feelings he was forced to carry. Maybe if Thomas took the medication it would kill him and he'd finally be able to relax.

Anxiety ran a hand down his face, ignoring the fact he smudged his eye makeup and tried to think of the cons behind Thomas taking the medication. He couldn't think of any.

With this he decided to try and get at least an hours sleep before he pushed the idea into Thomas's mind.

The next morning Anxiety woke up in a cold sweat, his sleep having been plagued by the usual nightmares.

He stood up on shaky legs and tried to think of how he could broach the idea of Thomas taking medication. Eventually he decided to just mention the idea to him.

He waited until Thomas was alone and popped up next to him.

"hey Thomas." he greeted and felt more confident about his question when Thomas flinched and then groaned quietly at realising who had turned up.

"what is it Anxiety?" Thomas asked warily.

"I was thinking that I've been making you feel particularly bad recently and I was going to suggest you take anxiety medication to try and prevent me from being tempted to mess with you as much." Anxiety managed to keep his voice level throughout his sentence.

Thomas frowned at this, unsure why Anxiety would suddenly suggest he take meds but the idea sure was tempting. "I'll consider it and if I think that it could be a good idea I'll try it"

Anxiety nodded and sank back into the mind space, disappearing into his room immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thomas scrolled through Twitter and Tumblr, occasionally liking and replying to his fans when he stumbled across a post someone had shared.

It was a long paragraph of someone describing how much their anxiety used to rule their life until they were properly diagnosed and medicated and now they felt much better and could do everything with minimum stress.

It was definitely starting to sound appealing and he found himself almost dialling the number for a clinic but he hesitated as a thought struck him.

How would the medicine effect Anxiety? Would it just make him more relaxed or tired? Or maybe it would hurt him or even kill him? Thomas shuddered and put his phone down. He couldn't take the risk that it would seriously harm Anxiety.

Thomas wondered if he should consult Logan about the situation but before he could Roman popped up with a brand new idea for a video.

"Hello Thomas, I've just thought of a marvellous idea for your next video." he said with a flourish and a large proud grin.

"Cool. I was actually about to call Logan for some advice about something but you might also be able to help me." Thomas said, shifting his weight awkwardly as he tried to think of the right words to bring up.

"Of course I can help you, I am the Prince. That's what I'm here for." Roman said brushing imaginary dirt off of his clothes.

Thomas took a deep breath before asking "do you think I should take medication for my anxiety?"

Roman frowned and thought for a while, trying to think of why Thomas would hesitate.

"why of course. That's got to be one of the best ideas you've had, it will make everything a whole lot easier for us to work in a productive positive way." He said, gesturing his arms wildly.

"you don't think it'll harm Anxiety in any way?" Thomas asked, slightly less hesitant.

Roman paused momentarily, he hadn't thought of that. "I don't think it will, it's a great idea but how did you come up with it?" he asked, slightly annoyed that Thomas hadn't needed him for thinking up the idea.

"well actually, Anxiety told me he thought it'd make him less tempted to mess everything up." Thomas explained.

Roman felt a flash of anger and jealousy. He was the one who was supposed to help Thomas have ideas, not Anxiety. "well for once I agree with him and if he suggested it then there's no way it'd harm him, he'd never do anything that would put his life in danger." Roman said, his anger showing slightly in the way he grit his teeth.

Thomas considered this and shrugged, accepting Romans logic of the situation." OK, if your sure I guess I'll call the clinic and book an appointment or something."

Roman beamed and synced out with a cheerful goodbye. As he popped back into the mind space he let his smile drop and he stomped furiously towards his room. How did he not think of that before Anxiety of all people? He slammed his bedroom door and tried to calm his breathing. At least it would be better soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anxiety stayed in his room for the rest of the day unsure if Thomas would actually listen to his idea until he heard him arranging an appointment.

He felt his lip twitch into a shadow of a smile but only for half a second before his face went back to normal. He'd accomplished the first step, all he had to do now was wait and then down play the effects of the tablets until it was too late.

He knew the others wouldn't let him kill himself but that was merely because they didn't want to feel guilty or like they failed to 'save' someone. It definitely wasn't because they cared that was for sure.

Before he knew it the day of the appointment arrived and Anxiety decided if today was his last day then he'd try and see just how much he could affect Thomas and how pissed off he could make the others.

Thomas was getting ready to go when he suddenly had a thought. "what if they don't believe me?" he muttered, causing him to pause midway through putting his jacket on. "what if they say I don't need the medication and I'm just a bit paranoid. Or worse what happens if they think I'm crazy and they put me in a psychiatric ward?" Thomas started to panic until Roman appeared.

"Thomas, relax. Everything is going to be fine." he said comfortingly and breathed a sigh of relief as it worked, until Anxiety popped up.

"is it though? From an outsiders perspective you talk to yourself and if that doesn't scream split personality disorder then I don't know what does." Anxiety tried to speak in a normal voice but he was also terrified of the doctor refusing to medicate Thomas or finding out that Thomas could see aspects of his personality.

Roman was getting annoyed by Anxietys constant interruptions with negative comments. "you're being ridiculous Anxiety. Just stop making him miserable for once in his life." he snapped, sending a glare full of hatred at the darker trait.

Anxiety inhaled sharply but pretended to ignore Romans comment. "Thomas if you don't hurry up you're going to be late and you'll never get the medication. You'll turn up too late and you won't be able to see the doctor and then you'll be too embarrassed at wasting the doctors time that you'll never want to phone them up again." Anxiety got lost in a tangent of worst case scenario, his voice getting higher and his words more rushed.

It wasn't until Roman shouted at him to shut up that Anxiety realised what he'd been doing and how close he'd been to saying they'd never be rid of him without the medication.

Thomas eventually left and Anxiety and Roman were forced to sync down.

"can't you just leave him alone for one day?" Roman asked and if Anxiety didn't know him better he would have said he was pleading with him.

Anxiety shook his head, not sure he'd be able to keep his voice steady. He'd actually tried to be like the others but it didn't work and it always ended up effecting Thomas negatively so he'd given up.

Romans anger was steadily building and as he took in Anxietys bored expression he couldn't help but make an angry comment. "just leave Thomas alone, go mope in your bedroom and stop popping up to make his life miserable. At least when he takes the medication he'll probably feel much better and it'll probably chill you out." with this last comment he spun on his heel and stalked towards his room, almost missing the soft "OK fine, you'll never see me again."

Roman struggled not to turn around and kept walking, Anxiety was only talk. Right?

Anxietys face fell as soon as Roman had turned around and he slowly began making his way to his room, anticipating when Thomas would take the medication.

He locked his door, making sure to put his wardrobe and chest of drawers in front of it in case Roman tried to kick it down like last time when he'd accidentally given Thomas a panic attack.

He shuddered at that memory. He'd barely been a trait for a week and Roman was so angry he'd actually hit him. He'd apologised a couple days later when Anxiety explained he hadn't meant to give Thomas a panic attack but he knew then that the others merely tolerated him and they'd prefer him to be gone.

Anxiety walked slowly towards his mirror and was shocked to see that he'd forgotten to clean up his eyeshadow which he'd smudged down his face. How did neither Thomas or Roman say anything? Because they don't care about him, that's why.

He turned from the mirror and climbed into his wardrobe that was leaning against the door. That way if anyone did break down the door it would tip the wardrobe and he'd be safe inside it away from their venomous words. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas walked back into his apartment, tablets in hand. It had been way easier than he'd thought and the doctor hadn't needed convincing of his anxiety like he thought he would.

He sat down on the sofa, pills in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He'd read through the side effects but there was no clue to how they'd affect Anxiety. He hesitated and called for Roman.

"I told you everything would turn out fine." he exclaimed as he noticed the pills. "what are you waiting for? Take them."

Thomas nodded but still he hesitated. "do you think I should call for Anxiety and make sure he's alright?" Thomas asked, his worry back but worse with the tablets actually in his hand.

"He'll be fine just take them and stop hesitating. It was his idea in the first place so there's no danger." Romans voice was eager and Thomas agreed that if Anxiety had suggested he take them then there was no way they'd cause him harm.

He shoved the pills in his mouth and gulped down water, letting out a sigh as he sat down to wait for them to kick in. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About half an hour later, maybe an hour, Thomas felt full of energy and he had a big smile on his face. "I feel like I can film and edit a video all day today." he said with a grin and Roman beamed as they began brainstorming.

Anxiety sat in his wardrobe and felt the first hint of pain. It was in his lungs and each breath felt like he was drowning. Eventually that stopped but the ache was there and when he coughed his hands were splattered with blood.

He swallowed and ignored the ache in his lungs and throat, he needed to pretend nothing was wrong. He wiped the blood onto his hoodie, blood didn't show up as much on black.

Suddenly he felt incredibly dizzy and as he slumped sideways he wondered how long it'd take for him to die. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan felt a weird shift happen within the mind and he put down his pen to see what Thomas was up to.

"hey Logan, we're brainstorming ideas for a video, want to help?" came the cheery voice of Thomas and Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I was actually coming to see if anything different had happened as there was an abnormal shift in your mind." Logan was straight to the point and started to scan the surrounding area.

"actually..." Thomas began but Roman interrupted.

"can you go please, we were in the middle of coming up with ideas and I need complete concentration." his voice was snobbish and arrogant which made Logan bristle slightly before taking a couple deep breaths and muttering "nevermind"

Logan went back to the mind space and started to theorise about what had changed.

"hey Logan, why are you looking so Grumpy? Anyone would think you're... Short tempered." Pattons cheery voice interrupted Logans thoughts and he groaned at the cringey Disney pun.

"Something has changed in Thomas's mind and I'm trying to deduce what." Logan didn't even open his eyes as he explained this in a slow voice as if Patton was a child.

"deduce? You mean like Sherlock Holmes? Ooo do we get to dress up again?" Patton exclaimed happily, clapping his hands.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "no Patton, I'm just trying to figure out what's changed." his voice was exasperated but that didn't deter Patton.

"can I help?" he asked enthusiastically.

Logan bit back an immediate negative response and decided it would keep Patton busy and he might be able to figure out what had changed then.

"fine." he muttered and covered his ears as Patton squealed happily.

Patton immediately popped up to talk to Thomas about the sort of game he and Logan were playing.

"hey kiddo, me and Logan are playing another detective game." he said cheerfully.

Thomas glanced up from where he was writing and gave Patton a grin. "you mean you asked him if you could help him figure out what's 'changed?' he's probably imagining things, I feel happy and perfectly fine so it's not a bad change whatever it is." Thomas's voice was loud and full of confidence that it made Pattons heart swell with pride.

At least until he spotted the box sitting on the table.

"Hey Thomas, whats in that box?" he asked innocently.

Thomas and Roman rolled their eyes and Thomas replied "they're painkillers for a headache I had earlier but it's completely gone now."

Thomas didn't even feel bad about the almost lie he told. It was pretty much true though, Anxiety caused him to have headaches sometimes and the medication made them stop because they prevented anxiety. Technically it was still the truth.

Patton nodded with a forced smile and quickly went to find Logan.

Logan opened his eyes at the knock on his door and rolled his eyes as Patton burst in without waiting to be told.

"I know what's changed!" he panted.

"what is it Patton?" Logan asked, expecting either a pun or a silly comment.

"Thomas is taking some strange medication. He told me it was painkillers for his headaches but that's not what it looked like." Patton was worried and Logan decided it was worth checking out.

"OK fine I'll go see what they are."he said and quietly popped up back in the living room.

Patton popped up in the kitchen and called for Thomas and Roman." let's try and get you to cook yourself something. "he said, immediately getting Romans interest as that was a goal he and Thomas had decided needed to be tackled soon.

While Patton distracted Thomas and Roman, Logan snuck towards the sofa and read the box. It meant very little so he glanced at the leaflet and felt his face go extremely pale.

He sunk back into the mind space and waited for Patton to come back.

Eventually Patton came back and Logan blurted out "he's taking anxiety medication."

Patton frowned in confusion. "what is that? What is it supposed to do?"

"it's supposed to help someone block out their anxiety and if I'm correct then Anxiety will be feeling the full effects of it." Logan was slightly worried now and Patton was getting upset.

"what do we do?" he asked, voice edged with panic.

"we need to check on Anxiety." Logan responded immediately and Patton was already up the hallway before he finished speaking.

"Anxiety? Are you alright in there?" Logan asked, dread creeping through him as he heard no hint of a response.

Patton knocked on the door and then tried to walk in but the door was locked.

"maybe we should get Roman to kick it down?" Patton asked frantically.

Logan frowned and made a quick decision. "we're going to confront Thomas about this."

And that's how they found themselves in the living room arguing over whether Thomas should have taken the medication or not.

"Anxiety suggested it himself." Thomas eventually blurted out and suddenly Patton burst into tears. The others may not have noticed how much the dark trait hated himself but Patton had always noticed. He'd even held him through a panic attack one night when he forgot to lock his door.

The words that spewed out of his mouth about himself and how everyone would be better off without him had made Patton pay special attention and care to him and if Anxiety had asked Thomas to take the pills then it meant he wanted to be hurt or killed and that thought destroyed Patton.

Roman, Thomas and Logan froze at the sight of Patton in such distress. It wasn't until he gasped out "he wants to die." that Roman suddenly put two and two together.

"this is all my fault." he muttered, staring blankly into space as he remembered how he'd convinced Thomas to take them and how he'd told Anxiety to leave Thomas alone and Anxiety had said he'd never see him again.

Suddenly he had an idea "we need to go check in Anxiety!"

Patton was crying too hard to talk but Logan said "we tried his door and it's locked."

Roman nodded in understanding and grabbed Thomas's arm. "we're going into your mind and we're going to try and see if Anxiety is alright."

Thomas shrugged and replied "cool, I guess."

The four of them suddenly appeared outside Anxietys door and Roman kicked it until it came off its hinges but he found a wardrobe and chest of drawers in the way. "he really doesn't want to be disturbed." he muttered and managed to push the wardrobe out of the way so they could get inside.

Once inside they looked around the room and couldn't find any hint of Anxiety.

"where is he?" Patton asked fearfully, clinging to Logans arm as he looked around.

Logan shrugged and glanced at Thomas who looked more interested in Anxietys room than the fact Anxiety was missing and could potentially be seriously injured.

Roman was scanning the room and his eyes locked onto a strange smear on the wardrobe. He crept closer and realised it was a trail of some kind of substance leading into the wardrobe.

"I think I found him." he whispered and the others crowded round as he opened the doors.

Patton immediately gagged and hid his face in Logans back who had paled considerably.

Roman collapsed onto his knees, guilt and horror running through his mind.

The only one who seemed unaffected was Thomas. In fact he glanced in the wardrobe, muttered "gross" and went back to looking at Anxietys stuff.

Anxiety lay slumped against the side of the wardrobe, blood trailing from his mouth to the pool he was sitting in. There was so much and it was slightly congealed so the doors of the wardrobe had been stuck slightly.

Roman eventually managed to convince himself to be brave and he picked up the unconscious trait, becoming aware of how worryingly light he was.

"put him on the bed." instructed Logan, prising Pattons hands off of his clothes.

Roman did as he was told and Logan quick began checking Anxiety over.

"his pulse is faint but it's still there." he muttered as he worked on clearing the blood from Anxietys airways.

Patton had now clung onto Roman for comfort and Thomas had even started to be more attentive to what was going on.

"why is Thomas not worried?" Roman asked, his voice full of annoyance.

"if I'm correct, and I usually am, Anxiety represents more than just anxiety. He also has control of Thomas's fear and shame. This helps prevent him from being reckless and careless in situations that could be hazardous to Thomas's health. In simple terms, Thomas isn't worried because that's what Anxiety makes him do and he's not able to do that right now." Logans voice remained neutral but the slight shake of his hands as he pushed his glasses further up his nose betrayed his nerves.

Roman nodded and looked down at Anxiety, guilt flooding him as he thought back to how many times he'd made a snide comment and how that must have affected him more than he knew.

"he's so good at hiding it." Roman said but Patton shook his head.

"no he's not, you've never really looked at him properly. It's obvious just how much he hates himself and I've held him through an anxiety attack before and the only words he could say were self depreciating. He's been suffering for so long." Patton dissolved into tears again.

Roman and Logan tensed up as they thought over all the conversations they'd had with Anxiety and started to notice the tone of voice he used that they'd ignored at the time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anxiety could hear voices somewhere around him. He couldn't make out who they belonged to because it sounded echoey and distant but he guessed it was probably the other traits.

He strained his ears and overheard someone that might have been Patton saying something about someone suffering for so long.

Anxiety started to remember what had happened and he realised he'd been affected by the medication worse than he thought he would be but he guessed that was probably because of how heightened he was for Thomas.

He couldn't move, he was in a state of paralysis but he didn't care. The fact they'd found him meant they'd stop Thomas taking the medication and he'd have to take matters into his own hands. There was no way he could face them after this.

With this thought he drifted back into complete unconsciousness.

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[spiteweaver]

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“You want me to do what?!”

The servants loitering about the great hall scurried for cover at the sound of their queen’s raised voice. Rosegold only returned her sister’s scowl with a wider, brighter smile and took another sip from her glass.

The Warren may have been a dictatorship, but it was obviously flourishing. Before them lay a feast of immense proportion. Traditional Dragonhome dishes had been laid out in excess, and several casks of wine had been brought up from Eyja’s personal stores. “Nothing special,” she’d claimed, but one of the servants had quietly informed Rosegold that it was, in fact, her best year.

They had eaten their fill in silence, but for the occasional attempt at small-talk.

“How are they?” Eyja had asked.

“Who?”

“...Ma and pa.”

“Mother passed after you left. Father passed last cycle.”

“...I see.”

Then, once the plates had begun to be cleared away, Rosegold had clasped her hands neatly in front of her, leaned forward, and said, “I want you to release your people.”

Now they found themselves at an impasse--Eyja on her feet, palms splayed against the table, teeth clenched in stubborn defiance; Rosegold seated comfortably, smiling sweetly, sipping daintily from her glass.

Watching.

Waiting.

“I will do no such thing,” Eyja said, and spat the final word like poison from her lips.

“Haven’t you played tyrant long enough?” Rosegold asked. Eyja leaned heavier against the table, letting her full size loom over her sister. “I don’t know your reasons,” Rosegold went on, “but I do know you’re hurting innocent people. Those who disobey are beaten and maimed, those who continue to disobey are executed, and anyone who strays too near is dragged here kicking and screaming to be either subjugated or murdered.”

“As it should be,” Eyja said. “I’m above them. I’m better than them. I’m in charge.”

“You aren’t even dirt beneath my heel.”

Rosegold expected violence, for her sister to reach for the wicked dagger at her hip. Instead, Eyja snorted and reclaimed her seat. “I won’t let you goad me,” she said. “We aren’t children anymore, Rosy.”

“Really?” Rosegold said. “You’re still acting like one.”

“This is my land,” Eyja reminded, “and these are my people. Everything you see, I have built. My leadership has led to incredible advances in technology, magic, architecture, agriculture, and the arts. We will never want for food. We will never want for shelter. We will never want for money, or weaponry, or warmth.”

Eyja leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, chin tilted upwards just so. “I do not need your approval,” she said. “I know that what I’ve created here is a masterpiece, a well-oiled machine far more efficient than even those found within the Shifting Expanse. I’ve accomplished something grand.”

“You’ve accomplished nothing,” Rosegold replied. “The people you’ve oppressed for the past three cycles have.”

“Under my leadership.”

“Under pain of death.”

“Gods, you’re so naive!”

“I’d rather be naive than a murderer, Eyja!”

“This is the way the world is now!” Eyja slammed a fist down on the table, making its entire length jump and rattle precariously. “‘Kill or be killed’ isn’t just for Plague dragons anymore! Our world is a cruel one, and you’re too soft to live in it!”

She stood again and turned her back to Rosegold. A long silence descended between them; then, “You can stay as long as you’d like, but if I hear you’ve been meddling, I’ll kill you.”

“You know I’m going to meddle,” Rosegold said, “so you might as well kill me now and get it over with.”

But Eyja did not. Her hand hovered briefly over her dagger, fingers twitching, though out of malice or hesitation, Rosegold couldn’t say. Then she swept from the hall like a thunder storm, all broiling, angry clouds and booming footsteps. A door slammed somewhere in the palace; timidly, its workers began to creep back into the lamplight.

Rosegold remained. Even as her sister’s servants cleared away the remnants of their meal, she remained. She remained, and she sighed, and she wracked her brain for some idea, some tiny, flickering, dying light bulb of a plan.

Finally, when she could bear the echoing emptiness of the dining hall no longer, she gathered her skirts in her hands and left the palace for the crowded, subterranean streets beyond.

Before she had gone very far, a tiny, trembling hand grasped her wrist. She paused, letting her skirts fall again, and turned to face the stranger. He was the shortest, skinniest drake she’d ever laid eyes on, with patchwork skin of cream and sand and a great many golden trinkets dangling from him like spiderwebs. When her gaze fell upon him, he flinched and dropped his own to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I don’t mean to be a--a bother, but--”

“You’re not,” Rosegold assured. “You’re not at all.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “My name is Caesar,” he said.

“Oh.”

Rosegold extended a hand. At first, Caesar looked at it like it was a trick, something to trap him and earn him a frightful punishment. When she thrust it more insistently towards him, however, he took it. “You must be my brother-in-law then,” she said. Caesar winced. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to be my brother-in-law.”

“It’s not that,” Caesar said. “Rather, I wish I could be your brother-in-law under more favorable circumstances.”

“I know my sister has shown you no kindness.”

“Oh, she’s--she’s shown me some.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“I--I don’t suppose so.”

“Still,” Rosegold said, “it’s good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Caesar replied. The tension fled from his shoulders, but only slightly--and a different sort of knot settled between their blades. His eyes scanned their surroundings with the kind of discreet curiosity only a drake with years of practice at hiding his comings and goings could perfect.

Then, in a voice quieter still, he said, “I think I can help you.”

“You?” A bemused smile tugged at the corners of Rosegold’s lips. “Help me? I don’t mean to be rude, but shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“You’re here to emancipate our--Eyjarah’s people,” Caesar said. “I know someone who can help.”

“Oh my,” Rosegold said, “that is awfully convenient.”

“You’ve heard of our Light Representative, I take it?” Caesar asked, and beckoned for Rosegold to follow him. In the dim lighting of the royal cavern, the two slipped away in pursuit of the city outskirts. “He’s from your neck of the woods,” Caesar went on, “or, er, where you’re living now anyway.”

“Yes,” Rosegold said, “I’ve heard quite a lot about him. He’s the son of a highly influential ambassador from a kingdom out near the Beacon. It was big news when he went missing--I believe a priest from his kingdom was captured as well.”

“That’ll be Constantine, yes,” Caesar confirmed. “He’s the reason Sayid came here in the first place. Now he’s wrapped up in this mess too. I think--I think he could escape, if he wanted to, but Eyjarah--she threatened the common folk to force him into submission.”

“That sounds like her,” Rosegold murmured. “Earthshaker beneath, what has become of my sister?”

“She wasn’t always like this?” Caesar asked.

By now, they had come to one of the many paths leading up the cavern walls. From it, they would have access to the Warren’s winding tunnel systems, where the bulk of its workforce resided. Caesar paused, looked back at the glimmering lights of the royal city, and pressed onward and upward.

“She wasn’t,” Rosegold said, “when we were young. Eyja was always temperamental and stubborn, but nothing like this. Truthfully, I had hoped the stories were wrong, that the dread-queen of the Warren was not my dear elder sister. I came here half-expecting to find some other terrible dam upon its throne.”

“I’m sorry,” Caesar said, “this must be difficult for you.”

“It was easier when I believed her to be a mercenary off on grand adventures,” Rosegold confessed, “even when I believed her to be dead. At least in death, her honor would be preserved. I don’t suppose she cares much for honor anymore, though.”

Rosegold shook her head. “Listen to me,” she said, “going on and on about our golden youth. You’ve had it much harder than I have. I should be comforting you.”

“No, no, I...” Caesar halted at the mouth of a long, dark corridor. This far below ground, the air was stuffy, but it seemed even more so here. “I’m used to it,” he said. “I’m used to being an object and nothing more. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. It’s just who and what I am now.”

“I’ll change that,” Rosegold vowed, and placed a kind hand upon his shoulder. His fingers whispered across her knuckles. “We will change that.”

“Sayid’s chambers are just up ahead,” Caesar said. “Come.”

They followed the tunnel for a long way, and, as it grew darker, jogged off to the side and into a small alcove lit dimly by glow mushrooms. Caesar held up a hand. The clink of armored feet echoed in the gloom. Before long, a patrol passed by, their spears glinting menacingly in the low light.

“Owsla,” he whispered once they’d passed, “the wide guard. The next group won’t arrive for a good ten minutes. That’s our window. We have to slip into Sayid’s chambers and out within that time frame. I--I can’t be seen with you.”

“If push comes to shove,” Rosegold said, “hide, run, do whatever you must.”

Caesar didn’t respond, but Rosegold could feel him trembling beside her. As the sound of the wide guard’s clunking footsteps faded and the tunnel fell back into cloying silence, he darted out onto the main path and disappeared into the darkness. Rosegold followed as best she could, keeping to the sound of his ragged breaths.

There was a jingle of keys. “You came at a good time,” Caesar informed. “Sayid used to have a personal guard, a big, hulking brute--but the poor fellow got caught sneaking outskirters out of the warren, and Eyjarah’s been too paranoid to post another. Now the wide guard covers him in their rounds.”

“Caesar?” a voice called quietly. “Caesar, what in Lightweaver’s name are you doing here?”

“I’ve brought someone,” Caesar replied, “a friend. She’s come to--well, suffice it to say, I think she can help you with your plans.”

The lock clicked, and the door it belonged to creaked inward. Vaguely, Rosegold was aware of a prickling feeling along her skin. “Is the door made of untreated iron?” she asked.

“It’s not untreated,” Caesar said, “but it’s, er, less treated than is generally considered preferable.”

Inside, they were met by a flash of light as lanterns around the room sprang to life. The ambassador’s chambers were cruder than most Rosegold had seen in the Warren--but that was to be expected, seeing as he was a prisoner first and an ambassador second. It was furnished with the bare necessities, and, Rosegold noted, lacked windows (which was also uncommon for homes this high up on the mound).

She supposed it was another act of cruelty by her sister to deny a drake so enamored with the light Sornieth’s greatest source of it.

Sayid was waiting for them in the entryway (if it could be called such). Tall and lean, with tanned skin and the golden eyes indicative of his people, he was every bit as proud and noble as Rosegold had imagined. Eyja had not broken him yet, and, she thought, was never likely to.

“You must be Rosegold,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”