#semi-terminal illness (magic)

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 12.0k+

warning | car crash / not edited since the first time i posted this story

note | bye-bye baby, i love you baby. more than that body pillow drabble at least.​

parts | one, two, three

After the doctor bandaged your hands and did some checkup on you to make sure you had sustained no more damage from the fall, you were glad to hear that they would take up the responsibility to call Minho’s parents instead.

You could not find the energy to talk to anyone about anything—perhaps you would give Yuna an earful about what happened, but she was gone by the time you got picked up by others around the scene. Tears kept falling down your face when you were getting treated, and the doctor in charge stopped asking you if she was hurting you anymore. It was obvious that your concern lay on someone else.

How did this happen? You always thought you would be so agile and smart during emergencies. The cold water of truth once again splashed down on you, reminding you that just because you think you’d be cool doesn’t mean you would be when your thoughts turn into reality. This isn’t the law of attraction, you can’t manifest the car away and you sure as well can’t manifest peace.

You sighed, your lashes wet and your under-eye pained from all the rubbing. It had to happen this way, didn’t it? The car crash was, unfortunately, essential in your drama. If it wasn’t the kidnapping, it if wasn’t the psychotic mother, if it wasn’t even the love triangle, then it would be the goddamn car crash. And as usual, it was infuriating and you wished it hadn’t happened.

It wasn’t that you minded the car crash (you would like to not see it as a plot device so often, though). You just hoped it hadn’t been Minho who got hit because he cared enough to save you from it. And now you were left here, sitting in the hospital lobby and being haunted by all the gut-wrenching components of a drama car crash.

Broken hands, broken legs, brain dead, blindness, mute, deaf, paralyzed, coma, a sudden discovery of cancer, a sudden discovery of related bloodlines, a sudden discovery of a terminal illness. You squealed under your breath as you went down the list, approaching the most common trait of them all—amnesia.

Sure, dramas usually have this rule where all you needed to endure was one to two months of hardships where Minho would revert to hating your guts, and then he would either fall in love with you again or you would give him the magical kiss of memory revival and he would suddenly remember your past together.

But those are often so unpredictable! You have watched hundreds of dramas that spin down several different lanes, and all of them have left you heartbroken one way or another. And by now you have learned how much different it would be for you to have to experience such events by yourself! If you could cry so hard because of what those pixelated people are going through, how would you begin to cope with experiencing it yourself?

A sob forced itself up to your throat, your chest sustained the pain of holding it in for too long it felt like you swallowed too many things at once, it felt like you were suffocating. You were afraid. So far, you have skated through every event with a very humorous coping mechanism, one that never does any long-term help. But this was different, this could last forever.

No, this wasn’t supposed to be the forever you experience. You two have just begun, you two were just starting to love each other loudly and happily. You haven’t had enough yet, you wanted more time! The gate to Heaven shouldn’t be allowed to close itself at people’s faces!

“Hello? Excuse me?”

You looked up at the doctor standing in front of you and immediately stood up, wiping your eyes on cue even though you had passed the point of crying and ceasing the chaos in your head. “Yes! How–how is Minho?”

“Good. He only got a few fractured ribs, a bad concussion, and a badly scraped forehead. He didn’t suffer any damage to his internal organs and there are no signs of internal bleeding,” the doctor explained. “He just needs to rest for now, but I estimate that he will wake up sooner than expected. You can wait in his room if you want to.”

You heard everything she said crystal clear. You even went so far as to repeat it in your head. Fractured ribs and concussion, ouchie but at least there wasn’t any internal damage that always sounded so life-threatening. This should be great news, but why did it sound so suspicious to you?

“Really? You are sure, doctor?” you asked, “He didn’t like…lost his eyesight or paralyzed or… I don’t know, cancer? Amnesia?”

“This is a car crash, I don’t think it will cause him cancer,” she replied calmly. If she was annoyed at your stupid questions, she was trained well not to show it on her face. “And no, we did all the scans. There is nothing else, I assure you.”

“But I swear I saw blood back then, what does that mean?”

“He scraped his forehead when he fell. We did sutures on the wound, which is going to leave him a scar but we can try to minimize it as best as we can,” she said.

Huh, bummer. Maybe I should order another car crash.

Yeah, now wasn’t the time. My apologies.

You thanked the doctor quickly then, wanting to do nothing more than to see him. But before you could leave, she held you back and shifted through her pocket for something she intended to give you.

"The paramedic stopped me and told me to give this back to Mr.Lee when you guys went in, but I assume it is yours?” she said as she pulled out a dark blue velvet box and handed it to you.

It was a ring box, with your ring stored securely in it. You felt a rush of tears piling at your eyes again but you held them down and nodded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s still for me.”

“Pretty sure it will. He wouldn’t buy you a ring if he didn’t care enough to jump in front of a car for you.” She shrugged. “His room is right around the corner, you can ask the nurses around.”

You bid her goodbye then, watching her rush away as her pager beeped. Then you returned your attention to the ring. You took it out of the box and slipped it on, admiring the way it still fits perfectly around your finger. You became his and you would always be from now on; wearing the ring is an act of taking a physical vow. Clasping the box shut, you put it in your pocket carefully before heading to where the doctor pointed you.

This was painstakingly familiar, Minho thought as he opened his eyes once again to welcome the flood of nausea and ugly ceiling lights. He hasn’t been in the hospital for a long time but he could tell he was in one from the saturated smell of alcohol and the overall sickly atmosphere. Shutting his eyes immediately after waking up, he groaned hoarsely as he recalled what events led up to this moment and realized he would have to be bedridden once more.

What a shame, you would have to take care of him again—hey, hold on a second! Where were you?

Minho snapped his eyes open, panic overwhelming the revolting weight laid atop of his body and brain. He did push you out of the way, right? He remembered he did, but he couldn’t be sure if you both were lucky enough to not have a second careless driver grace the crossroad. Or what if you bumped your head too hard on the ground and got a bad concussion? Or what if he didn’t push you far away enough for the car not to hit you?

He turned his head over to the door, wanting to call for a nurse and ask them millions of unprepared questions, but he stopped in his tracks abruptly when his gaze shivered downwards and he found you sleeping with your head on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t even registered the feeling of his hand being held by yours, the pulse oximeter and the IV on his left arm had taken away most of his sense of touch.

Calming down, Minho relaxed against the pillows and exhaled in relief. He would much rather have you here and sleeping in an uncomfortable position than laying on a bed with a heart monitor beeping next to your bed. Lowering his head so he could look at you, he softened at the way your cheek was squeezed against your forearm and the fading redness visible under your once tearful eyes. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch you right now, the desire was immeasurable.

His mellow eyes trailed over to your hand, the one laying on the side of his legs, and he frowned slightly at the heavy white gauze wrapped around your lower palm. Getting a scrape when he pushed you away like that is likely inevitable; it got the job done, thankfully, he hoped it didn’t hurt you too much. He was promoted to move his hand when he saw yours, the one you had your own pinned down on the bed softly, and it was then when he felt the roughness of the gauze rubbing against his skin as well.

With a grimace, he looked over to where your hands were stacked on top of each other, and he held his breath when he finally noticed the shining diamond sitting prettily on your finger.

You put the ring back on.

The box must have flown out of his pocket when he got hit. He had been taking it with him everywhere recently just in case the perfect timing to give it back to you turns out to be a place where he couldn’t have access to it immediately. Besides, holding the box in his hand had always reminded him of you, and he liked being reminded of you from time to time throughout the day.

It made him feel less jittery, less annoyed at the general things, and it got him excited to return home at the end of the day.

Minho couldn’t think about anything else at the moment; all that flooded his mind was how much more fulfilling it was to see the ring on your finger rather than in the box, how things should have been this way all along, and what it all meant now that you’ve worn it back.

Forgiveness for his aloofness in the past, a firm acceptance of this marriage, and that he has become someone who can be loved by you.

His shaky eyes were filled with droplets, creating a glassy sight in his already glittery eyes. Feeling you stir on your spot, he slowly moved his head up so he could watch you wake from your slumber. Your grogginess went away as soon as you met eyes with him, and instead of an excited squeal or a surprised gasp, the only thing that glossed over you was an immense relief.

Looking at you, Minho breathed out a quiet laugh, one that even you couldn’t hear. He felt your hand around him still, but your grip more secure now. In an attempt to chase the tears away from your eyes, he joked, “Stop frowning. Your face is gonna get stuck.”

“I’m glad you still remember that,” you laughed, lightly shoving his leg as your voice echoed the room. He gave you a knowing hum as if telling you it would be impossible for him to ever forget the unfunny jokes you liked to tell around the house so much, they were practically engraved in his mind.

Sitting up straighter now, your entire demeanor became gentler. Your senses less alert, your mouth quirked into a permanent smirk, and your fluffy gaze paying a constant focus on Minho. 

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” you asked slowly, propping yourself up on your intertwined hands and smiling brightly up at him.

“No,” he replied.

“Who am I?”

“You are [Name]. You have bad humor, you forced pizza down my throat once, and you made me like soap opera,” he said, finding his voice back as more words gradually left his lips. And then he paused for a moment, a dramatic moment where he eyed you lovingly, watching as your brows raised in anticipation. “And I think I might be your husband.”

A joyous sob came in the form of giggle and Minho whined at the strands of tears that danced down your cheeks. He reached out to you, wanting to wipe your tears away for you, but you stopped him and told him not to move. Instead, you got up from the chair and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so you two could be closer at face level.

You slipped your arm under this head and the other reached to cup his jaw. You kissed his forehead, once and twice, then you pulled away just enough for you to look at him fully. Ah, you were so filled to the brim with affection for him; it was so new to you but so real the same time that you were not afraid of diving headfirst into it.

“I think you are my husband,” you whispered with a small nod.

He smiled. “Thank you for having me again.”

You gave him a smile before leaning down to kiss him again. This time you didn’t stop at his forehead. Your soft lips trailed down his eyes, his nose, his cupid’s bow, and before you could kiss him on the lips as you had always wished, you pulled away with a puff of nervous breath. You stared into his eyes, feeling the same longing in the way his hand found your wrist and he held onto you.

What are you waiting for? For permission? For him to get better? Go on, kiss him.

You two will be fine, you won’t hurt each other.

Pressing your lips against his tentatively, you felt a rush of adrenaline racing around your lungs. It made you feel hypersensitive, like a supernatural who could hear and see and feel beyond the human spectrum—the forced nudge of your noses, the beating in your ears, the softness of his lips, your quickened breathes, his soft locks flowing between your fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening to keep you with him.

It was all so overwhelming, the intimacy and the desperation. The emotions came in tiny waves, similar to the way the ocean feels when you stepped your feet on the shore. It drowns you out, it lets you breathe, it drowns you out again. You kiss, you breathe, and you kiss him again. No matter how many times the cycle continues, no matter how many times the seawater brushes past your skin, you get surprised by it and you keep yearning for more.

Your heart was hanging by a thread, any minute now it would leave your chest and land itself straight into Minho’s palms.

Hesitantly pulling away, you kept your mouths close enough for him to still feel you against his lips. He leaned in a little, breathing out a whine that made you realize your heart was already in his hands long ago. Swallowing down a breath, you whispered, “Do you remember, that I love you?”

He nodded, his lashes fluttering as he glanced down at your lips again and back up at your eyes, “I will now.”

Minho’s heart was yours too, long ago, and you’ve learned that.

You jolted awake in the middle of the night. Heavy breaths left your lips as you sat up against the arm of the couch. Your heart was beating quickly like you had just run a mile around the track field.

It was nothing like the way you used to be yanked out of sleep. It wasn’t like your head hitting against your desk in a boring lecture, or when you brutally died in a bad dream. This one was different. You were not falling asleep and you weren’t dreaming. It was different in a way that all you saw during your ‘consciousness’ was blackness, paired with a familiar voice you never thought you would hear again.

“Mom?” you whispered as you quickly scanned your surroundings, looking for the sight of your mother.

But you were still in the hospital room. You were sitting on the couch located at the corner of the room, with your phone and leftover takeaway food resting on top of the small table before you. The moon has gone up and the sky has turned darker than night, you glanced over and found Minho sleeping on the bed as he should.

You were back in where you were supposed to be, but your mother’s voice felt genuinely real during your supposed dream. Sitting up straighter and putting your feet down on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair to force yourself into concentration. Why did you jolt awake at your mother’s voice? There should be no reason for you to find her a threat unless you felt like you were being pulled out of this world.

Like you were falling, like you were falling out of this place, like you were leaving this world and back to reality.

“Oh god,” you gasped as you snapped your head up, your eyes wide.

Great, you were finally piecing the puzzle together, [Name]. I’m glad. 

You have exhausted your one near-death experience when you almost got hit by a car yesterday. If Minho hadn’t pushed you to the side and you got hit then things would have been different; you’d be hit by the car, got sent to a hospital to get fixed, and nothing would have happened. Alas, Minho did push you out of the way, and now you have reached the limit, which was only one. If you remember clearly, the way you arrived to this world was by waking, so when you return home, you would find yourself waking up as well. 

Except this time, you would be alone, and Minho never existed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated under your breath, biting your nails in an attempt to ease out the spiraling anxiety permanent in your head. It was all hitting you too quickly—the near-death theory, the memories you have of your real life, or the lack thereof, feeling like you were being pulled out of your own body, going back to reality, leaving Minho here.

I reckon this would be better for you, actually. The anxiety keeps you awake, and the pacing around keeps you active and forces your eyes open. It would be sooner or later, though, when you find yourself dozing off due to the inability to stay awake any longer. That’s when things get bad for you because as soon as you fall asleep, you will wake up in a whole different place. A familiar place, but different, nonetheless. 

Oh, but how could this be? You have just worn the ring, you two have just kissed for the first time. You couldn’t fathom the idea of being separated from Minho and you didn’t want to leave him yet! You never want to leave him ever! There was still so much for you two to do! You needed more time. You both needed more time!

“[Name]?”

“Huh–oh, hey, Minho.” You moved over to him with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

He could see the panic in your eyes and he frowned. “Are you okay? You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep–”

“Oh, I–” Your bottom lips quivered.

How long would you be able to hide it before he finds out? How long could you stay awake and act normal for? How would you be able to explain why you always look so exhausted? Minho should know the truth, he deserved to know that you have been hiding something important from him the whole time. Besides, it would be such a shame if you leave him unprepared for your departure. He’s the one who has to remember, after all. 

“I’m not leaving!”

Oh, yell at me, why don’t you?

“Hey,” Minho grabbed a hold of your hand, his brows furrowed up at you, “what is going on?”

You stayed still to pull yourself together for a few seconds, breathing slowly, and then you looked back at him. “I have something to tell you.”

He could sense the solemnity in your voice and it terrified him. You had shown him a large range of your emotions before, from playful to angry to loving, but he has never seen you look so helpless. Tugging at your hand, he kissed your knuckles softly and nodded. “What is it?”

And you told him everything, struggling to make your story coherent despite only having the absolute truth escaping your lips. You told him from the very moment when you found yourself waking up next to him, and then when you were still figuring out what to do with ‘your’ past broken relationship, to adapting quickly and blending into this world. Everything up until this point, when you were so close to forgetting where you came from only to have reality force itself back into your head again.

It was taking Minho a long time to comprehend all the information thrown at him. When it seemed like he was finally done, he moved his eyes over to you and he tilted his head with a sigh. “That is a very deliberate joke.”

Right, you should have anticipated a reaction like that. It would be too easy if he brought it immediately. You pulled a face. “It’s not a joke, Minho.”

“Oh, so you are trying to tell me you aren’t from this universe and you aren’t even who you are before you came here?” he said, confusion evident on his tired face and his voice rising as he went on. “You are basically suggesting parallel universes exist?”

“No–I mean, yeah? It could be true?” You shrugged, and then you shook your head. “The point is–I can feel myself leaving this place and I am pretty sure as soon as I fall asleep, my time will be up. I just felt like I should tell you because you deserve to know.”

Despite how serious you sounded throughout your entire explanation, he just couldn’t bring himself to take you seriously. It was too absurd, the whole concept of waking up in another place. Sure, you did suddenly change overnight and you did feel much different than you did before, and there had been certain very subtle hints that could back your point up, but it was not enough for Minho to believe in what you just told him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name]. You’ve been really tired,” he said again, trying to persuade you into going back to bed.

Disappointment flashed before your eyes. Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you looked away, unsure what else you could do to convince him. The only thing you were sure about was that you absolutely could not fall asleep, no matter how tired you were. You planned to hang on for as long as you could, and hopefully, Minho would come around and believe you by then.

“I am just gonna go take a walk and come back,” you said, smiling faintly. “You should go back to sleep though.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You can sleep with me on the bed if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I can’t,“ you said. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, you moved away from the bed slowly. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

You closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkroom. Minho pouted, he was thinking too much to be able to just fall asleep now. The fact that he couldn’t just sleep sort of gave him a sense that he was leaning towards believing it and he was just in the stage of denial. If he really thought it was a joke then he should have no problem brushing it off, right?

He leaned back against the pillow, his fingers grasping at the air and his head filled.

Would you really leave? Just like that? More importantly, would he be able to tell if you left?

"Did you sleep?”

“They did not,” Changbin replied casually as he slammed a plastic bag on top of the table. Leaning down and proceeding to take out the takeaway food, he handed you a small box of food and looked up at Minho again. “They were up the whole night.”

“Did you seriously stay up the whole night?” Minho asked, brows furrowed at the unexpected visit by Changbin. He wanted to ask why he decided to tag along with you, but he figured it was much more important to know what happened with you last night.

“I did,” you sighed, shoving the chicken into your mouth and moaning at its delicious taste.

After realizing it would be almost impossible for you to stay awake on your own, which was such bullshit because you swore you used to have the ability to pull all-nighters like it was nothing, you ended up calling your last resort—Seo Changbin. Feeling bad that you had to wake him up in the middle of the night, you gave him the same explanation you gave Minho, and like your husband, he was extremely reluctant to accept it.

But you weren’t sleeping at all. And while Changbin had the suspicion that you were just taking this 'joke’ a little too far, he decided to humor you for the night and stayed up with you. And you spent the night over at his home, doing anything and everything to keep yourselves from falling asleep.

“Didn’t they tell you about the story?” Changbin asked, popping open a can of soda and looking at Minho as he drank. “I still don’t believe it but they were so hell-bent on not sleeping, I might just let them have it.”

“What–Changbin, I thought you believed me!” you whined, punching his behind and shoving him to the side.

“If I come over and tell you I’m not actually me and I came from another dimension, would you have believed me?” Changbin retorted, rubbing the spilled drink off his chin.

“I don’t have to because first of all, I met you for the first time at the shopping mall and I know nothing about you,” you pointed out. “Second of all, I am going through it right now. I am telling you, if I fall asleep, you will never see me again.”

“You don’t have proof that you aren’t you, [Name],” Minho chimed in, sighing in defeat as he slumped back against the bed.

Changbin pointed at you with wide eyes then, nodding in agreement. Sitting up from the couch, you turned your head to find Minho grimacing at you, and you heave a sigh. Proof. Where the hell would you find the proof to explain that you are who you are? Identity isn’t a tangible thing, no amount of paperwork can shape it for you.

“Look, I am telling the truth, alright? Or at least I am saying what I know,” you said as you grabbed a box and headed over to the bed. You handed the food to Minho, who refrained from throwing a mini tantrum the way he did before due to Changbin’s presence. Sitting down on the chair you had also pulled over, you sighed. “Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t want to take the risk and sleep.”

You looked at Minho, your brows raising slowly to display a vulnerably honest expression. No malice was hidden behind your eyes, your gaze only directed at him. “I don’t want to leave you, Minho.”

His munching halted. He could feel a hint of unease at the bottom of his stomach, possibly due to what you said and the soft way you said it. As if you were afraid, cautious. Lowering his hand, he inhaled, kind of wishing his inner voice would kick him in the head and give him a little nudge to the right path.

But really, what more was there left to say, Minho? [Name] has said all they could.

“You are not going leave me,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “Not consciously, no.”

Minho pursed his lips. Think carefully; for him to convince himself of what you said, he has to nitpick the past and the present, like separating different colored peas with chopsticks.

Starting from the day you met him, you said you have no idea what his name is and you woke up in his bed even though he had this terrible rule of not sleeping together. That was one. Then you forgot about the marriage; you were surprised by the ring on your hand so much that you even asked him for the price. That was two. You went into his closet, even when you were banned from touching certain things that were his. That was three. These were all rules to be broken, but the old you never had the guts to do that. It didn’t make sense for the courage to suddenly appear.

Asking for a divorce and acting like you didn’t know it was arranged, forgetting that your parents were dead, completely unbothered by Yuna’s presence, suddenly knowing how to cook up a whole meal, eating lots of greasy food, profoundly cursing, being playful enough to give him nicknames and make bad jokes.

Aside from that, he could physically tell, now that he thought about it with a clearer head. You were less timid and much louder. Sure, you have your moments of tenderness, but overall you felt much more energized and much happier than before. It was a difference in your presence—you didn’t use to light up the room when you walk into one, but now all Minho could see was you whenever you come into his line of sight. And that was before he fell so in love with you.

The pieces were adding up to an unbelievable story. 

Minho looked up at Changbin, his gaze hardened. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

You widened your eyes at his troubled look, then you turned around and urged your best friend away as well, promising to find him later when your private talk ends. Changbin rolled his eyes and unwillingly left, and then it was finally just you and him.

Minho started without waiting. “Let me recap everything. You came here not knowing who I am or what this place is?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “does this mean you believe me now?”

“Wait–why didn’t you tell me before then?” he asked.

“I thought I would leave soon and return to where I came from. I didn’t expect to stay so long,” you said. “Also, drama taught me it is better to keep my identity hidden.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “So, you suspect that the way for you to go back is through a near-death experience?”

“And falling asleep later,” you hummed. “This one I learned out of instinct, but I’m sure it’s happened before on some show.”

Minho scoffed, “You can’t trust dramas all the time. They’re made up.”

“Yeah, but this feels too much like one for me to ignore it! I mean, look at this!” You pointed at him, smiling bitterly. “Look at you! I would have never been able to snatch a guy like you if I was back in my world. I was a huge loner. All I did was work and have fleeting crushes.”

He watched as you lowered your arm, your smile dimming significantly. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you love me or who used to be me.” You shrugged, not looking at him. “I am a new person to you now, right?”

Minho licked his lower lip. That problem has never crossed his mind before since it was so obvious that he loved you. His affection was never there, it wasn’t affection for you before. But then he started developing feelings of his own for you, steaming from a threatening turn where he might lose the care and obedience he was used to receiving. He just used to like being loved by 'you’, now he liked loving you; he liked the mutual feelings you two shared.

If all were true, then there was a whole world behind you he’s never known. You previous life, your friends, your fleeting crushes.

“Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

You stood up from the chair and carefully climbed onto the spot next to him. You back hit against the side rail, preventing you from falling off, while Minho pushed his hand against your waist to keep you close to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a sigh leaving your lips quietly.

“You know, I thought you were funny, back when you first came here,” he said. “A little infuriating, yes, but amusing nonetheless.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you commented, giggling when he cleared his throat and nudged the top of your head with his jaw.

“You could have totally snatched me up even if we are not in this setting,” he said. “You aren’t like other people. You treat me differently.”

Ah, and the iconic line finally decided to make its appearance. I was hoping it’d at least happen once for you to hear it because you would only be able to hear it from Minho’s mouth.

“What do you mean different? I treat you the same way everyone treats you!” you said, suppressing a chuckle. You weren’t sure if that line had boosted your ego but it sure did make you feel quite special, as cliché as it was, but honestly? As a society, we should all establish that clichés don’t matter.

“No, you were so casual and honest. I think you are the only person who has given me nicknames aside from my old friends back in high school.” He nodded with a shaky laugh. He patted your waist in a beckoning motion, seeming excited. “And you’re even more different than others now because you are the only person I love, in that special kind of way.”

“What are you, five? Special kind of way–that’s lame!” you exclaimed, laughter escaping in between. When you quieted down, you pressed yourself closer to him and looked up.

He only glanced down when he felt your lips at the side of his jaw. And he kissed you then, leaning his head down eagerly to capture your lips. You were careful with moving around, your hand going up to stop at the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly as your mouths danced with each other sensually.

This could never be enough. Minho wanted more than this, he thought as he tugged you closer to him, feeling your chest against his side. This could never be enough. He wanted to do more than kissing you in a hospital bed. He wanted to kiss you under the moon, to kiss you at home, to kiss you during a spontaneous snack run at midnight. He wanted to eat junk food and get emotional about fictional characters with you; he wanted to see you read books while he worked on the side.

Minho wants you with him, always.

You pulled away, gasping a little at how teary his eyes had suddenly become. You didn’t need to ask why. You could already tell. “Do you believe me now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.” Minho let out a shaky breath. “If I do then I will have to accept the fact that you might leave me soon.”

A sobbing noise spiked from the back of your throat as you reached up to peck his lips. “I will try my best to stay awake for as long as I can, Minho.”

He nodded, even though the fact alone broke him, the fact that you two have to settle for 'as long as you can.’

You jolted awake again, this time in Minho’s workroom with a new book held loose in your hands.

You kept the lights on for the sake of having an awake atmosphere even though you knew very well that would do nothing to help your exhaustion. Looking up from the couch, you found it hard to just squint at the clock hanging above your head, but you saw that it was long past midnight already.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch as you kicked your legs in frustration. You were officially three days in, all three days you went without a lick of sleep. And you put in lots and lots of effort to accomplish that, such as eating, doing yoga, shopping, scrolling the internet, and indulging yourself in many new shows filled with more than seven seasons of emotions.

It was painful. Your body felt heavy and your eye bags were probably getting bigger as you went on. Your mind was slow, you zone out too much and you kept dozing off. The only thing keeping you from falling into slumber was the sickening feeling of you astral projecting out of this place.

You didn’t want to cry though. Not only would it make you feel even more exhausted, but it would also make you feel weak, and you didn’t want to feel pathetic that way if you were doing this so you could stay with the love of your life.

Huffing out a groan, you got off the couch and left the room. You were much more familiar with the house by now, you could practically walk anywhere with your eyes closed as long as you knew where you started. You walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly before a pair of doors.

Minho’s closet was as you remembered it was. Black and white, very minimalistic, with clothing racks lining up against the wall. One thing has changed, though, he has opened up a space for clothes you got him from time to time. The ones you thought he would look good in and he occasionally wears around in the house when he didn’t need to be in formal attire.

You flipped through the clothes, remembering where each one of them came from with a smile. It was quite funny as well, to see how the clothes gradually grew to be more accurate in his size with the more you brought.

Pulling a sweater off the rack, you admired the soft material by kneading it between your fingers, then you hugged it close to your chest. You brought the fabric close to your face, inhaling the warm scent you’ve gotten used to smelling on your own clothes as well.

You never tried to look into what detergent the housekeeper used to wash your clothes, but you always thought it had an artificial smell of some type of flower you have never smelt the actual scent of before. It stopped mattering now that you have gotten so accustomed to the smell. It just has the scent of a home, and home is Minho for you.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled out to control your quickened breathing. A sob threatened to break out but you muffled it with his sweater, clinging onto it like it was your life-line.

It has been so difficult for you. Staying awake beyond your limit and trying to smile with everyone else; you couldn’t even tell Minho how you felt when he asked if you were okay because a part of you dreaded that he’d let you go. You felt alone, worrying and fearing for the day you would leave this place.

Standing in his closet and having his scent so close to you pushed you past the breaking point. All you knew was that you wanted to stay with Minho, and knowing how sleep would be inevitable made you cry.

The past three days have only been about that. You couldn’t afford to think about anything else.

You stood there alone and sobbed for as long as your body allowed. When you were done, you dropped the sweater on the rack and took off your own just so you would wear it.

It felt warm, big and warm, just like Minho.

You felt another sob bubbling up.

Minho could tell you have been crying when you arrived to visit him for the night.

It has become increasingly difficult for him not to notice how worn out you were, not to mention having to neglect it and pretend as if nothing was happening. Although you were the one who was so determined to keep yourself in this place, and of course, he too wanted you to stay here, he couldn’t help the gruesome guilt that rips through his veins whenever he sees that defeated state of yours.

You were dozing off on the couch again. He could somehow feel it whenever you’ve got your eyes closed, it was like a tingly sense that shoots down his spine. Even then, he always looks over to check if you are, and you were this time, your chin squished against the base of your palm with your elbow propped up against the armrest of the couch. You were dozing and waking, an indefinite cycle that would only stop until you reach the point of insanity, he supposed.

When this first happened, when he first saw you with your eyes closed and unresponsive, he used to have this knot in his stomach that would tighten harshly in a way that makes him hallucinate pain. The fear used to make him want to throw up, it used to make his face go red and his fist curl until the nails dig deep into his skin. It feigns an anxiety attack for him, and God knows how to properly handle those.

“[Name]!” he repeatedly called for you, feeling the knot inside of him release its chokehold slowly the longer he has to call for you. But you woke up eventually, your body falling to the side and the sudden impact yanking you out to sleepiness.

You looked around and heaved a sigh, whether it was a relieved one was uncertain to everyone, including you. Turning over to look at Minho, you tilted your head and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your posture was terrible, like usual but much worse now that your shoulders were hunched all over and your neck cranked in longing to take a decent break. Your body was fidgety, a habit you picked up to keep yourself active in movement so you wouldn’t fall asleep. The dark circles under your eyes were starting to get more visible than the smile Minho had always paid more attention, and there was no light in your eyes, just a pit of shadowy doom.

Maybe you were trying your best, but you couldn’t look at him like you love him anymore; your eyes physically could not manifest the affection you felt.

This was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t, you certainly would never blame him for this, but Minho still felt like he was the one putting you through all of this. And he hated seeing you so out of place because you haven’t slept in days, and for what? To get a few more days with him? Honest to God, your mind was barely with him these days anyway.

Minho pursed his lips into a thin line, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. And he shook his head. “You should go to sleep. This is killing you.”

You were quick to turn down his suggestion. “No.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “I don’t want to go.”

“Well, you are going to have to go either way so why not make that earlier?” he asked, raising his voice, causing your defenses to build up quickly.

You stood up from your seat, your eyes wide in a glare for the first time in days. “What is your problem, Minho? Do you want me to leave so bad?”

“I don’t–“ he breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes to keep his temper low now that yours have been shorter than usual. “I don’t want you to leave. If I get to choose, I will always choose to have you stay here with me, but look at yourself!”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re tired, you are so tired. You have been crying, you eat slow, your temper is short, you barely react to anything anybody says. Even the nurse who came in to check up on me this afternoon asked if you are okay because you don’t look okay!” he exclaimed. Then, sucking in a breath as if gargling his words, he exhaled through a soft huff before he whispered, “I love you, [Name], so much. But not like this. Not when you are so miserable because of me.”

If his existence is causing you pain then he’d rather not have it. As selfish as he wanted to be, he would choose to let you go.

Your arms dropped to your side and you rolled your eyes up. You have told him the same thing before. God, you felt like one of those female leads who cry every single episode, it was so enraging. Everything you have sought to not become, you’ve become it.

Minho moved to the side on his bed, leaving you a spot, and he called out, “Come here.”

You looked back down at him, your sight blurred at the thought of what he meant to do. You were going to walk over, he would wrap you in his arms, and you would fall asleep to his warmth. He would still be here but you would be somewhere else. It would be quick, it would happen before you even know it.

“Come here, please?” he asked again, softly. “Let me hold you.”

You rubbed your eyes and moved over slowly. He helped you as you climbed onto the bed, snuggling up next to his side with your head laid on his shoulder and his arms securely around your torso. He squeezed your arm and breathed out a joking giggle, mentioning something about you getting chubbier and earning a hit on the chest in return.

His fingers shifted through your hair when you looked up at him, and he smiled down at you like nothing was going wrong. Eyeing his lips once, you didn’t hesitate to reach up for a long, loving kiss, one where your tears were mixed with the taste of his mouth.

When you pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “This is actually pretty funny. I am the one who got injured but here we are, crying over you leaving instead.”

You laughed silently, bringing him closer to you. Minho has steady breathing but his heart beat quickly. It rattled against your ears, reminding you that he was as nervous as you were about losing each other. Your senses were shutting down slowly, ready to go into rest when you finally gain the sleep your body has been screaming at you to get.

“I’m sleepy, Minho,” you muttered, adjusting your head.

“I know. You can sleep, it’s okay,” Minho hummed. “You can go. I’m gonna be fine.”

You licked your lower lip, the dryness giving you a sticky sensation. “Love them as much as you love me, alright?”

He couldn’t do that. But he wouldn’t tell you, he wanted you to go without any troubles lingering in your head. He wanted you to leave happily, or as happy as you could be.

Kissing your forehead, he felt your breathing ease up. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he asked, “Will you remember that I love you?”

You didn’t answer.

Minho stirred uncomfortably in the single hospital bed. As his sense slowly returned to him, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you from falling off. It was nighttime outside, and he supposed a nurse dropped by and turned the lights off when he saw you both sleeping. He could barely remember what happened before he was knocked out.

You shifted slightly by him, head nuzzling against his chest before looking up to find the owner of the body you were cuddling.

“[Name]?” Minho called.

The person jolted from their place. Feet landing coldly on the floor, they fixed their hair and took a wide step away from the bed. “Minho! I’m sorry!” 

His heart dropped. There was his answer: he could tell.

Same face. Same body. Same voice. 

Not you.

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned at the pain oozing at your side. What the hell happened? You could see that you were back in your room, which was weird because the last time you checked, you were on your way to work. You remembered waking up late and rushing out of your apartment, and then everything simply went blank from there.

“Oh, you’re awake! I thought you died or something!”

You sat up on your bed and furrowed your brows at your brown-haired friend. Rubbing your eyes, you yawned and scanned your room, taking in its unfamiliarity with intense suspicion before you turned back to your smiley friend and asked, “Did you move my shit?”

“I just got here like five minutes ago after your mom called me,” he deadpanned. “I was cooking you chicken porridge! She said you blacked out and slept for three days straight, you sleepyhead!”

“Three days–Chan what?” You got off your bed and headed over to your desk where your phone was. You weren’t sure why you needed to check the time, it held no significance to how you were in deep trouble with your boss for ditching work for three days. “Why did no one wake me?”

He handed you a glass of water first, seeing how frantic you appeared right after waking up in the middle of the day. You received it—snatched it—and quickly gulped down the liquid, feeling a sense of relief rush through you when the water hit your throat.

“We tried but you were knocked out cold.” He shrugged. “If you are worried about work, don’t. I talked to our manager for you already. I even exaggerated the part where you almost got in a car crash and died so you needed time to recover from it.”

The water spilled from the glass when you choked in shock. Your brows furrowed harshly as you pulled the glass away, causing more water to flow out of the cup, and you yelled at Chan, “What? I almost got in a car crash?”

He gave you a slow laugh, more concerned than annoyed that you’ve made a mess and yelled at him in the past five seconds. “You almost got hit by a car the other day when you left for work. You were looking at your phone and not paying attention. I had to pull you away from the road! Did you forget all of that?”

You placed the glass of water down on your desk, rubbing your mouth with your forearm harshly. As you brought your hand closer to your mouth, a painful scratch eliciting a yelp from you. Moving your hand away from your face, your eyes trailed up your arm and they widened when you saw the diamond ring located on your fourth finger. You cursed out loud, gaining Chan’s attention, and when his eyes moved towards what you were looking, he too mirrored your confused look.

“What is this!” you asked, looking at him.

“What is what–woah! Did you drunk buy this?” he asked, moving closer to examine the ring on your hand. “You need to return it. You’re crazy. You can’t afford this!”

“I know I can’t afford this,” you exclaimed, glaring at him in defeat. “But I swear I don’t remember ever buying this! Did you see me wearing this when I almost got hit by a car?”

Chan paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t really noticed back then, he was too busy trying to keep your phone-obsessed ass from dying. But if you didn’t have it back then, there should be no way for you to have it now. You have been bedridden, you could not have possibly gotten drunk within the last couple of days, and you would never buy a ring like that when you were sober.

“Did you steal it from someone?” he suggested, feeling the wrath of your impatience as he stepped away from you in precaution. “Oh but you couldn’t–“ 

“No! I don’t know where this ring came from, Chan,” you exclaimed, showing him your hands and grimacing at how perfectly it fit around your finger. “Also, can’t you humor the idea that maybe someone proposed to me?”

“Someone with the money to buy that ring? Uh, no,” he said honestly, putting his hands on his hips in a comical way.

Brushing him off, you slumped back onto your bed with your arm covering your eye. “Whatever. I’ll find out where I got it from somehow.”

“Or you can sell it,” Chan suggested.

You chuckled at the thought. Imagine the amount of money you could get from selling that ring. You did not know about diamonds but you could tell when one looks expensive. Bringing your hand up above your face, you shifted your hand to observe the ring more carefully. A weird sense of comfort rushed through you, making you relax further into your mattress. Coming after the comfort was a very bad sense of nostalgia, one that makes your heart ache for something you couldn’t remember.

“Actually, maybe I’ll keep it,” you muttered, eyes hazy the more you stared at the ring. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay.” Chan shrugged at the side. Moving over to your desk, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Are you gonna be okay? I need to go back to work. Lunch is over for me already.”

“Thank you,” you hummed from the bed, nodding. “I’ll come back to work as soon as I can.” 

“Before you get fired, at least.” He eyed you carefully. You laid motionless on your bed, completely out of it. He nudged your feet with his own to catch your attention. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I am fine, Chan.” You rolled your eyes. “Stop nagging.”

He scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright?”

The nostalgia hit like a rush this time and you held down a flinch. For some reason, Chan didn’t sound so much like him when he said that, but you couldn’t tell whose voice that was. When you turned your head to look at him, your gaze shifted in rapid sequences, like frames changing on a television screen. Chan’s silhouette shifted in blurry motion into a man of slightly smaller but more visibly muscular stature. You felt your body jolt in recognition. 

Recognition? Pause. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Let me rewind it. 

Chan scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay.”

You sniffed away a potential sneeze, hearing Chan’s giggle from your ridiculous expression. Throwing your head back against your bed, you waved your hand at him. “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

You hummed loudly in response, not bothering to look up at him. When you heard the front door lock, you groaned out a frustrated sigh and turned to your side. It has been a weird couple of minutes; you almost got in a car crash but you forgot, you slept for three days and you had no idea, you got a diamond ring on your hand which you have no recollection of ever getting. 

You brought your hand up and frowned. The ring was heavy on your hand and it would most likely disrupt your sleep. But there was something else—the nostalgia that was lapping at your chest one wave after another. A feeling beyond your imagination, resting against your heart carefully yet it rattles you like nothing ever has.

“Where did you come from?” you whispered to the diamond ring sitting perfectly on your finger. 

You decided not to take it off.

Never in a million years did Minho think he’d end up relying on Changbin, but he has no other option due to knowing a shared secret. 

“How are you feeling?” Changbin asked after he plopped down on the study room couch. 

Scatters of paperwork piled on the table were deliberately placed messily to distract Minho from his worries. If his eyes were occupied, his mind may be too. Turning the chair, he eyed Changbin nonchalantly by the desk. “My spouse left me.”

“Not good. Noted!” Changbin exclaimed with a single clap of his hands. He ended up awkwardly rubbing them as they laid themselves on his thighs. 

Silence emerged, much like every other time they’ve hung out together. If he could call it anything different, Changbin would consider these moments more mandatory emotional check-ups than hanging out with good friends. Not only was Minho not a good friend, not even with such a golden opportunity, but Minho was never in the mood for anything anymore. In some ways, he has reverted to his grumpy personality, only this time he knew how to be nice about it. He learned it from you. 

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” 

Changbin looked up from his fiddling thumbs. Minho’s thousand-yard stare burnt holes through the ceiling, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the particular question he voiced. He’s done his fair share of deep-diving about parallel universes and whatnot. Understanding the theories was one thing; accepting that it has been carried out was another.

It still felt impossible. Changbin was holding onto the fact that you have never jumped anywhere, and it was a figment of your imagination that you somehow could portray excellently. 

A character change only takes a good performer or someone fully convinced they’re somebody else. 

The light glimmered as if to add glamour to the rigid atmosphere. Changbin let his neck rest on the back of the couch, and he shrugged. “If they do, you’ll be the first person they look for.”

Light returned to Minho’s eyes. He dreamt about that day. He wondered how it would go. Perhaps seamlessly as the day you first arrived. There won’t be chances of him missing your presence; not only would you make yourself seen, but he was more than sure he would know. A radar within himself would begin blaring sirens—he would just know if you were around again. And it would be a typical day. You would be at home, and he would return home. You would have dinner, you would go to bed together. 

It would finally be a normal day when you come back. 

For now, the glimmer in his eyes fades.

Weeks have passed with the same weight on your shoulders. You have come around to learn how to ignore it. You have learned to distract yourself from it. You work, hang out with people, and entertain yourself with the media. But even then, the grave mistake you made to not take that promise ring off your finger kept reminding you of the shaking sentiment that often shines at the end of the day.

You have looked through different online shops to find out where you could have gotten the ring from. It was a long stretch. You knew it would take ages to find the actual shop, but the promise of long-term confusion somehow assured you that you would have an excuse to keep it with you longer.

It has been weeks, though, and your hope was thinning. You could not find any matches, even after you personally headed over to the shops and asked the staff to take a closer look. You even went so far as to search for the lesser-known brands that would still make rings with diamonds as sparkly and extravagant as the one you got. Nothing, it was like the ring was custom-made, and that made you feel worse about having it.

It must have been really important to the owner, you reckon. It should not be in your hands.

“I feel bad for keeping it,” you spoke to the phone, where Chan sighed on the other side, most likely from irritation. The ring was all you talked about these weeks, aside from occasional work problems and drunken confessions you weren’t afraid to make to him.

“Then sell it.”

“But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Then what do you want to do? I keep giving you suggestions, and you keep shooting me down,” he complained with a helpless whine.

“I want you to tell me what to do!” you exclaimed.

“I say sell it,” he said.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

“I’m hanging up. I can’t take this abuse anymore,” Chan threatened with a yell of frustration. You could imagine him leaning against his chair and pushing it away from his desk, his eyes squinted into moon-shaped smiles, and his nose scrunched up in defeat.

“It’s just… this stupid ring is giving me weird vibes!” You stopped before the road and glanced down at the ring. “I feel sad but also happy when I look at it! Like some sort of deja vu!”

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while,” he said. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

You frowned. Chan was no help at all. From your peripheral vision, you could see that people had started to cross the street, so you followed suit quickly, intending to not block the road and be yelled at by some caffeine-deprived stranger who hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep yet.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears.

A stranger reached their hand out to grab a fistful of your shirt so they could yank you back to safety. The pull was strong and panicky, like back when you were younger, how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. Your gaze wobbled when your head hit a slight whiplash at the force, the sky welcoming your view. Tears unnaturally welled in your eyes as your hands waited for the impact of the ground. 

“No,” you whispered, the blur of a car crash disappearing from your memories. “Minho–“

I will be scratching that off. Let me rewind. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before the sight of incoming cars made you freeze. 

A stranger reached their hand out to—

Uh, I'm also scratching that off. This is wrong. Nothing happens to you.

How did you manage to get yourself stuck in a near-death situation twice in a row? What is this? Is it some kind of manifestation theory? It's made up.

Let me rewind.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You jumped out of the way with a scream, missing the car by a few inches. It scraped past you, causing your body to fall back. Instead of catching yourself in the slow fall, you let your body flail about in the air as more cars slowly closed the distance between themselves and you. Pedestrians standing on the road couldn’t do anything out of sheer intimidation, born from the cars speeding toward you. You looked toward where the honking came from.

Alright, clearly, you are unknowingly in a disagreement with me. I have seen this in prior experiments. Something that involves the biological lack of freedom when your body moves toward what you truly desire? I have seen that before.

You will not hinder this experiment because of it. I am rewinding further.

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while. Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is,” Chan said. “Look, you’ve been thinking about this too much. How about we go get a drink tonight? 

“I don’t know, Chan,” you muttered with a sigh. “I’ve been feeling really depressed lately.”

“I’m surprised you don’t think I can tell,” he said. “How about this–I’ll buy some drinks, and we’ll hang out at yours. Beats heading outside, right?”

You closed your eyes. That could work. One of the biggest reasons the outside was so unappealing was that you had to step into it. Even now, with the sun shining on your head, you’re quickening your pace to go home.

If Chan was willing to go through the trouble of paying for drinks and hauling them to your apartment, you’ve got no complaints. It might also be an excellent way to forget about this whole deja vu situation.

“Deal,” you confirmed with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Chan giggled from the other side, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

The sequence repeats itself. I swore I scratched that off the document.

You snapped your head up from looking at the ground. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you—stop! I

can’t keep doing this. It’s your muscle memory, isn’t it? That damn biological manifestation theory is real.

Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road entirely, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears—you are suicidal. You are suicidal over a man your mind cannot begin to make out the silhouette of.

It's pathetic. Stop wasting my time.

You could see the cars coming, but your feet wouldn’t move. Your eyes stared through the danger into a beacon laid far away, the illusion of a man’s face you should have forgotten, and I know for a fact that you weren't supposed to acknowledge you have forgotten someone.

His name echoed silently through your mind, but his warmth remained on your body, in the shape of your arms and the weight on your finger. 

I insult you. I say you cannot remember his silhouette, and the next second, your spite draws a fraction of him in your mind. Or perhaps it wasn't spite but rather love? Is this the lesson you are teaching me? That love and spite are identical? That love stands beyond the mind and the body as its own concept?

You didn't choose to remember, yet you do. Returning to your true home was instinctive, and I’m afraid it is time for me to admit that I have no power to stop you.

Love goes beyond even me. Suppose that's a good lesson to learn.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears. Scared, your knees gave away, and you fell backward.

The screams of others and the urgent car honks were blocked out from your ears. You turned your head to the side and saw a truck running down the road towards you. This one would kill you, you would close your eyes, and you would leave this place. Your lips quirked uncontrollably. 

You would go back to him.

The mesh curtains stayed the same, useless against the sun but pretty with it. The bedsheet was as you felt it the first time, soft and silky yet thick and warm, the ones that make you sleep like you were in a goddamn coma. And Minho was the same as you last remembered seeing him—fluttery lashes, soft brown locks, and naturally pouty lips.

You remembered. 

You pursed your lips into a tight smile to keep a laughing sob from bubbling up your throat. Staring at him, you realize he made you feel the same as you last remembered, and immeasurable affection pulled at your fingertips, longing for a touch of his gentle skin and to feel him close to you. And you did, unapologetically, caressed his face with the back of your fingers.

Perhaps it was a deliberate plan to wake him up, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Minho stirred in his sleep at the touch. His brows furrowed before he opened his eyes, and when he saw you, his frown only deepened. You (or, well, ‘you’) have never tried to attempt this before, nor has he ever asked for love from them. His mind was occupied by somebody else, someone he thought would never come back to him ever again. Feeling this, having his cheek tenderly stroked in the morning, was surprising and weird.

“Hey, Minho,” you whispered, pinching his cheek slightly.

A shiver so strong it felt like a lightning zap ran down his body. His eyes widened slowly in recognition. He would know. He would just know. Through looking at you, through the feeling of your skin, through the way you space out your words, through the way you control your tone, through the way his ears react to your voice, through everything. He would know. He would be the first to know. 

His eyes moved across your features. You looked the same as he had always seen you, before and after you left. But there was one defining difference he could make: the ring on your hand wasn’t there before. You had taken it with you after you left this place, and now it’s back. 

“[Name],” he croaked out, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, gripping it gently.

“I’m home.” You nodded with a smile. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I’ll be late.”

The tears flow freely down his cheeks. It has been extremely difficult for him to revert to his usual lifestyle and pretend to be in love again. He had tried to bring himself to like ‘you,’ but it was useless. They simply felt different despite looking the same as you. 

He had missed your stupid jokes, the way you could come back home with bags of clothes he rarely has the chance to wear, and the food you cook. The little recurring moments he loved with you, he replayed them every night in the room and didn’t dare to allow himself to forget you.

You took the initiative and moved closer to him. Your palm was flat against his cheek now, and after you lovingly nudged the tip of your noses together, you leaned in to give him a long-awaited kiss. He melted against you, against your lips and your hand, with desperation in each curve of his mouth. He felt like he couldn’t let go. He knew he couldn’t let you go this time, never again.

Reluctantly pulling away, your dazed eyes stared right back into his. You touched his face again, smiling. Minho cupped your hand in his, pressing his forehead against yours with a light whisper, “Do you remember who I am?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

The sun shone from outside, casting a ray of warmth at an empty ring box located at the corner of the desk.

“You are Lee Minho,” you said, giving his lips a peck. “You are my husband.”

And you remembered that he told you he loves you, just as you love him.  

[wolfpants]

hd-erised fic claim: thickets

Reveals are here and I can finally spill the beans! Thank you so much to the @hd-erised mods for organising a brilliant fest; to my beta team @thehoneybeet @getawayfox @citrusses for being the most encouraging friends; and of course to @writcraft, my giftee - it was such a joy writing for you. Thank you for the inspiration, and for your wonderful comments!

Thickets | E | 17.3k

Tags: EWE, POV Draco, Drarry in their (late) 30s, artist Draco, ex-Auror Harry, FWB, exes, exes to lovers, minor character illness, parent death, caring for a terminally-ill parent, homophobia, homophobic language, Malfoy Manor, flashbacks, falling in love, smoking, drinking, walking, countryside, painting, magically powerful Harry, pining, miscommunication, portrait Draco, drinking and talking, rain, thunderstorms, forests, nature magic, explicit sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, dream sex, forest sex, blow jobs, facials, anal sex, sleeping together, switching, pillow talk, happy ending

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

Harry wanders in and out of view from an upstairs window, pushed open to let the fresh air in. He stops, obviously sensing a stranger in the vicinity of his wards, and Draco grips the handle of his rucksack hard, his head tilted back, his face flushed from the rain and the sun, his lungs tight. It’s as if Draco knew where, exactly, to look. It’s as if he knew, where, exactly, he’d find the still point of the turning world—Harry, who at thirty-nine is rose-golden and everything and too much and at this moment, too close and too far away, somehow. Harry leans out of the window. His hair is as wild and curly as ever, his beard dark. He’s filled out a little, but his glasses are the same, his scar is the same, and his stunned expression is the same expression Draco recognises from a lifetime ago, and when Harry opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Draco feels the magic around him sizzle, then slip off, like a wave approaching the shore only to disappear again. “It’s you,” Draco breathes.

read thickets on ao3

[chairteeth]

“Nemu Hiiragi: The Shadow”

The promised Magius Nemu essay arrives. I have given up on proper essay formatting and will simply leave my analyses in semi-rant form because my brain is too chaotic and goes on too many tangents. It cannot be tamed. Informal essay under the cut!

So. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has heard others refer to Nemu as a shadow, Touka 2.0, or some other frankly reductive term. Most of the time, unless her creations come up, she’s not discussed at all, and even then… barely. That’s not exactly surprising. Given Nemu’s normally calm demeanor, and the fact that she and Touka are joined at the hip, it’s only natural that Touka would be the one to get the most attention, the one who stands out. Where Touka is the boisterous sun, Nemu is the humble moon. Today, we turn our eyes to the moon.

There is so much to talk about when it comes to Magius Nemu and pretty much all of it is going to make you really sad. Much like Touka and all other magical girls, she led a double life the entire time, but in her case, when she “traded one terminal illness for another” she got the short end of the stick. Imagine being a writer and discovering that your magic allows you to give physical form to your stories, to breathe life into your creations—literally. Now picture finding out later down the line that each time you use it, it consumes so much magic that it shaves off pieces of your very life force. That’s one slap in the face. But, it gets worse.

Let me lay out everything we know about how Magius Nemu’s sacrifices affected her physically, and how each of the people around her responded to her worsening condition. First, we know it causes pain severe enough to temporarily affect her vision and speech, and severe enough to make her fall to the ground, though she doesn’t always faint from it. We know it inflicts exhaustion and that even something like releasing an uwasa for the first time can make her pass out on the spot, so presumably it’s a lengthy process that takes a toll on her at every stage (well not sure about conceptualization, but creation and release definitely do). A voiced example of one of these episodes is in Arc 1 Chapter 8, 4:02:36 - 4:03:43 if you're watching the video.

Now, as for the people around Nemu, starting from more distant to closest. Her family? Oblivious, responsible for her state of emotional deprivation and for several other issues. Alina? Ehh she seems to either not care or care very little, which is properly Alina-esque of her. Mifuyu? Oh let me talk about MIFUYU for a second. Disclaimer, despite her many sins committed against my favorite characters, I do love the sheep, she’s too much of a failure, I cannot hate her. But Mifuyu “I want to be a nurse” Azusa is insensitive beyond belief, and I was honestly surprised when they appointed her to be some sort of… ethics teacher for Touka? Bruh. You see, an MGS is supposed to put us in the shoes of whatever character it’s about. That’s what it does. However my brain is broken and perceives the world from a TouNemu perspective by default. Which means I had a completely different reading of Mifuyu’s MGS. I am going to illustrate my point with screenshots this time because I happen to have them on hand.

Mifuyu says this about Touka and Nemu getting worked up over Alina wanting to prioritize witches above rumors. But. Here’s the thing. The thing that Mifuyu seems to be missing completely. Rumors are created by Nemu, through a sacrifice of her own life force that worsens her pain and makes her suffer more with each subsequent use. Evidently, the girls reply that no, they don’t think they were getting too emotional.

YOU THINK? Have you given any thought to why that could possibly be the case, Mifuyu? But, okay, fine, we can look past this. Alright. Next scene, it’s Touka and Nemu being upset that Yachiyo just destroyed the Divorce Stairs (I call them that, but for clarification, it’s the Friendship-Ending Staircase). I’m going to bring something up that I don’t believe is exactly contradicted by canon, though not confirmed either, but I’d be willing to believe by the fact that Nemu knows of Iroha (by name and I assume appearance) that there’s a psychic link of some kind between the uwasa and their creator. That would make sense, considering they are made of her magic and have pieces of her life force. If this is true, then that massacre Iroha and Yachiyo go on during Arc 1 Chapter 7 is far, far worse.

But alright, back to the scene. Touka is standing up for Nemu here, and Mifuyu proceeds to go and dismiss their feelings because, as she says in her thoughts, “they’re just children”. Okay, Mifuyu, hear me out. They’re 11-12. They’re not toddlers. Just because they’re children doesn’t make their emotions invalid, unimportant, or not worth considering. Particularly in this case, where they have a good reason to be upset. Nemu even mentions the life force she’s using up and Mifuyu’s first and only thought is “Yacchan…” (this is a repeating pattern).

The next relevant scene is one where Mifuyu does something Alina has also done and Touka hasn't: ask Nemu to make a rumor for her.

Nemu reminds her that it comes at a cost, and that she’s using up her life for this. Nemu gives in, of course. I will talk about this imminently. First though, the final scene of Mifuyu’s MGS. Where Mifuyu repeats the previous pattern but worse. How exactly is it worse? I’ll let the screenshots speak for themselves here. Nemu and Mifuyu meet at the shrine where the uwasa is going to be released, Nemu does the deed, and faints, then Mifuyu reacts like this:

These screenshots are less than a second apart. It is the immediate follow-up. Absolutely zero concern for one of the people she’s supposed to be responsible for who just did her a pretty big favor (as if you needed someone’s blood to open a door, they stabbed themselves to get you the blood, and then you left them on the ground in pain). So yes Mifuyu is insensitive and she is not helping Nemu’s view of adults. Relatedly, before I move to talking about Touka, since I’d like to actually end this on a non-depressing note, I’m going to circle back a little to Nemu’s family.

I am infamous for not liking Nemu’s family. Her parents, mainly. Her brother, for as much of a snotty brat as he is to her, is presumably still very tiny and has had scarce interactions with his sister, therefore leading to the way Nemu describes their relationship (“strangers”). As a slight aside, Nemu does try very hard to have a relationship with her brother, not only in her MGS, but in her solo Christmas quotes where she’s lost on what to get as a gift for a kid that likes soccer and asks Homescreen-chan for advice. And you see, Nemu has this thing where once you get past a certain point with her, she becomes a people pleaser. Unlike when Ui’s parents have visited before (seen in TouNemu’s Christmas MGS), Nemu was shocked to hear that her mother and brother had come to see her. This leads me to believe the visits are an extremely rare occurrence and that there is no other contact besides them. Ui’s parents at least video call her, from what the quotes say.

And now we have reached the point where it’s unavoidable and I have to talk about Nemu’s emotional trauma. Her family does not seem to know about her writing, which was a good call because it shielded her from much of the gifted kid trauma. However, that doesn’t mean her parents’ actions (or lack thereof) were without consequence. A lot of these might be subconscious, so bear with me a second. At this point in the timeline, Nemu struggles to believe that others will meet her needs or care for her. She seeks affirmation, acceptance, approval, and fortunately seems to get it in the form of her website and Touka during this era.

Let me give you some examples of Nemu’s people-pleasing tendencies, as any kid would learn that catering to the needs and desires of others can sometimes lead to a sense of belonging or validation—she explicitly wants that, she is aware that she wants to feel loved. This is immensely obvious with her family’s visits, where her first reaction isn’t good but then she plays along and puts up a happier face (which drops literally as soon as her mother and brother are out of the room), even apologizing for the slightest inconvenience regardless of whether or not the reaction to that inconvenience was bad (the book that was hard to find, the general Presence™ of her family in the room, apologizes again for talking about her feelings, etc). So that she doesn’t have to burden them with her feelings. So that her mother can feel like she’s fulfilled her duty by walking into the room, giving Nemu a rundown of what the family has been up to, and leaving without really actually spending any real quality time with her or bothering to really ask about her. Touka gets (righteously) angry in Nemu’s stead once her mother and brother have left precisely because of this. Nemu proceeds to, like many children in her position, defend her parents completely and then chastise herself for “looking down on them”. Touka and Ui both understand at least the heart of the issues at play here, and express as much. My point here isn’t exactly “Nemu’s parents are equivalent to Sana’s” or anything, it’s more that they’re extremely oblivious and their actions (and lack thereof) have hurt Nemu deeply.

That habit Nemu’s parents have of never truly showing interest in their daughter’s life seems to remain after the hospital, and then they’re focused on her brother’s comfort. Not Nemu’s. Never Nemu’s. Then, later on, in the Wings of the Magius, every time someone asks her to make a rumor (read: sacrifice a piece of her life force and make herself feel physically worse presumably forever), she agrees. Mifuyu asks her to, yeah sure. Alina wants a rumor? Of course. I won’t count when everyone asked her for stuff to add to Fendt Hope solely because I’m not sure Fendt Hope works like normal rumors do. Something, something, difficulty setting and maintaining healthy boundaries, struggling to distinguish her own needs from the needs of others…

A child who learned that her voice and desires were not prioritized in such critical stages of her life naturally struggles to articulate her own needs and wants. Prime example, Fendt Hope’s creation. She listens to the others give their ideas for it, never suggesting anything herself after reminding them of her usefulness. Until. Touka asks. When she does, Nemu seems almost taken aback. She apologizes. Nothing comes to mind. That very same day, she gets home, tries again to have some sort of positive interaction or time with her brother, gets rejected. As soon as an alternative form of service (doing the dishes for her exhausted mother so that she may help her brother with homework) presents itself, she practically jumps at the opportunity. The scene after that one, with the way she views Touka, Alina, and Mifuyu, vs the way she views her mother and brother, only makes this more obvious. How is Nemu supposed to feel any sense of value at home? At least as a magical girl, she’s useful. At least as a Magius, she has people who know her. The feelings of low self-worth aren’t as obvious on Nemu as they are on many of the other girls who have them, though.

The next time there’s a Magius meeting, this time to decide on a name for their base, Touka is again the one who asks Nemu for her opinion. It’s important to note that Touka is never once hostile, aggressive, or even annoyed when she does this. She considers Nemu’s thoughts and feelings more than anyone. Heck, Nemu would have no way to doubt Touka’s care for her considering their history and the way she acts.

Now I get to talk about the relationship between Magius Nemu and Magius Touka. If I start gushing incoherently, I apologize in advance. I covered a bit of Magius Touka’s attitude towards Nemu in the essay dedicated to her, and slightly in this one, but now I want to draw attention to how incredibly sweet Touka can be when it comes to Nemu. Nemu desperately needs that reliability and that love Touka provides, the hope she brings. And Touka is the one person who openly shows her care, attention. Over and over again.

Touka considers Nemu an equal. During the main story, as I said in my Magius Touka essay, she shows concern for Nemu’s health and wellbeing when no one else does. This goes beyond her magic-given affliction! I only wish we had more bits and pieces from that era, but as for what we do have… Well, I have to point at Nemu’s swimsuit costume story for the easiest and shortest point of reference. I’d use screenshots, but if I did, I would just end up showing you every single piece of dialogue and expression.

In that costume story, Touka and Nemu are at Fendt Hope, talking about their future trip to the beach (which they made plans for together in Touka’s swimsuit costume story). Nemu has her insecurities, and she’s shy about putting on the swimsuit, but then Touka proceeds to be incredibly supportive by first making her feel comfortable—for some reason she also had her own swimsuit lying around and offered to wear it too because Nemu mentioned it’d be embarrassing if she was the only one wearing a swimsuit and Touka was wearing clothes—then as soon as Nemu expresses self-doubt, she doubles down via genuine compliments (these two compliment each other way more than you think, even in main story Touka praises Nemu for her ideas). This is also a rare occasion where we’re shown that Nemu’s parents, or her mom at least, who seems more present than her dad, mean no harm, since it was Nemu’s mother who helped pick out every element of her swimsuit. After that, Touka goes off to change back into her school uniform, and Nemu is “uncharacteristically giddy” (as she states) looking at herself in the mirror. Touka gets back, and Nemu is startled to have been caught in a vulnerable state, but, critically, Touka is happy to see her happy and doesn’t tease her, although Nemu (jokingly, blushing) laments that letting Touka read her heart is the greatest failure of her life. Nemu asks Touka to listen. And Touka complies. Nemu trusts Touka with her heart, with her honest feelings, and knows Touka will never hurt her. That’s why she’s able to be so sincere with her. This is shown in Nemu’s Tap 8 quote, where she also refers to Touka as trustworthy (Touka has a matching Tap 8 quote, and hers is about how reliable Nemu is for her). This relationship, no matter what it is, is deeply important to both participants.

Finally, to end this glorified rant… I know I used the sun and moon metaphor earlier, but. I would like to borrow the words of Nemu in one of my fics: “It’s silent at night. Touka stays up with her telescope, I stay up reading nearby. We are stardust brought to life. A quiet place, just for us. The gentlest fire in us, like binary stars.” (I’m sorry but the binary stars comparison is too good not to mention). Their connection was there before the Magius, and after everything they went through, their lives became irreversibly bound, intertwined beyond the understanding of quite literally anyone else. They practically always speak in plural, the time they spend together has been on the rise, and at the time of writing? To avoid spoiling Arc 2 Chapter 12, I won’t go into specifics, but the relationship has reached a beautiful point that I will froth at the mouth about eventually.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the Nemu essay, I went slightly more feral this time so apologies for that. I’ll see how soon the hospital era essay can be thrown into the wild. Nishi out!

[zugzwang-ship]

Measure Of A Man (588659 words) by inadaze22 (@inadaze22)

Chapters: 42/42 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter, Padma Patil, Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley, Susan Bones, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, Mr Granger (Harry Potter), Mrs Granger (Harry Potter), Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Cormac McLaggen's Uncle Tiberius, Percy Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy, Cormac McLaggen, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Andromeda Black Tonks

Additional Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, POV Hermione Granger, Healer Hermione Granger, Blood and Injury, BAMF Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Dementia, Slow Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Cooking, Angst and Romance, Sexual Tension, Unreliable Narrator, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support Cactus, The Ministry of Magic is Corrupt (Harry Potter), Nothing to Something to Everything, Angst with a Happy Ending, Intimacy, Anxiety Attacks, Domestic Sexual Tension, Terminal Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, DILF Draco Malfoy, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Sex, Female Friendship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Semi-Public Sex, Cottagecore Hermione, Widower Draco, NSFW Art, Unintentional Emotional Neglect, Gardener Hermione, Auror Draco Malfoy, …or something like it, Slow Build, But fast timeline, Child Scorpius Malfoy, Competent Draco Malfoy

[crownedinmarigolds]

Question 1 for Noa!

holly-bearie asked: 3 and 15 for noa!!!

Noa love!! Hurray!! :D

1] What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering? Noa was actually VERY VERY first made for some system that was silly that some acquaintance was trying out. Similar to BEZM I think? I knew immediately that I wanted her to be a vampire opera-metal singer. I had to explain in a not-magic world how she was one (essentially her mafia boss father forced scientists at gunpoint to create something to keep his terminally ill daughter alive and relatively healthy, so they used some wackydoodle science that heavily incorporated refreshing her blood supply. It was wild) and it all went from there. Later when a friend asked us to join a Vampire the Masquerade game, I was researching and found the neat coincidence about the vampire mafia clan having a bloodline called "Hidalgo" which was in fact's Noa's original last name as well! Mafia boss father, vampire, Hidalgo name - it felt like destiny to make her a Giovanni! 3] How did you choose their name? I'm a big dumb fan of names with meaning. I liked Noa being a semi-ambiguous name as well as invoking the thoughts of Noah and his ark surviving the flood. FLOOD OF BLOOOOOOD. Very convenient this explanation can easily carry into VTM as well. Noa is also Latina - and specifically is descended from (in VTM) Giovanni colonists and the original indigenous populace of her home in Mid-western Mexico. 15] What is something about your OC that can make you laugh? Recently some friends and I were discussing Noa running around their little bit of world in their VTM canon, and I realized that Noa legitimately never really played outside much before. Like, ever. So I was giggling how fun it would be imagining her running barefoot through the woods, holding up her big cupcake skirt and laughing at how fun it was to be wild for a night. She acts so grown up and mature, and to think about her being a kid (especially around Modern Nights time) at age seventy is very cute to me. Thank you guys!!!!! <3

[dhr-ao3]

La medida de un hombre

La medida de un hombre https://ift.tt/IcvgbOk by naoko_ichigo Conocer de verdad a alguien es diferenciar entre quién fue una vez, quién es ahora y quién será. Hermione se da cuenta de la dualidad de un hombre cuando rectifica lo que sabe del pasado y empieza a comprender las piezas de lo que Draco Malfoy es ahora: un padre, un hijo y un hombre Words: 9597, Chapters: 1/42, Language: Español Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter, Padma Patil, Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley, Susan Bones, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, Mr Granger (Harry Potter), Mrs Granger (Harry Potter), Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Cormac McLaggen's Uncle Tiberius, Percy Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy, Cormac McLaggen, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Andromeda Black Tonks Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, POV Hermione Granger, Blood and Injury, BAMF Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Dementia, Slow Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Cooking, Angst and Romance, Sexual Tension, Unreliable Narrator, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support Cactus, The Ministry of Magic is Corrupt (Harry Potter), Nothing to Something to Everything, Angst with a Happy Ending, Intimacy, Anxiety Attacks, Domestic Sexual Tension, Terminal Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, DILF Draco Malfoy, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Sex, Female Friendship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Semi-Public Sex, Cottagecore Hermione, Widower Draco, Unintentional Emotional Neglect, Gardener Hermione, Auror Draco Malfoy, ...or something like it, Slow Build, But fast timeline, Child Scorpius Malfoy, Competent Draco Malfoy via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/x3TamMY October 07, 2024 at 09:32PM

[sobriquett]

Dear Heart Attack Exchange 2024 Author,

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Write 10k in two weeks. One week to edit. Try not to die. Exchange on Dreamwidth or AO3.

I almost have two chapters of Good Hope in hand and an authorial death wish so LET'S GO

Without further ado, DNWs, likes, dislikes, fandom-specific prompts and ravings:

DNWs

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | Anyone being called “Daddy” in a sexual context | Bestiality | Body Horror | Gore | Medical Experimentation | Mpreg | Mutilation | Non-Canonical Amputation | Porn Without Plot | Sadism | Scat | Torture | Vore

General Likes and Loves

5+1 Times | Alternate Endings | Angst | Backstory | Banter/Bickering | Bittersweet | Canon Compliant | Canon Divergence | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Character Study | Class Differences | Coming of Age | Competence | Complicated Sibling Relationships | Cultural Differences | Dark Fic | Debt & Financial Pressures | Despair | Disabled Characters | Domesticity | Different Worldviews | Enemies to Friends/Lovers | Epistolary | Examining Societal Issues | First Meetings | First Time | Fix-It | Fluff | Found Family | Friends/Lovers to Enemies | Grief/Mourning | Grumpy Character/Sunshine Character | Historical Details | Humour | Hurt/Comfort | Last Time | Laws of Magic | Living Up/Down to Expectations | Long-Distance Friendship | Marriage of Convenience | Miscommunication | Missing Moment | Obeying Canonical Boundaries (Social/Cultural/Moral) | Outsider POV | Parent/Child Relationships | Peril | Pining | Platonic Intimacy | Politics & Intrigue | Poor Life Choices | Post-Canon | Pre-Canon | Pregnancy & Babies | Presumed Dead | Protectiveness | Redemption | Religious Elements | Reunions | Romance | Sad Endings | Secret Relationships | Uneven Power Dynamics | Unexpected/Unlikely Friendship | Unreliable Narrators | Whump | Worldbuilding

Darkfic Likes

Apocalypse | Betrayal | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Claustrophobia | Conspiracy | Debt & Financial Pressures | Degradation | Disease | Dubious Consent | Dystopia | Fire | Forced Marriage | Gaslighting | Hauntings | Humiliation | Hypothermia | Infertility | Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss | Murder | Paranoia | Poisoning | Prison | PTSD | Shame | Suicide | Terminal Illness | Unhappy Endings

Smut Likes

Biting/Marking | Bondage | Canon Compliant/Historically Appropriate (esp. period fandoms) | Desperate Sex | Dirty Talk | Dubcon | Edging/Orgasm Delay | Fingering | First Times | Fisting | Foreplay | Hair Pulling/Touching/Playing | Last Times | Loss of virginity (either/both/all partners) | Oral (any/all combinations/intensities/setups) | Porn with Feelings | Power Imbalance (Physical or Social/Financial/Other) | Restraint/Held Down | Rough Sex | Semi-Public Sex | Sensual Details | Vanilla Sex

And now fandom-specific prompts in alphabetical order:

1. [Safety] A Date with Death (Visual Novel)

Grim Reaper/Main Character (A Date With Death)

I don’t know what it was about this that got in my head, but it did. Over a couple of days, I played it through until I’d seen all five endings. And weeks later I still can’t hear gentle background muzak without being straight back in this game in my head.

There are so many delicious tropes in here, even if some of the kink flavours aren’t your favourite. There are nicknames, delayed name reveals, Azrael, so much flirting, canonical soul bonding/telepathy (and explicit reference, if you choose, to that being useful for sex), starcrossed lovers, and more I can’t remember.

I am extremely curious about what on earth could happen next. If you continue your relationship beyond the bet, what happens?

Does the afterlife come looking for Grim? Does that place you or him in danger?

Does he fit into your life, your apartment? Do you need to leave it?

Spending too long in the mortal realm is bad for him, tips his soul out of balance towards light and if his soul is not balanced then he dies – so how does he/you bring back the darkness?

How does the afterlife function? Are there really nine hells, or is that blasphemy and there are, like, eight or something?

Mind bridges and soul bonding – does that become regular, routine, perhaps permanent?

What is Grim’s past? How did he become a reaper? Did he have a human life?

Perhaps follow the ending where the character becomes a reaper too, in the DLC – explore the bureaucracy, the vocation, the training, your gift/nature. Do you take an oath, live by and learn the reaper code?

First times all round, both in the relationship and in life experiences.

Themes of fate/destiny.

Use elements of the bad ending even in the good ending? I bloody love angst and peril.

And what exactly are soul babies?

One virtue of the visual novel is the extent to which you can customise your experience – character, name, pronouns, compliment style, appearance, pet, decoration, etc. I have typically played with female characters with she/her pronouns and that would be my soft preference for fic, but that’s not a hill to die on and I don’t think it’s totally out there to write a fic that can be read ambiguously – but perhaps that would be tricky to sustain for 10,000 words!

2. Bridgerton (TV)

Bridgerton (TV)

Anthony Bridgerton

Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma

I just kind of want to watch Anthony suffer.

I love the mix of arrogance and angst in Anthony, the gap between what he thinks his duty is and what it actually is. I love Kate’s courage and lack of taking anyone’s shit, how secure she is until she isn’t, and when she butts heads with anyone - especially Anthony. I love Anthony’s actual relationships with his siblings and the different dynamics with each of them, and I am curious to know how Kate fits in. Is she more of a friend, a sister, a mother, a mix, something different?

Bees! Consequences of the gazebo scene! Canon divergence where the show characters have a similar outcome of the bee incident to the book! The responsibilities and duties of the new viscount and viscountess (real, imagined, fun or tedious)!

Please feel extremely free to add in or build on anything in S3 Part 1, I've already seen it one and a half times and it came out 42 hours ago.

3. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte

Jane Eyre

Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester

Jane Eyre/St. John Rivers

Jane Eyre is an unreliable narrator.

This is one of my favourite novels ever, but I read a new story each time I read (or rewatch – Ruth Wilson 2006 version, yes) it. I had a different experience of it as a child, teenager, young adult, and so on – and with time, I’ve come to see Rochester as more of a villain, and then also as a victim of circumstances and a product of his environment, and to increasingly believe that Jane Eyre lies to us. She’s also every bit as prejudiced and superior as those she criticises, but/because she’s also a product of her world. But I still love her, and love that she says she got a happy ending. But that doesn’t mean it has to stay happy, or even that she was telling the truth.

This is a fandom where I particularly enjoy a darker edge, and a playful approach to the text on the author’s part. The novel is a first-person autobiography. Have fun with that! Jane Eyre is an unreliable narrator. The novel is her autobiography and I don’t believe that the story she told is necessarily the story that happened. What did she conceal? What did she tweak? What did she exaggerate or minimise? Is she trying to tell a moral story, and if so for whom? Does her faith endure and guide her quite as steadfastly, perfectly and purely as she says? I adore fics that play with this idea.

I am 100% on board with outsider POV; Jane does not need to be present if that works for the story.

Post-canon happiness?

Post-canon unhappiness?

Canon divergence at any point.

A missing moment from the engagement - an evening spent together, a walk, a trip out. Tension, anticipation, uneasiness, a sense that all’s not quite right that can’t be entirely set aside. Rochester trying to claim more affection than Jane is yet willing to give, with either a playful or darker edge.

A missing moment between the interrupted wedding and Jane fleeing Thornfield? What if they do have a night of madness before Jane flees Thornfield, where just for a moment she gives in? Or is coerced? (Dubcon over complete non-con please? Also: gloriously awful or happy consequences welcome.)

How does Rochester discover Jane’s missing? How does Adele find out? Mrs Fairfax? How do they all react? What is that day like? (Jane’s absence would almost be the character in this case. She doesn’t have to appear, she’s still the focus.)

What if Adele’s mother returned to collect her, or for some other (nefarious) purpose?

Rochester dies in the fire. What happens then?

Jane goes with St. John as a missionary and it doesn’t start/go/end well.

Does “real” Jane go with St. John as a missionary and the miraculous ending she writes to her autobiography is a fiction she wished had happened?

What if the first wedding isn’t interrupted? Rochester’s a bigamist and Jane a fallen woman when it comes out. (I have started writing this but not finished it.)

In this situation, why/how does she write her autobiography in the way that she does?

Does Jane come to see Rochester as a villain? Does she find herself corrupted, tarnished or lessened in his eyes in some way when he comes to marry/possess her and the sharper, darker side of his character turns on her once she’s off her pedestal?

Jane dies on the moors. (Shit… 5(+1) things of different ways one or both could die and the other find out/grieve? Oof, that makes my id throb, but it is not to everybody’s taste!)

Does Jane resent being Rochester’s carer, his eyes and hands?

Is Rochester “really” as injured as Jane writes in her autobiography? Did she provide some sort of divine/literary punishment for his sins? Or what really happened instead, did he get a comeuppance?

4. [SAFETY] North and South (UK TV)

John Thornton

Margaret Hale/John Thornton

I love this fandom so much. I have requested it many times before and as well as past letters there are many pretty gif sets under this tag for you to enjoy. There’s such a rich setting to explore here - time, place, convention, mores, differences in education and worldview…

I love the context of the place, the contrast between north and south, old and new, leisure and trade, masters and workers, masculinity and femininity. It’s Pride and Prejudice with higher stakes. (Although arguably there are three worlds – Margaret’s, John’s, and Higgins’.) There’s so much pride in all these characters, and they’re all looking down on each other, and then they start to understand one another.

And the longing looks, the touches. The “look back at me”. And the train scene. (About which I have Feelings. That is an inappropriate amount of PDA for 1850s England and they should be halfway down the aisle in about two and a half minutes. Also, wtf unmarried lady just getting on a train with unrelated gentleman, while not wearing a hat. Shocking stuff. Shameful. Tut tut.)

Wedding fic! How does their wedding day/night go? How do their friends and relatives behave and respond? (Particularly in the context of the show’s ending)

How do they pass their engagement? Do they have one? Do they write to one another? Do they keep finding excuses to be in one another’s company? Do they keep finding themselves alone in back drawing rooms?

Do they live with Mrs Thornton? How do they all get on?

Does something in their (very different) pasts come back to haunt them?

Does Frederick Hale return to England? What does he think of his sister’s husband? Does he impact Margaret and John’s life? Frederick is Margaret’s only living male relative, but they have only seen each other once in a decade – and illicitly at that, and an event that caused both Margaret and John great pain. Does Frederick have a say in her life? Does he think he does?

Do Margaret and John have a traditional marriage or a more equitable one in terms of ownership and management of the mill?

Is Thornton traumatised, or at least significantly affected, by the loss of the mill and his close brush with disaster? Does it colour his relationships with his mother, who he nearly failed, and his new wife who saved him, and/or his management of the mill once he owns it? Can he feel the ghost of his father’s failure and shame?

John and Hannah Thornton and Nicholas Higgins have tasted poverty – or at least true difficulty. Margaret might think she has, but she has not. Is there conflict there?

Victorian bankruptcy was a deliberate cruel, destructive, public, shameful process, designed to grind a man down to nothing at all. Does Thornton go through this, either during the novel or post-canon? Does he survive, or is he weighed down by grief and shame? He is so very conscious of his place in the world, his responsibilities to his peers, his workers, and his family. And a bankrupt man has pointedly failed in every one of these things – and it would all be so terribly, terribly public. (Very interested in stories about financial pressures/public shaming/private support.)

What if the riot goes wrong? Is one or both of them more seriously injured? Is there a disaster at the mill, or in the police response? Does the incident become even more infamous?

Disaster at the mill! Fire, accident, disease. Mills were a very, very dangerous place to work.

John and Margaret’s marriage, despite their love for one another, isn’t accepted in either the north or south. John is not the right sort of man in the eyes of Margaret’s southern friends and relatives – a manufacturer, not a gentleman, soiled by his engagement with trade and industry and direct work, and even more so because of his father’s past and suicide. Margaret is not acceptable to society in the north as an outsider who meddles where she’s not wanted, doesn’t understand their world, and represents an old world with no relevance to their new modern vision. She says the wrong thing, values the wrong things, has the wrong priorities in their eyes, took one of their most eligible men. Can they be happy in such circumstances? Society thinks, alternately, that they either married to avert scandal (which means scandal happened) or Thornton wants Margaret’s fortune (which reflects badly on him in the south and Margaret in the north).

5. The Song of Achilles – Madeline Miller

Achilles/Patroclus

I have just reread this for the first time in eight years, and I was just as emotionally wrecked at the end. It remains probably the most intense reading experience of my life, indisputably in the top three. I could talk for hours about the narrative voice, the imagery, the fucking ending because I knew absolutely nothing about Patroclus in 2016 and when my then-partner walked into the room just as, you know that bit, I literally threw something to get them to go away.

Could you please jab me sharply in the feels again, if you can? Whether that’s joy or angst or longing, the this and this and this motif, or… or anything. I’m in love and mourning; it won’t be hard.

This is not a fandom where I am at all bothered about smut but sprinkle it in if that’s your jam – just please note my DNW for porn without plot.

More with Briseis!

Fuck Pyrrhus with a really big stick – a narrative one if you like.

Post-canon… somehow?

Canon divergence – a happy ending? A return to Chiron? Growing old together?

In the Iliad, Achilles has a choice to gain glory and die young or live a long, uneventful obscure life – what if he had chosen the latter?

Missing scenes at Phthia, Pelion, the camp?

More/other/different prophecy?

[ettawritesnstudies]

Hey there! Random Writer Question: What is the worst thing you have done to an original character?

oooooooooh. that is a tough one. I think it depends on your definition of worst:

Laine family: deposed them of their status, forcing their children to go into hiding for their own safety, making Luca ignore and shun his own best talent, destroyed their community and city, sent a manhunt after them, two separate parties kidnapped the kids, forcing Luca to become the savior he didn't want to be, killed him but brought him back semi-immortal. Miserable story, hard earned happy ending.

Weswin: under a magical curse so that his appearance is constantly changing, he forgets his name and loses his identity, loses his family and then forgets them too, craves human interaction but being around people physically hurts as his curse transforms him into a million different faces in an instant. He gets fixed though? In the end?

Cecelia: Forgot she was a faerie, relearned that she was a changeling after a truamatic encounter with her master, the Pied Piper, had to hide her true nature from her sister and face her worst enemy to save them. Has a terminal faerie illness that makes her lifespan that of a normal human but that's fine actually because it means she won't outlive her sisters.

Tess: taken from her family as an infant and endured child abuse under the Pied Piper until she was freed, but gets a loving family again at the end

AI-Lia: enslaved and had her identity stripped serving as a spaceship's computer for decades, the magic of the electronic systems transformed her from a human to some new type of being, had to fight to reassert her free will and kill the captain, then take back control of the ship and escape. Became a god though so fair's fair??

Sora: Father left as a baby, leaving her to hide and figure out her airbending all on her own. Saving the world at 19, super paranoid, and convinced she's going insane when she starts seeing spirits. Her friends are dying every 3 days and she has to tether their souls back to their bodies, fraying her own soul at the edges in order to do so. Her dad's kidnapped so she has to save him now and maybe not cause another war in the process. Ending TBD.

Thanks for the ask!

[ofavernus]

I DID NOT FALL. I ROSE TO SHOULDER A COSMIC BURDEN.

ind. semi-selective, private rp blog for zariel of dungeons and dragons (as well as a few related characters, such as BG3's mizora) est. 8 / 21 / 2023, and written by fawkes ( he/they, 27 ). i’m mutuals-only, and low-activity. timezone is GMT-8. follows back from @voxdraconis.

rules and info below.

information.

this is a blog for antagonists, so it'll be relatively low-activity and will be, y'know, treated like an antagonist blog. this one isn't here to be friends. it might be here to turn you into a warlock. (:

zariel doesn't leave avernus much. she has a blood war to fight, after all. she speaks on the material plane mostly through servants or agents. i'm going to be including one sub-muse on this blog (mizora, wyll's patron cambion from BG3) as well as the following that i've used in my own d&d game:

sharptongue, a red-brown furred imp with the head of a bat, who acts as one of zariel's mouthpieces for when she needs to speak to warlocks or hunt down runaways directly. he has no character of his own, he's just for zariel to talk through, more or less.

dame surila, a tortoiseshell tabaxi paladin, dressed in the light leathers of a knight of Lathander and armed with two shortswords. she was a hellrider of the ancient past once. she's also more or less an empty husk (died, after pledging her swords eternally to zariel) and the archdevil puppets her body for when she needs a mouthpiece on the material plane that's less obviously infernal. dame surila looks like an adventurer until inspected with magic like a paladin's divine sense, which reads her as both fiend and undead.

rules.

not doing shipping on this one, though mizora may be down for shenanigans. would you, though? would you do that to wyll? you gonna bang his patron and then look him in the eye about it?

i encourage you to send me asks on this blog, it's the easiest way to interact with me. all my stuff over here (askmemes, open posts) are free game.

always feel free to ask me to tag something it if makes you uncomfortable or otherwise. i'll try to tag common content warnings as best I can, and i'd appreciate if my mutuals could do me the great service of tagging anything related to cancer, real world terminal illness or hospitals. (fantasy/fictional diseases and such are fine.) this blog won't have any full-on smut on it, though it may include mildly sexual content. it will, most likely, have canon-typical mature content around the same level as in the actual game. violence, darker themes, ect.

i have a full time job. i am a low-activity blog that may take a long while to reply (& an especially long time to answer asks). please bear with me, and always feel free to poke me and ask about a particular reply—i actually prefer if people let me know about threads they're particularly invested in. but also, know that i'm not ignoring people, i just have limited time. sometimes i will hyperfocus on particular threads and take longer to get to some than others. it's just how my brain works.

i don't care if you don't use formatting, all i ask is that you proofread your posts, and trim threads so that they don't get too overly long.

have fun & be yourself ect ect.

[ripplesofaqua]

Black Emporium 2023 Letter

Dear Author/Artist,

Thank you so much for creating something for me - I cannot wait to see what you come up with! I’m open to all different ratings, structures, styles, and formats, and I’d be equally delighted by fic and artwork. I’ve made a list of some general things I like if it’ll help you get started, but if you have an idea for something different, please go ahead and have fun with it!

some things I love: slow burn, old friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, the ray of sunshine with hidden depths and the more stoic/scheming/dangerous partner with a soft inside, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst with a hopeful ending, slice-of-life, humor, character studies, world-building & expansion of canon, casefic, epistolary, strong ladies and admiration between them,  characters getting to shine and show their competence, characters supporting each other’s interests, flipping character expectations (ex. having the character that usually gets rescued do the rescuing), snazzy dressing, homoerotic dueling

first meetings and long-awaited reunions, long-time partnerships, friendly banter, loneliness, clear respect and communication in relationships, devotion and protectiveness, non-sexual intimacy and tenderness, subtle physical contact, hand-holding, terms of endearment, psychic bonds with consent, QPP/platonic life partners, asexual-spectrum characters, found family, not-actually-fake/pretend relationship, meet the family, meet cute, only one bed, character A gets injured  protecting character B, snowed in/stranded together, their friend(s)  ship it (with force if necessary), serenading with music, literature or poetry, bathing together, dancing  

sex with lots of affection and trust, kissing, cuddling, sensory and emotional details,  slow undressing or remaining semi-clothed, attention to jaw/neck/shoulders/back, praise, terms of endearment, tender dom/sub, blindfolds, tying up, holding down, bathing together, delayed gratification, sex that doesn’t go according to plan but brings characters closer together, or at least lets them have a shared laugh, cuddling together afterwards

some AU’s I enjoy: sentinel/guide (as long as they actively choose each other and it’s not just pure fate/biology), magical/mythological realism, fairytale, historical (esp Regency/Victorian/Edwardian), spies/heist/mystery, use/misuse of cheesy romcom plots, artist/musician/writer/professor AU, Jane Austen or Shakespeare AU

some art-specific things I love: eye contact, subtle physical contact, moments of laughter or sadness, characters doing what they shine at (whether that be sparring or having tea together), dramatic use of lighting and shadow, symbolism, nature and architecture, reference to or pastiche of existing artworks or styles, clothing, in-world artwork (ex. a character’s sketchbook or scribbles, or in-world portrait) - but honestly, more than anything I enjoy getting to see an artist make something in their own unique art style!

DNWs: permanent major character death, non/dub-con/coercion, angst without a hopeful ending, incest, infidelity on the part of the main characters (but I don't mind AU's where a canon relationship never happened to begin with), graphic descriptions of blades, needles, or other sharp objects cutting into flesh, terminal illness, mentions of cancer, A/B/O, kink involving degradation, humiliation, non/dub-con, gags, or choking, hatesex, kid fic or pregnancy of requested characters, relationships with asexual-spectrum characters where sex is portrayed as the final goal or story resolution, or as necessary for a 'real' or mutually-satisfactory relationship (I don't mind an ace/demi character having or enjoying sex, just as long as it's not absolutely necessary for their partner's happiness)

Here are a few pairing specific prompts to help inspire you, but if you have something else in mind, please go with it!

Leliana/Cassandra, Leliana/Josephine, Josephine/Cassandra, Leliana/Josephine/Cassandra

Solid partnerships/teamwork where their different skills complement each other

Repressed feelings, pining, palace intrigue, grand romantic gestures, dancing, clothing, Josephine's teas

Leliana's mischievous side, Josephine's frilly underthings, Cassandra's love of romance novels

First meetings in their younger days, or long-awaited reunions after many years apart

Dealing with grief or guilt, Leliana's hardening or softening, religious disagreement or doubt, becoming Divine

Communicating through letter or field reports, outsider pov from their assistants or team of spies/soldiers/ambassadors

Leliana/Josephine/Vivienne, Leliana/Cassandra/Vivienne

Court intrigue, secrets, masquerade balls, duels, fancy clothing (whether Cass likes it or not)

An appreciation of fine things, whether a good meal, music, poetry, or a good secret

Maybe send Leliana and Vivienne down Josephine's romance arc together?

Dealing with grief or guilt. Also religious and political differences, but also (especially for Cass) learning to look critically at your own long-held beliefs

Divine Victoria and her Hands - or maybe Leliana, Viv, and Cass all become Divine at the same time?

Charter/Leliana, Leliana/Vivienne, Leliana/F!Trevelyan

I'd love a deeper look into Leliana's spy network. She clearly cares about them deeply-what do they think of her in return?

Get Leliana out of Skyhold and back into the field! Whether she's doing the rescuing, being rescued, or working with a partner

Coded messages or reports from undercover

Dealing with grief or guilt, Leliana's hardening/softening, or what happens to the Inquisition and Leliana's spy network after Trespasser?

Or just let Leliana and Vivienne be unstoppable and gorgeous together in Orlesian society - perhaps they met long before the Conclave?

Cassandra/Svarah, F!Adaar/Svarah, F!Cadash/Svarah

Honestly, I'd just love to see more of the Avvar, including any of the other nps we get to see tiny bits of in JoH. So feel free to go wild with world building or expanding on the Avvar

And also Svarah just being amazing all around

Their hoods also look so comfy

Making the other characters work through their existing prejudices/challenging their beliefs about religion, magic, and history

Fighting side by side, sick/hurtfic, snowed in/only one bed

Bears!

F!Hawke/Cassandra, F!Hawke/Leliana/Cassandra, F!Hawke/Cassandra/Varric

I could imagine anything from romantic hijinks to heartbreaking angst for these

Cassandra getting to meet her hero and the author of her favorite novels. Maybe they discover her love of romance novels and poetry and decide to work together to woo her? (maybe Varric makes a good Cyrano but they all end up happily together?

Or maybe they do find Hawke way back when Cassandra was first looking for her - how would the Conclave and Inquisition pan out differently?

Feel free to throw all the tropes at them - mutual pining, misunderstandings, their friends ship it with force if necessary, grand romantic gestures that go sideways, or getting injured fighting together

Harding/Vivienne, Harding/Josephine, Josephine/Vivienne

Again, feel free to throw all the romantic tropes at them

Grand romantic gestures or perhaps shy, secret admirer from afar

Enjoying culture, beautiful clothing, Orlesian intrigue and playing the Game with high stakes, Josephine's teas, Harding's dance lessons, Vivienne's spa days

Appreciation when their partner proves especially ferocious in battle or intrigue

Sending Harding or Vivienne down Josie's romance arc. Or maybe make Vivienne Divine Victoria?

Lace Harding/Bram Kenric, Bram Kenric/Frederic of Serault, Minaeve/Frederic of Serault, Helisma Derington & Minaeve

Nerds being awkward! Nerds being adorable! Nerds being highly competent and knowledgeable about their (perhaps very narrow) field of specialization and using it to save the day (or woo their beloved)!

Academic drama, feuds/enemies-to-lovers, and shenanigans, including things like this: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Experiments gone wrong (or right in unexpected ways)

Epistolary, codex entries, lecture/field notes or sketches, publisher/reviewer feedback on books or academic articles

Lysette/Ritts, Ellendra/Lysette, Original Female Inquisition Scout/Original Male Ansburg Noble, Shayd/Sutherland, Shayd/Sutherland/Voth, Maura/Redcliffe Widower, Avexis & Minaeve, Dennet & Minaeve

I just love all the little hints we get about these side characters, so feel free to go wild with worldbuilding or expanding on any of their characters

Outsider pov, epistolary or stories told through field reports, diaries, or other documents (or even Varric's book about the Inquisition's agents)

Life during wartime, dealing with grief and loss, found family, dealing with prejudices about mages, rebuilding after war

But also moments of joy amidst war, behind-the-scenes Inquisition shenanigans, from prank wars to celebrations of victory

[djpurple3]

heartbreak and healing - a sanders sides fic

ship: royality characters: Roman (main), Patton, Virgil, Remus, Janus, Logan, c!Thomas content: magical style semi-terminal illness (sort of like hanahaki), mild body horror, food, light swearing, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, tensions, kissing, mild suicidal ideations (more lack of selfcare / apathy), discussions of death, close encounter with death. wordcount 17,520 words .........lot longer than intended LMAO

A/N: do people write royality anymore? no clue. i had this idea and it took me two weeks to write this when i orignally thought it was gonna be like 5k words and would take me one sitting. i never learn.

Anyhoo, head the warnings, this can get heavy, but it has a sickeningly sweet ending. I finished this at 1:30am so hopefully it’s coherent all the way through. semi-edited. cant think of anyone to tag so i wont lmao

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

Roman’s shaking a little. He is shaking but he folds his arms over his chest and raises his chin anyway, glaring down his shirtless reflection and pressing his arms against himself tight, like it would bind him back together.

But no. The cracks are still there. …Cracks. Cracks. Like a porcelain doll. Etching out like a spiderweb, like a broken mirror, from his heart. Roman tears his eyes away from the deep red fissures and stares himself in the eye.

There’s an answer to the number of questions in here, pinging around his skull like popcorn. There’s an answer he doesn’t like but has to face is true.

He… Well, it’s hard to put into words, really. But…

His arms fall to his sides, and he traces the tallest crack with a fingertip, feeling how it hurts a little to press down, tracing it even though it only travels about an inch and a half up his chest, snaking off towards his right collarbone by the time it hits his sternum. It’s red, but barely so. When Roman first noticed them, he almost thought they were black.

When Roman had first noticed them, they’d been hairline fractures. He had panicked, and after spending an hour fretting and prodding and poking in front of the mirror, had gone to bed with the hope that he could sleep it off.

But things were starting to add up, now. Because they had only formed after… after the wedding. They had only formed after Roman had gone down in the hallway from a shock of grief so palpable it soared straight over emotion and landed firmly in pain had lanced through his chest.

Roman presses the pads of his fingers over his heart and feels how it hurts, trying to fight down his grimace. Curse him. Curse his imaginary form and how his creative status took euphemism and metaphor takes things so literally. His heart has broken, it seems, and it is now tearing him apart.

Roman lets his hand fall, debating covering it with foundation or something, before there’s a knock at his door.

“Roman,” comes Virgil’s voice. “There’s waffles up for grabs, if you want.”

“I’ll be right down,” Roman calls back, turning away from the mirror and fumbling for his undershirt.

“Want me to wait, or…?”

“No, no. Go get a headstart.”

Virgil’s footsteps shuffle away from the door hesitantly. Roman pulls on his shirt and grimaces again at how he can feel the slight way the cracks make his skin tug in weird ways as his muscles move.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman comes downstairs when he is fully and immaculately dressed. It takes a while to lace his boots, it always does, but he likes them too much to leave style by the wayside. But by the time he comes downstairs, everyone is there. And nowadays, he means everyone.

Virgil is sitting at the dinner table with two plates in front of him. One is empty, and the other has three waffles on it, while the communal help-yourself plate is empty too. It seems Virgil grabbed some for him before they disappeared, which is nice of him. Logan sits at the opposite end of the table, alone, frowning down at his phone as he cleans up the last of his own waffles which must have been appropriately drowned in crofters. Remus is sitting on the couch – upside down, feet hanging over the back of the couch and kind-of in Virgil’s face (and clearly on purpose), but he’s watching… some cartoon or other. Roman can’t be bothered to check.

And Patton and Janus are in the kitchen. They’re in the kitchen, cleaning up batter and bowls and laughing to each other. Patton’s face is lit up with laughter, probably from a joke Roman didn’t hear, and Janus’ eyes are glittering with mirth, and both look far more light-hearted than Roman’s seen in a long time.

The cracks throb and ache a little at that, but it’s not enough to throw Roman off his paces. Not yet, at least.

The laughter immediately quiets as he walks in, though. Patton’s eyes lock with his for only a second before his grin drops into a polite smile that grates to see, and a silence falls across the room.

Roman realises he’s just kind of standing there, and winces. He doesn’t say anything. He just drops his head and hurries over to the seat Virgil’s pulling out for him to take. No grand entrance, no declarations, no songs, no quips. Roman has learnt over the years to read the room, and he can well tell that it is not a room welcome to such antics anymore.

Or at least; as his eyes flick up at the sound of quiet humming, and sees Patton shoot a smile at Janus, who’s started humming… god, is that Phantom? under his breath; such antics aren’t welcome from him anymore.

Roman clears his plate without really realising it, and he eats them dry. No sauces or toppings or anything. He’s a little more on autopilot than he’d like to admit, and Virgil seems to be taking notice.

“You alright?”

“Just dandy,” Roman shoots back, smiling a little at his own subtle gay joke, before setting his cutlery down on the plate in front of him.

“You seem out of it.”

“Accidentally stayed up late,” Roman says automatically, punctuating it with a shrug. “Got a new project, it’s kind of stressing me out.”

Janus’ eyes flick to him, almost imperceptibly. It’s not a lie, Roman chants in his head. Or perhaps more accurately, it’s enough of the truth for now.

“…Need help?”

“No.” Roman reaches over and slides Virgil’s used plate towards himself and stacks it under his own. “But I’ll let you know if I do down the line.”

That is a lie. They all know him well enough to know it, too. Virgil sees it for what it actually is, though – an end to the conversation – and he shrugs and goes back to his phone too.

Roman gets up and makes his way around the table. He pauses at Logan’s elbow, waiting until the other side acknowledges him, before quietly holding out one hand, balancing the plates in the other.

Logan blinks for a moment, before handing over his own plate. He doesn’t thank Roman as the prince takes it. That’s okay. Roman’s not hunting for it. He just adds it to the stack and walks on eggshells all the way into the kitchen, where the fun conversation quiets down with every step closer he takes.

He hates this. He hates that it went this far. He hates that he’s done this to the people he loves. And he hates how it’s all his fault.

That thought is not a new one, really, but it brings around a new effect. His heart aches, sharp and hot, a new pain that stabs right through him and makes him stumble. Stumble straight into the wall. And he drops the plates.

Smash.

He didn’t mean to.

He didn’t mean to.

Roman needs to move, to clean this up, to fix it, but all that is going through him in this moment in time, enough to blind out the pain, is that he didn’t mean to.

There are curses shouted around the room, mostly from people scared by the sudden noise, but Roman is just staring down at the most recent pile of mistakes, the newest thing he’s destroyed by laying his hands on, and-

Is someone calling his name?

He only snaps to when someone all but elbows him out of the way. He stumbles backwards even more, hand latching to his sash (totally not over his heart) as the elbower manages to hit him right where it hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and realises it’s Logan who’s elbowed him aside, looking sour. “I was… I…”

“Would you at least mind moving from standing in it?” Logan orders him sharply, and Roman does his best to leap backwards like he’s been stung.

“It was an accident,” Roman is still talking. “I didn’t mean to, I was only trying to help.”

“And clearly, it has gone the same way your help usually goes,” Logan says, sharp and to the point as he crouches down to start picking the larger pieces out of the mess to put into a rubbish bag Patton’s holding open for him. “Surely one would learn to keep their nose out of it by now.”

Roman’s eyes widen. He fights to try and defend himself but no words come. The room finds a way to be even more silent, until Logan finally looks at him, with a bitter glare.

“Why don’t you keep out of the way,” he snaps, “while we fix your mistakes again?”

Roman’s grip over his heart tightens because oh, that hurt. That hurt so bad, it hurt bad enough that it’s stabbing, and he can’t breathe and he’s pretty sure he can feel the cracks widening without having to see it.

He takes one step back. Then another. Patton is staring at Logan, mouth open, and those are the only two in Roman’s tunnel vision at the moment.

Roman does not stay to hear what Patton will say. He couldn’t take it, not from him.

He doesn’t even bother to go for the stairs. He sinks out on the spot, hoping he doesn’t look too much like a wounded animal as he goes.

--- --- --- --- ---  

“You can’t say that,” Patton finally manages to break the shocked silence of the kitchen. “You… that was cruel, Logan.”

“It was true,” Logan grouses, turning back to the pile.

“Get up,” Virgil says gruffly, and suddenly he’s standing behind Logan, face stormy. “I’ll finish this.”

“No, it’s fine-”

“It’s clearly not. Get up, and either go apologise or have a fucking nap. I don’t care, just don’t pull that stunt again.”

Logan stands before Virgil makes him (because he has that look about him) and tries to swallow his anger.

“I’m sorry,” he says formally, swallowing hard and adjusting his tie. “I… I have not slept very well this past week and my patience seems to be growing thin.”

Virgil shoots him a hard look. Patton swallows. Janus has moved to stand beside Patton in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the doorframe with a similarly hard look on his face. Remus is watching from over the edge of the couch with something far too interested for Logan’s liking.

“Go sleep,” Patton nods to the stairs. “We’ll… let’s deal with this tonight. You’ve clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“My bed is pressed up against two walls, I can only get out of one side of it, there is no wrong side-”

“It’s an expression,” Janus cuts in before Logan can continue, and Logan is left to shake his head and all but storm away as everyone else watches, and slowly, the mess gets cleared up.

As Virgil stands, stepping back so Janus can vacuum, Patton catches his arm and pulls him aside.

“Can you… check on Roman?” Patton asks him, and Virgil studies his face. Patton was always pretty good at hiding his emotions, more than they ever really realised, but the way his eyes are shining with something grieving finally sways him. It’s clear he doesn’t know if he should do check on Roman himself – and doesn’t even know if he wants to, but despite everything, he’s still worried about the prince.

“Okay,” Virgil agrees, choosing not to have a go at him. “I might give him a little time, though. I don’t think he wants to see anyone right now.”

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman makes it to his room, and his back thumps against the door as he gasps for air. By the gods, that hurt. It hurts so bad. He fumbles to get his layers off and staggers over to the dresser again to realise with hitching breaths that it wasn’t just him feeling things.

The cracks are bigger. And they’ve solidified into a wine red. The more horizontal cracks have begun to reach around his ribs and he might yet wake up to find them on his back tomorrow.

He makes it to his bed and sits, falls backward and pants at the ceiling. This is the worst it’s felt yet, and Roman thinks he can see the pattern now.

It has to be heartbreak. The thing that makes this worse is the grief over hearing and knowing and processing his myriad of mistakes. And it’s probably only going to go downhill from here.

He presses his hand lightly over his heart again and thinks about Logan’s words. It hurts, everything throbs as he reflects, but he makes himself reflect because Logan is right. And Logan’s been very patient with him in the past. They were just plates, sure, but it was clearly the last straw.

I’ll eat separately from now on, maybe, he thinks to himself. So I don’t have to risk upsetting Logan like that again.

It will probably be better for them all all-round. He’s not as stupid as they all think. He can take a cue, and he can play his role accordingly.

The… the transformation, the whatever it is, has left him exhausted. Roman manages to crawl into bed, he flicks his wrist to magic off his boots because he doesn’t have it in him to do it for real, and he pulls the covers up over his shoulders right up to his chin and rolls over, all but passing out.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil knocks lightly on his door an hour later, calling his name. He sticks his head in the room and his expression softens when he sees Roman sleeping. He flicks the light out and carefully closes the door.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman wakes up in less pain than he fell asleep in, which is nice. A quick glance at his clock tells him it’s the same day – though barely, as it’s now about quarter to midnight, and the thing that actually woke him is not chest pains but hunger pains.

Roman sits up, the blankets sliding off his bare chest, and he blinks twice as he could swear his new afflictions are… glowing? It dies away pretty quick, if it is. It’s a trick of the light if it isn’t. The light is low, so that’s possible, even though Roman doesn’t remember turning them off himself. But still. He changes into his pyjamas, pausing in front of the mirror to make sure everything’s covered, before shuffling to his door.

The house is pretty quiet when he emerges into the corridor. He leaves his door ajar and wanders down the hall and down the stairs. The TV is on and Patton is asleep in front of it. It looks like he was supposed to be waiting up for someone, but took an impromptu nap. Roman grasps the banister as he quickly has to wonder if he’s waiting for him.

What does he want? To console him? To tell him Logan was wrong? Or, what is more likely, that Logan was right?

Sure, he’ll probably tell him that Logan was too harsh, but…

Roman shake his head and manages to sneak past. He has too many feelings about Patton to sort out, and waking him now would not help.

He steals his way into the kitchen and stands there for a moment with hands on his hips, trying to figure out what to do. He combs the fridge and finds leftovers from what they must have eaten tonight, and he can recognise Logan’s cooking when he sees it.

Maybe Logan’s remorseful. Maybe Roman’s on his first strike. Roman takes it and a fork and sits at the table, and eats as quietly as he can. Patton stirs but does not wake.

“Oh.”

Roman flinches, almost drops his fork, but saves himself last-minute even as the snappy movements make his chest ache.

He looks up and sees Janus at the top of the stairs, face unreadable, and Roman flushes before he can try and scrape together a poker face.

“You…” Janus trails off, his voice also low so as not to disturb Patton, “…made quite the spectacle, earlier.”

Roman swallows hard, sets his fork down, and chooses his words carefully.

“It won’t happen again.”

Janus descends the last of the stairs and closes the distance until the only thing separating them is the table.

“Why’d you drop the plates?”

“Dizzy spell,” Roman lies. It’s compulsive, and again, close enough to the truth that it will do, “I’ve been getting them a lot lately. I’ll be more careful.”

He doesn’t really want to tell Janus what’s up. He doesn’t want to tell the guy who… doesn’t… like him? Roman has to assume he doesn’t. Despite what he really wants, Janus’ actions have been clear, he mustn’t like Roman. But Janus is now studying him with something in his eyes that almost looks soft. It might even be pity.

“You do that,” he agrees. “And if you find the time to tell the truth some time, we’re here for that too.”

Roman’s hands tighten on the table, and he can only look away.

“I need to understand what’s happening first,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and can’t meet Janus’ eyes. After all this time, after everything, the most agonizing thing about this is the honesty, but if it gets Janus off his back, then it gets him off his back. “I… I don’t want to hurt everyone any more.”

He stands, and he can’t look at Janus. It hurts too much, he can’t breathe past the lump in his throat, and the subtle feeling of something prickling even further across his skin. He almost rubs over his heart, but manages to keep his hands still. He can’t give the game away so soon.

Janus folds his arms, and studies Roman. “You have people who want to help you,” he points out, and raises an eyebrow as Roman shakes his head.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he says, and skirts both the table and him and makes for the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to finish your food?”

“I’m not hungry,” he lies one last time for the night. “Goodnight.”

Janus watches him go, before slowly turning to clear Roman’s mess up behind him.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman stays up til 4am, sleeps a little more, wakes up at 10am and bides his time until he can strike the least busy sweet-spot between breakfast and lunch to approach the kitchen. He feels ragged and hopes he doesn’t look it, but it’s so much effort to get into his normal outfit that he nearly doesn’t.

He must be deteriorating faster than he expected.

Roman magicks his clothes so they slide onto his limbs by themselves and makes his way downstairs. The only people there are Virgil and Logan, sitting on the couch and discussing the thing they’re watching. It looks to be a deep space documentary.

Roman tries to sneak down the stairs as quietly as he can but they hear him pretty quick. Virgil shoots him a sympathetic look that says talk later, and Logan’s is… fragile, to say the least.

Roman offers them a stiff nod and hurries into the kitchen to make a sandwich or something.

He stands there and eats, vaguely out of sight, and debates sinking out from here. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even realise the others have already closed the distance, and Logan only gets his attention by clearing his throat.

Logan’s in the doorway now, only a couple metres away from where Roman has been leaning against the fridge. He jumps, clutching at his heart over his shirt as the lurch hurts, before putting on a smile as he gathers himself.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” Logan shoots back, and he’s toeing the ground like an anxious teenager. “Roman, about yesterday-”

“I’m not mad,” Roman launches out, not meaning to, but the words have left his mouth before he can think.

Logan looks up, and grimaces a little. “I… You have every right to be. I was in a foul mood, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of that.”

Roman shrugs, and takes another bite of his sandwich. He hates how closely the two of them are watching him. It makes his skin crawl, and his skin’s taking enough abuse as is.

“I get it,” he says eventually. “Hell, it’d be hypocritical if I said I didn’t forgive you.”

Logan looks at him funny. Roman finishes his sandwich, swallows, and tucks his hands behind his back as he stands up straight.

“Thank you for your apology,” he says formally. “But it’s not warranted.”

They’re looking at him funny. He doesn’t understand why. Logan was right, of course, yesterday. He’s just trying to actually begin to take accountability for his mistakes.

“And I’ll make sure something like that doesn’t happen again,” Roman smiles; all teeth and nothing happy.

“I…” Logan looks baffled, like Roman’s thrown him for a loop.

Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to be working. He’s supposed to be working to fix this all.

It’s beginning to dawn on Roman that… maybe he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hopes Logan knows he means it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to work.”

Virgil tries to catch his arm on his way past. Roman manages to slip his way out of it and shoot him a friendly smile as he disappears up the stairs.

He makes it back to his room before the floodgates open.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman is woken by knocks on the door. It is now late afternoon, almost four o’clock, and he’s accidentally fallen asleep at his desk. He doesn’t understand why he’s sleeping so much. This ailment must be taking it out of him.

The knocks come again, and Roman gets to his feet and goes to answer the door.

It’s Patton.

Patton!

He hasn’t spoken to Patton one-on-one in a very long time. Since before the wedding, maybe even before the trial. For someone so near and dear to his heart, Patton has been drifting away from Roman for a very long time, and Roman’s a little afraid of what might happen now with him so close.

He has never really gotten over Patton.

Patton’s eyes search his face, before he smiles gently, in that way that’s not been directed at Roman in months. “Hey, Roman,” he says softly. “Can I come in?”

Roman’s hand shoots up to lean on the doorframe.

“I just want to talk,” Patton says. “Not even about anything in particular, if you don’t want. I guess I realised we… haven’t caught up in a while.”

For a reason, I’m sure.

Roman’s chest aches. He shouldn’t, but he’s always been weak for Patton. He steps back, steps aside, and lets Patton in.

Patton closes the door behind him as Roman pads across the room to sit on his bed. He gestures for Patton to take the chair, but Patton hesitates, crosses the room, and lingers over him.

“Can I sit next to you?”

Roman looks down, before looking back up at Patton and smiling. “If you want.”

It hurts. Not literally, not this time, not yet. It hurts because he is so close to the person he loves so deeply and has hurt so much. Patton deserves better. Patton deserves someone who won’t hurt him. Someone like-

Roman grasps at his chest before he can even think about hiding it, gasping sharp and high as the cracks run deeper. Patton kneels in front of him, taking the hand gripping his own knee and calling his name, asking if he’s alright.

Roman grits his teeth and tries to pull through it, riding out the wave and trying his best not to concern Patton too much. Patton cares so much, too much, too much for his own good.

Eventually, he can straighten up, breathe deep, and meet Patton in the eye.

The wide look of concern there almost breaks him again.

“Oh, hon, are you okay?”

Hon.

“I’m fine,” Roman lies, quick as you please, and smiles despite himself. “I… I think I’ve just been… sick, recently.”

“Can I help?” Patton’s eyes are liquidy and earnest. Roman is overcome with an instinct, and instinct he’s had a few times but only ever acted on once – one Christmas years ago when the two of them were younger and bumbling and unafraid of their feelings and trying each other on for size.

But no, he can’t do that now. Especially when Janus is such a better choice for Patton now than Roman could ever be.

“No,” Roman says, his words wandering out from his lips before he can think them through, and his honesty cuts them both right to the quick. “I don’t think you can.”

Goddammit. Roman can’t tell the truth when he wants to, and can’t lie when he needs to. Patton’s face falls, and he slowly shifts from kneeling in front of Roman to sitting beside him. Roman feels  how the bed dips under Patton’s weight.

“It looks like it hurts,” he says softly.

Understatement of the century.

“I guess I’m just having some heart problems,” Roman half-laughs. “I’m figuring it out.”

He does have some running theories. Patton doesn’t look convinced.

“Look, Logan said he apologised to you,” he starts, and Roman nods along. “But both him and Virgil are worried because you, well, they said you… took it weird.”

Roman shrugs. “I mean…” he quickly trails off before he says what he actually thinks, but he’s clearly said too much as it is.

Patton takes a sharp breath in, one that Roman feels lance through his own chest, before a gentle hand cups his jaw and turns his head back to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You don’t think you deserve it, do you?” Patton asks, plain and simple, voice cracking.

Roman’s lip wobbles. It’d be so easy to lie, but he’s so sick of it by now. And part of him wants to just let it spill to him, let it all spill, but he can’t afford that, not now, not after everything, because maybe Patton doesn’t even remember that one night when they decided to see what the fuss about mistletoe even was.

He can’t put words together. Any words, truth or lie. His eyes probably say enough, though, enough to make Patton’s own expression crumble.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, and pulls Roman into a gentle hug. “Honey, no.”

Roman’s hands have shot into the air, hovering over Patton’s sides but not touching because it’s been so long since he’s been hugged that it almost feels like he’s forgotten what the protocol is. And he doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to touch Patton or not.

But Patton’s breathing hitches, and Roman feels his lips move against his own throat.

“Please,” Patton begs him. “Please hug me back.”

…How could Roman deny him that?

He does. He wraps his arms around Patton as tightly as he dares and enjoys the hug for what it’s worth. He might not get one of these again, especially not from Patton, especially when Patton finally realises that he really isn’t going to be worth all the work that it’s going to take to piece this broken prince of his back together again.

Roman’s got a couple running theories about his condition now.

The first, of course, is that it’s heartbreak. Something metaphorical that has inflicted itself so very thoroughly across and into his skin like a brand, like a punishment. Thomas is broken up over many things right now, Roman is too, and maybe like his ego, which bruises, Thomas’ subconscious is giving it form.

On the other hand, perhaps it’s rot. Maybe he’s rotting away from the inside, because finally his core, the very heart of his function, has finally given out from the weight of the shit Roman keeps doing and doing, against the nature of what he should be for his family. For Thomas.

Maybe this was always set to happen, from the moment Janus put on Patton’s smile.

Dammit, he has always been so weak for Patton’s smile.

Roman’s hands tighten on Patton’s shirt as new, fresh pain lances through him. This time, he might be crying.

Patton’s arms tighten around him, and even though it doubles the agony, Roman doesn’t tell  him to stop. He’s been hungry for this. He’s been missing Patton so badly.

“What helps?” Patton’s lips are still ghosting his throat. “What helps make the pain go away?”

“…Sleep,” Roman shrugs. As best as he can tell, it’s sleep.

“Do… do you want to have a sleepover? Like old times? Build a pillow fort? I can do most the building.”

“…Not today,” Roman whispers, but he’s so touched, he’s so touched Patton’s offered, that Patton’s remembered.

Though honestly, what is he on about? He’s Patton. He never forgets.

Patton ends up trying to help him get ready for bed. Roman is greedy, he’s so greedy, he feels like he’s just lapping up the attention like a kicked puppy, but he can’t help himself. It’s only when Patton quietly asks if he needs help getting changed or not that he’s jolted back to the moment.

“Oh, no,” he smiles far too broadly and flicks his wrist, and his clothes change into his pyjamas seamlessly. It takes energy, it takes more and more energy to do quick changes and stuff like that now, but right now he hasn’t got a choice.

“Okay,” Patton says, but his eyes are shining with something a little hurt, like he’s upset that Roman’s not letting him in.

Oh, no. Roman can’t. He can’t ever do that again. Because the last time he let Patton bear the full force of his emotions, it almost destroyed them both. No, he’s keeping Patton safe this way.

Patton insists on tucking him in, though, helps him lay back and arranges pillows and blankets for him. Fussing. He’s worried. Roman smiles up at him in a lame attempt to try and assuage his fears.

Patton smiles down at him too, before leaning down and pressing a quick little kiss into his hair.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he tells Roman as he straightens up, before crossing the room and pausing in the doorway. “G’night, Roman.”

“…G’night.”

Patton flicks off the light and closes the door.

Roman pulls the covers over his head and tries to use them to muffle his tears as his chest stabs with hurt again.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman’s reached a point where it might not be getting worse anymore. Maybe it’s just plateaued, and it can get worse. Or maybe this is it, this is just his state now. The cracks are wide now, maybe a half-inch on average, and over his heart, it is ruptured like a centrepoint. Roman was right about a glow. Now the cracks are bigger, he can see that the red in there isn’t just wine-dark but a shifting nebula of molten reds and hints of gold. Sometimes he swears it pulses in time with his heartbeat.

He's just glad it doesn’t show through his clothes.

Roman really doesn’t have the energy he used to, either, nowadays. He has migrated to wearing simpler clothing. A week or two in, he’d swapped back to his old outfit because it was easier to get on and off. A month or two later, now he’s just wearing… clothes.

Comfort over style, nowadays. He can’t even bend over to lace up his boots anymore. He even wears slippers sometimes instead of real shoes.

The others have noticed, of course. They aren’t stupid. He has just had to quietly say it’s health complications and handwave as many comments and questions as possible.

Thomas summoned him once in this state. He was visibly shaken, and Roman could only laugh ever so quietly.

“I… were you serious about the world outgrowing princes?” Thomas asks him seriously, eyes shining. God, he can really see where Patton shines through.

“Oh, this?” Roman looks down at his baggy clothing and sighs. “This isn’t me abandoning that, as such. I just…” He shrugs limply. “I’m not well.”

“Not… well? That can happen?”

“I guess so,” Roman shrugs again, and folds his arms across his chest. “It’s… I don’t think this sort of thing’s quite happened before, but we’re figuring it out.”

“Are the others helping you?”

“Yes.” Oh, that’s bold. Lying straight to his centre’s face. Still, the others would help if he asked, have offered, even, but Roman doesn’t even know how to fix it, let alone what they can do about it.

“It’s, uh,” Thomas shifts on his feet. “Not a ‘bruised ego’ thing again, is it? I could understand if it is.”

Roman rubs his arms and tries not to clutch his shirt over his heart. “Not really,” he says softly. “But it might be of a… similar vein.”

“Is there anything I can do, then?” Thomas is so earnest, he steps towards Roman, and Roman’s so afraid as to what might happen if he gets any closer.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just…”

He presses his hands against his eyes and debates, debates talking, debates telling someone his feelings for once.

“It hurts so much,” he’s speaking before he can make up his mind as to whether he should. “It… it’s so draining. And I think it’s…”

He clamps his lips shut and turns away, already mad that he’s said so much. But Thomas closes in, takes his hand and gets Roman to look at him again.

“Please,” he says, so softly. “Roman, talk to me.”

“It always gets worse when I am reminded of my mistakes,” Roman blurts, eyes suddenly stinging with tears that desperately want to escape. “It hurts so much to accept them, even though that’s what’s needed from me.”

“What’s needed?” Thomas echoes, worried.

“If I can’t accept and improve, then… then everything I do, for you and for them, is pointless. How can you be expected to overcome new trials and adversities when I can’t learn from our past?”

“You sound like you’re in it alone,” Thomas points out, clasping Roman’s hand firmly. “And I can tell you without a doubt that I’ve had a very similar talk with Patton. And… there are people who understand this, Roman, and people who want to help you. And I’m one of those people.”

You shouldn’t.

“I can do it on my own.”

“But you said it hurts. …Maybe you need a hand?”

Roman pulls his hand away from Thomas, despite how much it pains him. “You don’t understand how broken this all is,” he says, painfully honest. “You don’t understand how broken I am. I can try to improve but I… I don’t think I can change.”

“You already have,” Thomas replies, eyes sad. “And I promise you a lot of it is for the better. I’m sorry your introspection is so painful. It usually is very easy to turn into self-loathing, too.”

Roman flushes, and shakes his head, not because Thomas is wrong, but because he’s too right.

“I…” he swallows hard. “I have to go.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Roman,” Thomas tells him as he pulls away again. “I want to help you if I can.”

“I know,” Roman mumbles.

“I love you,” Thomas then follows it up, perfectly earnest and honest. “I value you so much, there’s no one else who can do what you do, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t reply. He can hardly hear over all the thoughts swirling in his head that say otherwise as he sinks out.

--- --- --- --- ---  

It hurts. It hurts so bad. Roman makes the mistake of rising up in the hallway outside his room instead of in his room, and he wraps his arms around his chest as he stumbles towards his door, trying not to whimper.

There’s someone on the stairs. As he shoulders open his bedroom door, he hears someone call his name.

Roman staggers in through the door as it swings open under his bodyweight and the follow-through sends him sprawled out on the floor, head spinning under a crush of white noise as his body rebels against him. He swears he can taste blood.

“Roman?”

Someone’s in his doorway, and curses as he curls in on himself, outwardly crying from pure pain alone for the first time. Roman has a pretty high pain tolerance, when all is said and done. But he’s so tired, he’s so worn down, and this blow is new and fresh and hurts more than anything else so far, and he’s raw and hurting from the belief that he can’t trust anyone with this.

He’s alone. He’s alone, and he might be dying.

Hands. Hands on his side, on his shoulder, carefully easing him upright. Roman curls into the person with a gasp as he rides out the wave, somehow finding the wherewithal to flush with embarrassment in the middle of that even as another pair of arms wrap around him.

The smell is what’s telling. It’s a bad smell. It’s Remus.

Roman lets his brother hold him, not understanding why, and then Remus is moving, and suddenly Roman’s been picked up.

“Shit,” he finally hears Remus say. “Should you be this light?”

“I’m not well,” Roman says faintly.

“Yeah, duh.”

Remus is moving. The world is a bit of a blur still but Roman realises as he’s lowered onto familiar softness that Remus has put him down on his bed. Roman closes his eyes and tries to gather himself as Remus drags his deskchair over and parks up at his bedside.

“Are you dying?” Remus asks him, voice oddly serious, and Roman’s eyes snap open and they finally make eye contact.

Remus looks… shaken. Maybe his intrusive thoughts are running wild after finding his brother sobbing on the floor. Understandable.

Roman wets his lips and hesitates. “…Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know!” Roman eases himself into a sitting position and Remus is quick to adjust pillows for him so he has support. “I… I don’t know.”

Remus is staring at him, in that unnervingly close way that always gives the impression he’s trying to analyse his bone structure or something.

“What’s that?” he finally says, leaning over and touching something on Roman’s collarbone.

Roman knows without looking, judging by the familiar way it hurts when Remus’ finger presses.

“Ah,” he says. “I didn’t realise it had spread that much.”

“Spread?”

Remus tugs the neck of Roman’s shirt down a little, and makes a choked noise at the realisation that this mark keeps going down.

“I…” Roman bats his hand away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried,” Remus snaps back. “I’m worrying about it. Roman, you’re clearly in pain.”

“You love it when I’m in pain.”

“No, I love it when I’m causing you pain. And you know that what I do isn’t permanent. That’s half the point.”

Roman has teared up a little at that. It’s a semi-fucked up Remus way of admitting he cares about his brother.

“Show me,” Remus says, and he’s grabbed the bottom hem of Roman’s shirt.

“No,” Roman tries to bat his hands away again.

“Show me!”

“Stop trying to care!” Roman finally succeeds in hitting his hands away, and Remus looks wounded. “You… what’s with you? You haven’t cared about me, and given my current developments, you shouldn’t either.”

“What, I should love you because you’re dying?”

“No! You shouldn’t love me because I’m a horrible person! And I’m only getting worse!” Roman glares at his brother through tears that started falling without his permission. “What’s so hard to understand about this?”

Remus looks stumped. He slumps back in his seat, hands in his lap, looking like Roman just kicked him in the stomach.

“…I’m a horrible person, too,” he finally whispers. “Because I have been the biggest dick to my brother all the while he’s suffering.”

“I… Suffering’s just part of being me,” Roman says limply with a shrug that hurts and tugs in a number of weird and bad-feeling ways. “You… you haven’t.”

“Careful, there,” Remus tries to joke. “All that edge and you’ll summon our emo.”

His eyes are usually bright, and his heart isn’t in the joke. Roman sighs, he feels really tired all of a sudden. A thought rears its head – something he hasn’t considered but is inspired by what Thomas said to him. It usually is very easy to turn into self-loathing, too.

Is this self-inflicted? Is he that much of a bleeding heart?

“You…” Remus reaches out and hesitates before his touches his brother’s arm, like he’s not sure where to put his hands to make sure he doesn’t hurt Roman. “Please, can I help? Can I see?”

“I don’t know what you can do to help,” Roman says softly. “But…”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Fine.”

Remus has to help him take off his shirt, and as more and more is revealed, until the shirt hits the floor and Roman braces himself on the bed, not meeting Remus’ eyes.

“Holy shit,” Remus says.

Roman sits up, swings himself upright and gets to his feet, despite Remus trying to keep him down. He staggers over to his dresser and pauses in front of the mirror, before taking it all it.

It’s… worse. His breath stops in his throat as he just tries to comprehend what has happened to his body. It’s almost like the time he broke his mirror, but… it’s him. His torso is an intricate weaving of rich red cracks, and he twists despite the ache to check his back and sees it covers that too. He runs a hand over the base of his throat, noting that the cracks are even beginning to reach that high. Onto his shoulders, too. No more tank tops, then. He shies down the top of his pyjama pants just over one hip to see if it stretches down, and… yeah, it’s beginning to spread down to his thighs as well.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” Remus echoes. His brother gets up and comes over, crowds his space and carefully, carefully, puts a hand on his back. Roman’s too tired to flinch.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.” This far in, there’s no point in lying.

“This is… Roman, this is fucked. You… we need to tell everyone.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” Remus grabs him by the shoulders and turns him so Roman has to face him and look his brother in the eye. “I’m sorry, dramatic? Roman, look at you! The only one being dramatic here is you trying to wallow!”

“I’m not wallowing,” Roman swallows hard. “I’ve… I’ve earned this. This is my burden to bear.”

“Earned…” Remus lets him go and staggers backwards, ending up in the chair again. He’s rubbing his forehead, bewildered and pained. “What have they done to you?”

“I did this to myself,” Roman shrugs, baring his arms. “I… This is my punishment.”

“For what? Being you?”

“I suppose it must be.”

Remus pauses as Roman says that, and looks up again, eyes glinting with unshed tears.

“I mean,” Roman laughs, tilting his head back and reaching up to massage at his temple. “What else have I done?”

The sound of crying hits Roman first, and then Remus does second, squarely and in the jaw. Roman staggers with a cry – though it’s nothing compared to the agony he’s been living in for the past month. Next, as he’s trying to gain his balance again, Remus latches on in a huge hug as he proceeds to sob into Roman’s shoulder.

His arms are tight around Roman’s torso. It hurts and comforts in equal amounts. Roman does not tell him to stop.

Roman hugs him back, letting Remus grieve.

Then, “why’d you punch me?”

“Because you’re a fucking idiot, and I love you,” Remus mumbles back. His moustache prickles against Roman’s bare skin. “A-and I didn’t mean to, it just happened, I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Roman accepts that as it is, and lets Remus hang on for dear life.

--- --- --- --- ---  

It takes a long time to convince Remus to leave. He doesn’t want to, of course, and the look in his eye tells Roman he’s afraid that he will come back tomorrow and find his brother in pieces on the floor.

Roman’s afraid that Remus is going to kick down everyone’s doors and spill the beans on what a weak person he is. And weak is the word for it, because when Roman wakes the next day, he can barely sit up.

He’s still not wearing a shirt. Must’ve passed out without one. He forces himself to summon one onto himself, rather than go through the agony of trying to get one over his head manually. The room swims as the energy drains.

This is bad.

Roman can’t sit up. He can barely keep his eyes open. It feels like it’s been forever and like it’s hit him all at once at the same time.

He wishes it would end. He’s beginning to not care how that end comes about.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Remus is in the kitchen, which is odd, because he’s banned from the kitchen, and he usually respects that because it’s more trouble than it’s worth for him otherwise. But Patton comes downstairs that morning to the cacophony of clattering dishes and the smell of something burning, and no, no, no, no, no! And he has to pause at the foot of the stairs and watch Remus panic, trying to gather his bearings as he hears the sound of scraping against the bottom of a frying pan.

He steps on the squeaky stair as he dismounts the staircase, and Remus’ head snaps up. Patton takes a hasty step back when he realises that Remus is in tears.

“Help me,” Remus begs, and Patton is lost for words. “Please. I’ve… I-I…”

Remus is clearly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Patton hurries over before anything more can go wrong, and the first thing he does is turn off the stovetop and help him scrape it all clean.

“I…” Remus is scraping his failed attempt of pancake batter into the bin upon Patton’s direction. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but I wanted to make Roman breakfast.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Patton says politely.

“I can’t cook,” Remus mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Patton smiles. “I’ll help you. It’s a nice surprise for Roman.”

“I’m trying to help him,” Remus looks like he has to talk or he’ll explode. “He… he’s not well!”

“I know,” Patton hums, turning away with a clean bowl to start making a new batch.

“No, you don’t understand,” Remus grabs Patton by the shoulder, eyes wild as he turns Patton around. “He… h-he! Fuck, he didn’t want me to say. He’s such an idiot. He might be dying and he doesn’t want me to say.”

Might be dying. Might be dying?

“What?”

Remus’ face crumples. His hands are shaking. Patton pulls him into a hug and lets Remus cling to him, staring into space as the duke starts to cry in earnest.

When Remus has cried himself out a bit more, only then does Patton dare to ask. He wets his lips and quietly raises the question.

“W-what do you mean by …dying?”

Remus goes tense in his arms.

“I…” Remus pulls back and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it, it looks like he’s falling apart, and I mean that literally.”

Patton frowns, unable to imagine it, but the look on Remus’ face – pure distress – is enough to get him to not question him on that front any further.

“I…” Remus’ eyes are roaming the room, like he just can’t stop talking. “Yesterday, he was so weak. I don’t know what he’ll be like today. I don’t know if he can climb stairs anymore. I want to help him but I don’t know how.”

“Does…” Patton searches for a person, any person, the right person to name here. He’s also trying not to feel insulted that Roman never actually told him. “Does Thomas know?”

“Whatever it is only got worse after he came back from talking with Thomas,” Remus shrugs wildly. “I don’t think so. I think I’m the only one who’s seen it. I…”

He claps his hand over his mouth and shakes his head.

Patton turns away and wordlessly keeps making pancakes.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil comes downstairs next, surprisingly, and Patton hands him the bowl with the rest of the batter and leaves him in charge, following Remus up the stairs with a platter of breakfast to take to Roman’s room.

Remus helped, not with the cooking, but with laying all the plates and cups and such out for him. Patton follows the duke up the stairs with bated breath, letting Remus knock on Roman’s door and enter first.

“We made you breakfast,” he hears Remus say as he rushes to his brother’s bedside, leaving Patton to elbow the door open a little wider.

“Who’s we?”  he hears Roman ask, before choking on his own breath as Patton enters. He’s quietly quite sad that that’s the reaction he gives Roman, but he bundles that up and carries the tray over to Roman’s bed.

And fuck, Remus is right. Roman looks like he’s withering away there on the bedsheets. Pale as anything and there’s no life in those eyes of his.

There’s something weird on his skin, like a thin black line, creeping up over his collarbones. He can see it over the top of Roman’s shirt.

Patton sets the tray down gently on Roman’s lap after Remus helps to get him into a sitting position, propped up and comforted by pillows.

Patton sets the tray down in front of him, and before he can’t help himself.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Both Creativities look at him wide-eyed. Patton looks up and tries to smile but he’s tearing up too much to get his point across.

“I… I care about you too much to lose you, Roman.”

Roman looks terrified. And then he turns to Remus and snaps, “what did you say?”

“I-!” Remus looks like he’s been slapped. “You really expect me to keep a secret?”

“Fuck,” Roman grumbles, and makes no move to touch his food.

“Roman,” Patton has cupped Roman’s jaw before he can think – he has a lot of emotions bundled away he’s been working through over the months, but despite himself one of the oldest and most consistent has been loving Roman despite everything that has happened; despite what Roman must think of him – and he’s turned Roman’s head to meet his eyes. “I… I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if I can help you. And I don’t mean fix you. You are deserving of help, whether or not you believe you are broken.”

Roman’s eyes are wide, and his breath is hitching.

“I’ve seen how you hurt,” Patton continues, unable to take his hand away but sitting on the bed, trying to be close to him. “Please… Roman.”

“I can’t,” Roman’s lower lip is wobbling. “I… Patton, you haven’t seen me. It’s too much work.”

“Not to me.” Patton speaks without thinking. “Not if it’s you.”

Roman bursts into tears.

Patton quickly passes off the tray of food before scooting in even closer, letting Roman fall against him and curl in. His body shakes, and Roman’s hot to the touch, almost feverish. Patton carefully wraps his arms around Roman, trying to be ever so gentle.

Remus is hovering, and Patton shoots him a pained look, and the duke slowly backs away and sits down at Roman’s desk.

“I just…” Roman shakes his head. “I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All that pressure, over the years, it was me, Patton. I should have given you space, I should have left you be, I should have-”

“I would have been worse off for being alone,” Patton cuts him off, his grip tightening without meaning to as he even dares to imagine it. “You know me, Ro. I couldn’t stand it.”

Roman’s shaking his head.

“How much have you been lying to yourself?” Patton’s continuing, he’s still talking even though this might ruin them more. “How much to you have to deny yourself before you allow us to help you? Roman, I can’t take seeing this. I can’t take seeing you hurt.”

Roman pulls back – or he tries to, but he’s so weak he can’t force his own way out of Patton’s arms. Patton gets the hint, though, and lets him go willingly. Roman doesn’t shove him away. He instead carefully takes Patton’s hand in his own, and puts it over his heart.

Patton desperately tries not to put too much weight on it, just in case.

“Huh,” Roman says, quietly to himself. “That… doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

Patton’s hand flexes a little as he processes that statement. Then he looks up, his brown eyes wide and watery.

“Let me see,” he says.

“Patton, it’s-”

“Let me see.”

There are footsteps out in the hall. It seems their arguing has drawn a crowd. Virgil appears in the doorway, eyes wide, eyeshadow dark, taking in the scene.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, voice urgent.

“Nothing,” Roman says, lying through his teeth.

“Everything,” Patton says at the same time. “But Roman’s gonna tell us how we can help, right?”

“I-!” Roman’s gone even paler.

Remus clears his throat pointedly, making his brother look over.

“If you don’t spill the beans, I will,” he says, casually and conversationally, but very clearly a threat.

Roman starts crying, but it’s dead silent. His eyes flick around the room at the gathered crowd, and his breath hitches as Logan and Janus appear over Virgil’s shoulders.

“It’s a whole party, huh?” he wheezes, trying to laugh even though tears are running down his face hot and fast. “I… Well, I suppose you all deserve to know, in case this goes where I assume this is going.”

Patton’s hand over his heart tightens just a little at that, but otherwise, Patton manages not to react.

Roman put his hand over Patton’s and squeezes lightly.

“Help me sit up,” he says, “and help me take off my shirt.”

Patton does as he is bidden, Remus jumping up to help as the others enter the room properly, and tries to ignore how much the prince’s voice is shaking.

Roman wheezes a little as Patton helps negotiate him out of his sleepshirt, and Patton’s hands start shaking as more and more damage is revealed.

By the time Roman’s shirt hits the floor again, Patton can barely bring himself to lay hands on his friend. How could he? The agony that Roman has been in is spelled out plain and simple through his skin.

“Oh shit,” someone says. “Shit, Roman!”

Roman’s shoulders are shaking. “Do you understand?” he breaks his silence. He reaches out as much as he can, and Patton gives him his hand in an instant.  “Do you understand why I didn’t say anything?”

“How did it get this bad?” Patton squeezes his hand and tries not to cry himself – though the wetness on his face tells him he’s failed.

There’s someone beside him, now. Everyone’s crowded around. Ah, it’s Logan, and he kneels down beside the bed and takes Roman’s other hand, which had been resting on his stomach, and carefully starts examining the cracks.

“Does it hurt?”

Roman wets his lips, and seems to be debating telling the truth. He ends up locking eyes with Patton, and he swallows.

“Yes,” he says. “Very much so. Especially when they widen. But it hasn’t done that dramatically for a while.”

Remus clears his throat.

“Well, I talked to Thomas yesterday, and that was the worst one, but I don’t think there’s going to be much left in me, to be frank.”

“Do you know the cause of this?” Logan’s voice is fragile. “And can we fix it?”

“I think…” Roman trails off, shakes his head, and smiles. “I don’t think I can be fixed.”

Logan’s grip on his hand tightens. Virgil comes and sits on the end of the bed, and Janus stands over him.

“The cause,” Janus prompts, obviously not missing how Roman didn’t answer the question. “Do you know it?”

“I…” Roman looks like he wants to disappear. “I have… ideas, but nothing certain.”

“Thomas’ creativity does tend to take metaphors quite literally,” Logan glances at Janus, at Virgil, at Patton, and at Remus as Remus comes over to really close the ring. “I… like bruised ego, for instance. But it’s not that, is it?”

Roman shakes his head, slowly, painfully.

“Heartbreak, I think,” is all he says.

Heartbreak.

Patton has to look away.

“Heartbreak,” Virgil echoes.

“It’s just a theory,” Roman shrugs, despite how it must hurt. “Other idea is my own body’s shutting down against me because I’ve betrayed my purpose by hurting Thomas and getting in the way of his dreams and this is my punishment for it.”

Roman then blinks, like he didn’t mean to say all that out loud.

Everyone’s staring at him.

He wets his lips, and tries to go on damage control.

“I, uh, of course, it could be-”

Virgil’s hand on his knee cuts him off.

“Do you actually believe that?”

Roman blinks at him, almost bewildered. It is answer enough for the room.

He feels the energy shift. The room feels all but frigid. Roman yawns, wide and half-teary, and wonders briefly over whether going to sleep now will mean he wakes up tomorrow at all.

There’s a hand on his face, the coldness of the hand jolting his eyes open, and he realises it’s Logan, guiding him to make eye contact.

“The day you dropped the plates,” he says, low and urgent, “was that this?”

“It wasn’t the start of this,” Roman shrugs again. “But… it was when the cracks started to widen, yes.”

“Did I cause it?”

“You? No. It…”

“Tell the truth, Roman. I can take it if it means we can save you.”

“But why?” Roman shakes his head. “You can fill my role.”

“We can’t,” Logan says earnestly, and glances around the room in a panic. “We can’t.”

“We can’t,” Patton agrees, pressing Roman’s hand to his lips frantically, trying to find some way to prove his care, to be even closer.

“We can’t,” Virgil enforces. “Thomas would never do anything, ever, because he’d have no motivation.”

“He’d never sing again,” Janus follows up, his voice surprisingly urgent. “He’d never sing, he’d never act, he’d never write or even organise the fridge in order of colour again. He’d never sling around another nickname, he’d… Roman, surely you must realise to some degree how integral you are?”

“He’s got another creativity,” Roman sighs.

“And you think I could be anything like you?” Remus demands. “I’m insulted. I don’t want to be like you, I want to have you. Because then I don’t have to fill a void knowing for the rest of our sorry lives that if I’d acted faster, I’d still have a brother.”

Roman’s shaking his head.

“Do you really think you get to shirk your duties like this?” Janus says, and it seems to be the wrong thing because Roman twists away and rips his hand out of Patton’s grip to cover his mouth, and they all have to watch in horror as the cracks somehow manage to widen.

Roman goes limp on the bed, and pants.

“I just think,” he gasps for air, “that you all will be better off without the dead weight.”

It’s a poor choice of words, and Logan and Virgil seem to be in tears now.

“Get Thomas,” Patton says, voice calm and even.

“No,” Roman’s eyes shoot open.

“Get Thomas!” Patton turns to Janus, who looks pale, but nods once and sinks out.

“I can’t let him see me like this!” Roman has sat up somehow, clawing at Patton until Patton gives him his hands to clutch. “I-I can’t let him know I’ve failed!”

Janus rises back up into the room with a woozy Thomas clinging to his arm. Thomas looks around with a worried expression and a question on his lips until he sees Roman.

“Oh my god,” Thomas stumbles over and Logan gets out of the way so Thomas can take his place. “Roman! You said you were ill.”

“I am,” Roman half-smiles.

“Don’t pull this on me now,” Thomas puts a very careful hand on Roman’s chest and winces in sympathy as Roman hisses, almost like he can feel it too. “Oh, oh, that makes so much more sense now.”

Roman’s lip is wobbling. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I… I had my suspicions, especially after our talk. But… oh, Roman. It’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

“Very kind of you to send me off into that goodnight so quietly.”

“Where’s your rage, then, Roman? You aren’t supposed to go quietly! You’re…” Thomas has started crying too, hell, everyone in the room has by now. “I was supposed to fight for you, bud. I’m so sorry. I failed you.”

“I should have been flexible for you,” Roman whispers, taking Thomas’s hand and fiddling with it, looking at it and not his centre’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not in your nature,” Thomas whispers back. “You’re one-natured, and I’m not. I should have seen how you both were hurting. It was just…”

“You don’t have to say it,” Roman rests his head against Thomas’ arm. “I was glad you helped Patton first. I would have insisted on it if you didn’t.”

Patton claps his hands over his mouth and tries not to be horrified. Thomas had been very patient and they had worked through their feelings about the wedding together. Janus had been very helpful, too, actually. But if he’d known Roman was dying of a broken heart…

Was it destined? If it hadn’t been Roman, would it have been him?

“I have to learn,” Roman says, so tired, so tired. “Or I have to go.”

“You have learnt,” Thomas reminds him, so carefully, so gently. “Clearly, or you wouldn’t accept this lying down.”

“I haven’t got a choice otherwise at the moment, Thomas.”

“You know what I mean, you asshole.”

Roman laughs, even though it takes it all out of him. He falls still, and closes his eyes against Thomas with a sigh.

“I’m tired,” he says. His voice is so small.

“I know,” Thomas half-laughs himself. He reaches around Roman and pulls him in closer, letting Roman cuddle into his side as he sits on the bed next to him. “You can rest, bud. You’ve done so good.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Janus blurted. “I-I didn’t mean it.”

Roman’s eyes wander open, and he regards Janus with a curious look. “It’s okay if you did,” he replies, and Janus’ face crumples even more.

“It’s not,” Janus shoots back.

“You don’t have to feel bad about telling the truth just because I look like this.”

“Is that how much you’ve been lying to yourself?” Janus steps closer, now moving past Patton. “That you’ve convinced yourself every cruel thing we’ve said about you is true? People get angry, sometimes, Roman, and people say things they don’t actually mean. I would think you know this better than us all.”

Roman’s head falls back against Thomas, who shoots Janus a look that asks be careful.

“I do.”

Janus takes off his hat and rakes a hand through his hair, letting his hat disappear with a flick of his wrist as he picks his words carefully.

“Then you should know that I… I was just frustrated, and trying to get under your skin. I didn’t realise how successful I had been. I didn’t mean to isolate you. I-I… I didn’t…”

Janus presses his hands to his face and steps back. Roman watches him carefully, but closes his eyes and smiles. “Thank you,” he says.

Janus steps back and kicks himself about that that seems to be enough to make Roman content. He’s not crying. He’s not. He’s really not.

Someone leads him away.

Roman noses a little into Thomas’ side.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“So am I,” Thomas replies. “I don’t want to hear you apologising, Roman. I don’t think a single moment of this has been your fault.”

Roman makes a sound that tells them all he doesn’t believe that, but lets it slide. Thomas yawns as Roman’s eyes slump. It is late, Patton supposes, even as he dares to take Roman’s hand again.

Roman opens one eye a crack and smiles at him.

“I want to talk to you,” Patton tells him quietly, hyperaware of everyone in the room hearing his words. “I wanna talk to you alone. There’s something I think we need to talk about.”

Roman looks… accepting, even if he doesn’t look thrilled. Thomas shoots him a look of his own but doesn’t say anything.

Roman doesn’t respond to his name after another half-minute. He’s fallen asleep. Thomas settles in beside him and is unwilling to move – even at the warning that spending a whole night in his mindscape probably isn’t going to be good for him.

Thomas is unwilling leave, even suggests moving Roman, but is eventually convinced to go sleep. In the end, everyone splits off to sleep. Patton promises he’s going to return to his own room after checking on Roman one last time, but in reality he makes a comfortable bundle of blankets on the floor and burrows in.

Somehow, he finds enough of a moment of peace to slip into sleep himself.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman wakes up during the night. He brute-forces his way into a sitting position and notices with surprise that Patton is asleep in on a makeshift pile of bedding on the floor beside him.

His door opens a crack, and he sees the glint of light reflecting off someone’s eye. That someone takes a sharp breath in at realising that Roman’s up, and Roman sighs.

“Come in,” he calls quietly. “And don’t wake Patton.”

The door opens, and Virgil slips in the gap, socked feet silent against the carpet. He pads across the room, making a beeline for the bed, and steps over Patton carefully.

He sits down and stares Roman in the eye. Roman notices he’s been crying.

At first, Virgil doesn’t say anything. He just grabs Roman as carefully as he can manage (although Virgil’s affection has always been a little rougher than most, but that’s okay), and tugs him into a hug, burying his face in Roman’s neck.

Roman slings his arms around Virgil’s hips and sighs, patting the small of Virgil’s back lightly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone.”

Roman shakes his head.

“Like, I get it,” Virgil counters himself quickly. “And god, I probably wouldn’t have, in your shoes, but also fuck, that’s so stupid, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add any more stress,” Roman shrugs. “You’ve seen what every single group meal has looked like for the past month, V. It just… seemed like more trouble than it was worth.”

“Worth your life? I don’t think there’s enough trouble in the world to be worth dunking that.”

“Right.”

Virgil grits his teeth at that passive response. Clearly he wants to (lovingly) raise his voice, but they promised not to wake Patton. Instead, he pulls back and looks Roman in the eye.

“Ro, are we friends?”

Roman blinks at the question, and panic floods through him. “…I thought so? If it’s still in the air, then yes, I consider you a dear friend, b-but-!”

“Wait, shit, okay, I didn’t mean it like that. I consider you…” Virgil lowers his voice even more, glancing towards Patton in an attempt to make sure he was still asleep. “I consider you one of, if not my best friend, especially at the moment. What with… everything that’s happened.”

“I’m amazed you even want to talk to me, after everything that’s happened.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Virgil shakes his head. “Roman, if there’s one thing you have made very damn clear over these weeks is that you are aware that change is needed, and I have seen you change. I don’t know if I like how much of you I’ve seen go down the drain, because you think you can’t be yourself.”

“Being myself got us into this mess, Virge,” Roman says tiredly. “After fives years, something’s gotta crack.”

“Don’t say crack,” Virgil snaps, not out of anger but just out of stress. “I swear to god, Roman, don’t say crack.”

Roman laughs, tiny and pained, but a laugh none the less.

“You aren’t the sole problem here,” Virgil repeats himself, wondering when it’s going to sink in. “You have to realise that on some level. Because god, Roman? I’ve been there. And sure I wasn’t being physically torn apart over it but I get that you want the suffering to end, but there’s more than one way to get there.”

Roman raises a hand between them and waits for Virgil to take it, trying to ignore how much he’s shaking. Virgil does, takes it in an instant, and he is steady, if not a little clammy.

“But the problem is…” Roman starts, hesitant, but one glance at Virgil gives him the courage to finish his thought, “what if I can’t be fixed? What if I am doomed? I… I don’t want to get my own hopes up again. I can’t do that to myself twice.”

Virgil rubs his thumb across Roman’s knuckles a couple times as he chooses his words. “You keep talking,” he says, low and gravelly, “about being fixed. Roman, …e-even if this is… it, you don’t deserve to go out suffering and alone. You deserve help and love and care purely because you are real and living and here, and part of our family, not just because you are in pain. I refuse to think we can’t help you. I refuse to think that we lose you like this, but… if we do, you’re not going out by yourself. I can promise you that.”

Roman was already on the brink of tears – he has been for days – and that is enough for him to start gently weeping. He leans forward, and Virgil gets the hint and wraps his arms around the prince. The grip is firm and it hurts a little but Roman’s glad, he’s glad because it makes him feel solid and real, it makes him feel like he isn’t going to break, it…

It makes him feel loved.

God, he’s so tired. But for once, he feels warm. It doesn’t hurt as bad. He slumps against Virgil a little and lets his head fall into the crook of Virgil’s neck.

“Tired?”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes closing. “M’sorry. It just... hits pretty fast.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil says, and he swears he hears Virgil’s voice crack, swears he feels something wet drop onto his hair, but he’s too tired to accuse him of anything. “Can I stay?”

“Yeah,” Roman mumbles, head spinning a little as Virgil helps him lay back down. Normally, he’d be cursing himself out for being so weak. But he’s just a little taken with how warm he’s feeling right now.

For once, he’s not afraid of falling asleep.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil sleeps propped up against the side of Roman’s bed, and he sleeps fitfully. So that way, he’s awake when Patton rouses himself. Patton doesn’t look that well-rested either, but he lifts his head and fixes his bleary eyes on Virgil, and blinks slowly, before smiling.

“Morning,” he says, voice kind of gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” Virgil mumbles back. “Sorry, I just had to make sure he was… okay.”

“Mm,” Patton agrees, sitting up and stretching. Then, after a moment, he scoots out of the blankets, grabs the top-most once, and scoots over to Virgil, sitting side by side so he can sling the blanket around both of them. “Me too.”

Virgil is tense for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax, and a word or two of consent has him resting his head on Patton’s shoulder, melting into the other. Patton hums again. He seems exhausted.

He has vague memories of seeing Virgil and Roman talking in the dead of night. But Patton quietly realised that was a private conversation, and drifted back to sleep while he was still in its clutches. He’s curious, of course. He wants to know what they talked about, but he has to know it’s not his business.

Virgil sighs, and Patton rests his head against Virgil’s as anxiety starts quietly crying. Everyone’s been crying a lot lately. But god, it’s so much to process.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Patton says, in a voice so firm that it surprises both of them.

“I hope so,” Virgil murmurs back. “He… he’s not convinced. Or, he might be a little more convinced now.”

“That’s good,” Patton says, ignoring the ache in his own chest. It’s nothing physical, not like Roman. He just wants him to be healthy, to be alright, wants him to live. It hurts, seeing him so assured of his downfall. But after spending so long alone in this state? Patton can’t blame him.

It hurts, but he can’t blame him.

“Did you sleep much?” he asks, feeling Virgil shift his weight to be more comfortable.

“Nah,” Virgil sighs. “I… couldn’t make it through the night.”

“Sleep now, if you want,” Patton offers. “I’ll make sure you both are alright.”

It doesn’t take long for Virgil to drift off. Patton settles down to wait, and drifts off himself at some point too.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman is roused his from his oddly peaceful slumber by the door being opened with a sing-song “breakfast’s ready!”

The voice is silky and gentle, and Roman sits up and realises through his bleary blinks that it’s Janus. Huh. He’s never heard Janus talk to him like that before.

It’s cute.

Janus pauses in the doorway, before laughing a little, and leaning back out into the corridor. “I’ve found them.”

“Hm?” Logan sticks his head around the door as Janus crosses the room, and snorts himself as they see Patton and Virgil curled up against each other under a blanket propped up against Roman’s bed. Roman looks over and laughs, a surprisingly light sound seeing how exhausted he was yesterday, and he shifts in bed so he’s a bit more comfortable.

“Good morning,” he says, smiling.

“Good morning,” Janus replies, putting down the tray on his lap. “You seem… well.”

Roman blinks, before looking up at Janus with realisation. He can’t find the words in that moment, but Janus is right. He feels… okay.

“Porridge,” Janus presses the spoon into his hand. “Honey and spices, and with cream. Logan says that’s how you like it.”

“Logan’s right,” Roman says in a small voice, and he shoots Logan a smile, who totally doesn’t preen under the reaction. “Thank you.”

He begins to eat (finally has the stomach to eat something) as Janus crouches down in front of his guardian angels and gently shakes them both awake.

Virgil wakes first, bleary and armed with a death glare, but he does mellow out as he comes a little more to his senses. Patton takes a bit to shake awake, always a heavy sleeper, but eventually he does sit up and stretch tall, yawning.

“What time is it?”

“About 10,” Janus says, standing. “We’re having porridge.”

Patton gets to his feet and offers Virgil a hand up, and then and only then turns and looks at Roman. The delight on his face to see Roman sitting upright makes Roman grin.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!” Patton says back, and perches on the edge of the bed with the sunniest look Roman’s seen in a long time. “Hi! You look well.”

“That’s what Janus said,” Roman winks, and takes a moment to have another spoon or two, at least while it’s still hot. “I feel better.”

Virgil wanders over to stand beside the bed, hands in his pockets, and shares a smile of his own. “Pain?”

“Yeah, still,” Roman shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s going away. But anyway. Go have your breakfast. It’s good. Quality control can confirm.”

Janus laughs at that and ushers the others from the room. One last glance over his shoulder shoots Roman a look that is too complicated for Roman to translate into words. But it seems to read in a way that suggests that he’ll be back to check on him.

Roman eats, he scrapes his bowl clean. He sets it aside, and goes to sit back, but for the first time in a long time, he has the energy to feel restless. He glances around the room, twiddles his thumbs for another half-minute, before murmuring a quick ‘fuck it’ to himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The room doesn’t really swim. His legs don’t give out. His chest hurts, an ache that has been rotting right through him for so long it’s almost an old friend at this point, but it doesn’t send him to the floor.

He makes it to his vanity, puts the tray down there instead of his bed, and sits. It takes him time, but he gets his shirt off, and thinks about swapping out these ones for button downs, much less effort, and he leaves it in his lap as he evaluates. Because he’s having ideas, and he’s prepared to be disappointed, but…

He tears up a little as he realises he’s right. The… the cracks, they’re smaller. They’re smaller! His fingers find a patch of clear skin to explore and he can only smile. Virgil was right! It’s fixable!

There could be hope for him yet!

There’s a knock on his door, and Roman flinches and snaps around in his chair – doubling over a little as that hurts, but smiles as he realises it’s Janus in the doorway.

He’s… not as scared of Janus, at least not at the moment. Janus is at least trying to be gentle with him, so he’ll take it while he can get it.

Janus enters, clearly surprised.

“Don’t mind me,” Roman says, turning back to the mirror. “I just had to check something.”

“They’re smaller,” Janus comments, and Roman watches his reflection come up right behind him, and Janus’ hand rests on his back. “A Christmas miracle.”

“More like a Nightmare Before Christmas miracle,” Roman quips, and he rubs over the epicentre over his heart thoughtlessly.

“Virgil?”

“We talked, last night,” Roman couldn’t bring himself to meet Janus’ eyes. “And I guess it helped.”

“So emotional repair brings physical repair,” Janus murmurs to himself, mostly. “That’s good to know.”

Roman shifts in his seat and tries to smile. Janus can see his discomfort, and takes back his hand.

“I’m… apologies, Roman. I guess I’m leaping straight over our troubled waters into wanting to help you.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then I don’t mind building our bridge again.”

Janus looks at him in the mirror, and Roman makes himself look back, and makes himself smile. Janus hums, something Roman wonders whether he’s picked up from Patton or not, and shakes his head gently.

“I would like to repair the one we have, if possible,” Janus’ hand trails along the back of the chair as he moves around to Roman’s side, and kneels down on one knee. Roman tilts in his chair to they are face-to-face. “I know there is a lot of legwork to be put in on my side, but-”

“On both sides,” Roman corrects him, and he reaches out and takes Janus’ hand before he can stop himself. “Did I ever apologise for my behaviour?”

“Your apologies are written all over your skin,” Janus replies seriously, eyes wandering over Roman’s chest. “And your physical change of behaviour has been enough to prove to me you regret it. But if you feel you need to say it, I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman declares. “I’m sorry for laughing at your name and villainising you. I’m sorry for trying to shoot you down without giving you a chance.”

Janus looks sad at that, but lets Roman finish and squeezes his hand gently in support.

“My turn,” he says seriously. “Roman, I’m sorry I used you.”

Roman stares at him, stunned by his bluntness.

“I… well, because I did. The first time, I used you to try and get into Thomas’ good books. Virgil called me out, of course, and I half-expected it. But I played into your…” he shoots Roman a look that makes him flush, “interests, and… yes, I’m not necessarily proud of that.”

Interests. Does he mean the stage or does he mean Patton? God, is he that transparent?!

“And… the trial. I thought I could get you on my side. I thought… I think I wanted to make a point, and you ended up being my poster child. And you became a martyr instead. I should have known that in your heart of hearts, you are selfless to the point of destruction, and you would have bowed to Patton and what you all considered ‘right’ anyway.”

Roman recoils a little at that, and Janus winces because he’s clearly unhappy with how he’s worded that.

“I’m not some… dog reliant on what Patton says or thinks,” Roman shoots back.

“No,” Janus agrees. “But… you’d have to be blind to ignore how much you do for him.”

Roman looks down, and hopes he isn’t flushing as hard as he looks like.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I don’t know if he knows, but… at least to me? Clearly.”

Roman shakes his head and goes to take his hand back, but Janus hangs on for another moment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not here to interrogate you over your taste in men. I hope you work it out. But I’m here to… I drove you into the ground, didn’t I?”

“I did that myself.”

“You spiralled, but I gave you the push.”

Roman doesn’t counter that, because Janus isn’t wrong. He just had no idea that Janus was so aware.

“So,” Janus looks down, takes a steadying breath, and looks up again. “What I’m trying to say, is… I’m sorry, Roman. I really am.”

“You have everything you want,” Roman says before he can think. “And you got yourself there. I… I feel like I can’t be mad at that.”

“You can, and you should. But I don’t have everything I want,” Janus says, mysterious as ever as he gets to his feet, but not letting Roman’s hand go just yet, cradling it in his own.

“And what’s that?”

“A friendship with you,” Janus smiles, a real smile that Roman’s never seen directed his way before. “If you’d be willing.”

Roman looks down for a moment, considering, before he looks back up with a stony expression. He holds it for a second, just to unnerve Janus, before it breaks into something far sunnier.

“Finally,” Roman smiles back, “someone to sing show tunes with who won’t complain for 20 minutes first.”

Janus laughs, he laughs, he actually tips his head back and laughs good and heartily, before turning this oddly bright look back onto the prince. “It’d be an honour,” he says. He squeezes Roman’s hand one more time, before letting it go. “Now, do you feel like you can come downstairs today, or…?”

Roman turns back to the mirror and studies his own face for a moment.

“No,” he says politely. “I might stay in here today. Or even have a shower. God knows I haven’t done that in a few days.”

Janus laughs a little at that. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he banters, “but that could be nice.”

Roman rolls his eyes at the ribbing and lightly punches Janus’ arm before he can step out of the way. “I get it, I get it,” he gripes good-naturedly. “Now, leave me to my beauty routine.”

Janus does as requested, though the way he lingers in the doorway tells Roman he doesn’t want to leave Roman on his own. He doubts any of them do. They might be taking it in turns, yet. But he waves him off, gathers some clothes, and heads off to the bathroom.

He does, notably, not lock the door, though. …Just in case it comes crashing down. And by it, he means him.

--- --- --- --- ---  

One sleep later and he’s feeling better again. Emotional healing equals physical healing. Roman has been running on fumes and spite for so long that the hardest thing about this whole thing has been actually learning he can recover, and that he probably should.

Logan has taken to checking on him so regularly that Roman doesn’t need a clock anymore to tell when an hour has passed. It’s nice, it’s sweet. Obviously Logan feels awful and is trying to make it up to him, and Roman doesn’t want to use Logan like that, but to have such gentle attention from Logic is something so novel and something he doesn’t want to give him. He hopes he doesn’t have to.

Janus has taken him up on that comment on singing duets, and it’s helping to give Roman his lung capacity back. It also turns out that somehow, somehow, Remus knows how to play piano! Or, perhaps with how Creativity works, similar to Roman speaking Spanish, Remus can play piano purely because he thinks he can, or because he wants to.

But they’ve found space in Roman’s room for a baby grand piano (second-hand and white, of course), and Roman still has to sit, he can’t handle being on his feet for long stretches of time yet, but… it’s fun. He’s never hung out with Janus or Remus like this, and it’s nice to find someone to be musical with. Patton isn’t as nerdy on musical theatre as he is, but will still try and connect over music. Virgil and Logan don’t sing, and they don’t necessarily gel on his music tastes either.

This has been new. It’s been amazing. Even if his body is still fragile, emotionally? Roman’s feeling better than he has in a long time. Maybe ever.

Virgil makes him leave his room. Which is ironic, Roman thinks, seeing as if Virgil had a choice, he’d probably never leave his own room ever. But Virgil gets him up and walking, gets him downstairs, helps him down and on the rare occasion that it’s a particularly bad day, carries him back upstairs so he doesn’t exhaust himself sinking out. Roman had no idea Virgil was so strong! And perhaps it’s a ‘if-i-can-see-him-he’s-not-dead’ sort of thing, but honestly, it’s nice to be noticed. And to be noticed for reasons that aren’t being told to pull his head in.

Patton’s been engaging with him as much as possible. They’ve rewatched Steven Universe together at Patton’s request. They’ve binged Disney movies and musicals, even ones Patton probably doesn’t like, he gets Roman to sit up at the breakfast counter as he cooks, he reads books with him and joins Roman at the table for group drawing sessions. He is there, he is there, he is so there all the time that it makes Roman’s heart sing, because finally he has Patton close to him again.

He's so scared it’ll come crashing down again, but he’s tried to promise himself he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Does Patton know? Does Patton know that that childish infatuation he once admitted to so many years ago still lives strong, nestled right beside Roman’s broken heart? Roman has no clue, and he doesn’t think he should risk it. He’s happy to love Patton at a distance. He’s happy to watch Patton chat away about his day and the discussion he had with Logan this morning over the stir fry he’s trying out, or taste-testing the soup Patton’s making.

He catches himself one day with his chin propped up in his hand, staring dreamily at Patton as Patton kneads dough, totally not watching his arms, only disrupted when Janus slips past Patton to grab a glass of water and shoots Roman an amused look.

Patton looks over to see what Janus finds so funny, and Roman is caught with that lovestruck look on his face. He tries to drop it, to hide it as anything more neutral, but it’s covered in blush before he can get his chickens in a line.

Patton blushes too, for some god-forsaken reason, caught staring with some cogs whirring behind his eyes, until Janus seems to elbow him accidentally, and he is spurred back into action with a squeak.

Roman and Patton can barely look at each other for the next ten minutes. Eventually, Patton finishes his kneading, and puts it away in a covered bowl to rise and such, before turning and slamming his hands on the counter in front of Roman.

“I need to talk to you!” he exclaims, still red in the face. “I have been meaning to and accidentally putting it off!”

“I-is it important?”

“Yes!” Patton’s face drops. “No! Maybe? It’s important to me!”

Roman can’t help but smile, and the heat finally starts to disappear from his face. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me.”

“I, uh, it’s… ugh! Gimme a sec!”

Patton turns away and washes his hands, fumbling in his rush, before leaving the kitchen and skirting around the bench until he’s beside Roman, turning the prince towards him on his rotating barstool.

“I…”

Patton suddenly glances around, self-conscious, and sees that there’s no one else downstairs.

“Okay,” he whispers, before turning back to Roman, who’s got such a question on his face that it’s so earnestly cute.

“Okay,” Patton says again. “Roman, I got something I need to say. About you. To you. Um.”

Roman tries not to look as scared as he suddenly feels, but it clearly doesn’t work, because Patton sees his panic and immediately goes on damage control. “Oh! Oh, no, hon, it’s nothing bad, nothing bad at all. I, uh, it’s just a little hard for me to put my words together! Haha, give me a mo, okay?”

Roman nods, his breath still catching over hon. When did it shift from kiddo to hon? He feels like he noticed the first time it happened, but it’s become so much more regular an occurrence nowadays. It still feels as electric as it did the first time.

Roman studies Patton’s face as Patton half-turns away, watching the way his hair falls and Patton reaches up without a thought to push it back out of his eyes, the way his glasses frame his face, the way he’s chewing his lip anxiously, the way there is still heat rising to his face, the way his eyes are glittering with something Roman can’t name.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to himself, and he’s cupped Patton’s cheek in his hand and turns Patton’s head towards him so he can study him better without really thinking about it, seeing how Patton’s eyes go wide and that flush darkens, and his own breath hitches because yes, he thinks he’s read this situation correctly. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You have,” Patton breathes back, voice equally as soft as his own hand comes up to rest on Roman’s wrist. “I-I… Roman…”

“Yes, Pat?”

“I love you.”

Roman blinks. Once, twice, before the words land and he gasps, like the air’s been knocked out of him.

“I love you,” Patton repeats, like now the words are out, he can’t get over how they feel in his mouth. “I love you and I think I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”

“Ye gods above,” Roman murmurs, watching Patton study him right back with wide and totally-not-anxious eyes, “that’s fortunate. Because I think I’ve been in love with you ever since-”

“That Christmas?”

“…Yeah.”

“God, me too.”

Roman laughs, and goes to drop his hand, but his breath seizes up as Patton’s hand slips up his wrist and presses Roman’s hand to his face, so he can’t move. Not that Roman wants to.

“This whole time?”

“Yes,” Roman shrugs. “I… I didn’t act because I didn’t know how you felt. And then I knew… or, uh, I suppose I thought, that you could do so much better than me.”

“That’s very ironic,” Patton says quietly, almost meekly, “because I felt the same way. I just thought… you and Virgil, seemed to get along so well, even when I couldn’t be enough for you.”

“Oh my god,” Roman snorts despite himself. “I couldn’t dream of kissing Virgil. But that’s very funny, because here I was telling myself I was nothing for you compared to Janus.”

“Janus?!” Patton echoes, shocked, before he laughs too. “Oh, that’s… Roman, hon, I appreciate Janus very much, but I think he’s a good friend and nothing more. I don’t think I’ve ever felt about anyone else the way I’ve felt about you. Even when things happened, even when things changed, I always found that deep in here,” and his spare hand touches himself lightly over the heart, “there was a part of me that loved you.”

Roman’s smiling. He’s also crying. He’s not sure when either of those things started happening but he’s so full of emotions he might just burst.

“I love you too!” he exclaims. “I… I have tried not to, for our sakes, but I could never get over you.”

Patton smiles back, his own eyes very watery.

“It’s fortunate, then,” he notes, stepping in a little closer, “that you’ll never have to.”

“Oh,” Roman breathes, his heartbeat speeding up as Patton inches closer, until he’s standing between Roman’s knees, and now it’s Patton reaching to tilt Roman’s head up, eyes flicking to each other’s lips and back. “Thank god.”

“Kiss me?”

Patton’s voice is tiny, but his words are like a roar in Roman’s ears.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Roman meets him halfway. It’s soft, sweet, it’s tender and it’s hesitant. It’s a peace offering, a bridge, it’s an acceptance of a long and sordid past. It’s Roman melting against Patton as Patton wraps his arms around his prince, being there, grounding him.

It’s so much and it’s not enough. Roman is drowning and Roman is floating. He’s electric and he’s earth. He doesn’t know but he’s so full of everything all at once that when Patton pulls away he’s far more breathless than he should be, and far closer to tears, too.

“Okay?”

“So okay.” Roman leans in to brush noses with Patton. “Again?”

Patton laughs, and indulges him.

They break away to the sound of clapping and cheering, and also of scolding, and they both snap around to realise there’s a crowd on the stairs, and Janus and Remus have given them a standing ovation, Virgil’s frantically trying to shut them up, and Logan’s pinching the bridge of his nose with a good-natured sigh. Then, he looks up, grins at his oldest friends, and says “took you long enough.”

“Oh god,” Roman says.

“You knew?!” Patton exclaims.

“Neither of you are that subtle,” Janus drawls, sharing a knowing look with Logan. “I’m just glad you got there on your own, finally.”

“On our own,” Roman folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at Janus. “Sure thing.”

“Well, you know me,” Janus smirks. “I do so love to give a little push now and then.”

Roman’s about to break off into a full indignant argument, when Patton just laughs and spins Roman’s seat back around his back is to the stairs, and he kisses him again.

“Guys!” Virgil exclaims, but it’s clearly light-hearted.

Roman makes the most obvious moon-eyes of his life at Patton as they break away again. “I could get used to this, you know,” he grins.

“Good,” Patton winks back. “You’re very kissable.”

Roman proves his point as the others start trying to heckle them from the stairwell.

--- --- --- --- ---  

About half an hour later, Roman crashes good and hard. He’s fine walking around, hell, he’s over the moon! And then the next moment, he’s lowering himself into a seat as the room phases in and out, a wave of exhaustion settling so thoroughly into his bones that it nearly knocks him breathless.

This doesn’t go unnoticed. Patton’s by his side in a heartbeat, and… judging by how cold those hands are, it’s Logan, too.

“Are you okay?”

“I…” Roman cuts himself off with an enormous yawn, and unconsciously rubs over his heart. “I think so. ‘M just tired all of a sudden.”

“Pain?”

“No.” Roman blinks slowly. “I feel really warm.”

Logan’s hand presses against his forehead. “No fever,” Logan notes, sounding worried.

“Like… cosy sort of warm,” Roman tries to continue, leaning into Patton’s side. “Feel good. Just… tired.”

“This happens most times, doesn’t it?” Janus’ voice comes. “Both on damage and healing. He falls asleep and something happens.”

“…Do you think it’ll be good things?”

“I do,” Roman mumbles. “I’ll riot if it isn’t. It doesn’t hurt.”

And actually, yeah. Maybe it’s just the suddenly delirious state he’s in, but… he’s not in pain right now. He feels warm down to the tips of his fingers, and oh so heavy. It crashes through him again, enough to make his ears ring, and he slumps even more. Hands catch him before he topples out of the chair.

“Help me get him upstairs,” someone says. It sounds like Patton.

“I gotcha,” says Virgil, Roman thinks, and is then quickly followed by the familiar sensation of arms slipping underneath him, and then being effortlessly lifted and carried upstairs. Roman’s head lolls against Virgil’s hoodie.

“You good?” Virgil asks him.

“Mm,” Roman hums. “Think so.”

“Alright.”

It doesn’t take long. He’s being ferried into bed and tucked in, and he can open his eyes enough to see that sky blue he’s so fond of, and manages to snag Patton’s hand before he can step too far away.

“Oh,” Patton turns back. “Do you… want me to stay?”

“Mm-hm.” Roman gives him a tug, trying to pull him in closer. He… he feels warm and heavy and exhausted and cuddly and he just wants Patton. Maybe he’ll regret this when he can think straight. But Patton kicks off his shoes, folds away his glasses, and snaps himself into some pyjamas and shrugs.

“Alright, hon,” he says. “Scoot over.”

No qualms, no questions, no weirdness, no distaste. Patton just slots in like he’s always belonged there, and it’s never been easier to fall asleep pillowed up on his chest.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Patton is the one woken by Roman this time. The prince sits up, and is already tugging off his shirt as Patton is still propping himself up on one elbow, fumbling for his glasses.

He turns back in time to see Roman grinning down at himself, as his cracks have closed by a good half-inch all around. He even manages to twist, and Patton can see that actually, some of the ones on his back have actually sealed, and they only really reach around to his ribs and intercostals now.

“Roman,” Patton murmurs, glowing with pride to see him so healthy, more so than he’s been in a long time, and Roman turns to him and all but throws himself at Patton, knocking Patton back down onto the pillow as he leans over him, eyes glittering.

“Good morning, my illustrious partner,” he coos, and Patton can’t keep all the fondness down in his chest.

“Good morning, my sweetest prince,” he says right back. “Hope this isn’t too forward.”

“Nah,” Roman kisses him, once, twice, three little pecks. “It was so nice to sleep beside someone.”

“On someone,” Patton jokingly corrects as he negotiates Roman off him and sits up. “I felt like a pillow.”

“And what a marvellous pillow you are,” Roman jokes back. “The best pillow I ever had. The most handsome one, too.”

“You charmer,” Patton rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the fact that Roman still has his shirt off. Roman kisses him again, bouncing on the bed a little, like he’s so excited to actually be able to do it he can’t stop.

Patton can’t blame him. He feels the same.

It’s a slow morning, for the two of them, slow and lazy and delightful. They end up downstairs by 11 for a late brunch, Roman wearing a button-up white shirt that he leaves half-done-up, almost like he’s showing off his recovery. The pattern is weird, but he can’t deny the results. And he hasn’t felt this good in so long. Both emotionally and physically.

Thomas summons them an hour later. He’s standing in his lounge, as per usual, and is talking to Logan when Patton and Roman arrive, this time standing closer than normal.

“I was trying to… I guess, like, sink down to you guys,” Thomas is raking a hand through his hair, “like I did with Janus, but I must not be able to do it by my… Roman!”

All eyes are on him, and for the first time in a long time, Roman doesn’t mind. It feels comfortable, even, like it used to.

“Hi, Thomas,” he says simply, smiling.

“You!” Thomas clasps his hands and grins. “You look so much better! I’m… oh my god, I’m so happy for you.”

“We’ve been… figuring stuff out,” Roman’s smile turns shy. “A-and let’s say some important conversations have been had.”

“Roman’s beginning to believe he’s worth the effort now!” Virgil calls from his seat on the stairs. “It’s great.”

“Hell yeah!” Thomas turns back to him, pumped.

“Also he’s now realising how much we all love him,” Patton adds, which makes Roman blush because he doesn’t know if Patton’s meaning them or not but he’s also not wrong.

“Good,” Thomas folds his arms.

“And we’re hoping that he’s fully realising how integral he is to our healthy functioning not only as parts of a whole, but as a family,” Logan finishes, arms folded in a mirror of Thomas’ pose – though it probably was not intentional.

Roman looks down, feeling very choked up all of a sudden.

“That’s good,” Thomas agrees, in a voice so soft that it makes Roman’s head snap up in a heartbeat. Thomas meets his eyes, the same liquidy expression rippling across his face. “Roman, that’s great.”

Roman pauses, before tugging open his shirt a little more. “And I’m getting better,” he says, softly but genuinely. “I really am.”

Thomas takes one hesitant step forward, then another, before he closes the distance and pulls Roman into the biggest hug he can. Roman goes willingly, laughing delightedly at it all, at the love, at the lack of pain, at the moment in time.

“I’m gonna be okay,” he mumbles into Thomas’ shoulder, just loud enough for his centre to hear. “I promise.”

“You better be,” Thomas whispers back. “Or… Or I’ll…”

“Leave the threats to me,” Roman leans back with a laugh. Thomas laughs too, and gives him one last quick hug – like he just can’t believe he gets to have the honour of holding Roman in his arms – before letting him go.

“I… I mostly wanted to check in on you guys,” he confesses, retreating to his normal spot. “And mostly Roman. No other issues? Nothing I should know?”

“Nope,” Roman shakes his head. “All present and correct.”

“Fantastic,” Thomas clasps his hands again. “Roman… god, Roman, I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that.”

Roman’s lip wobbles. “I… I think so,” he says in a tiny voice.

“That’s enough for me,” Thomas smiles. “But let me know when you need a reminder because that I can do.”

Roman feels tired all of a sudden again. He smiles, and yawns, and takes Patton’s hand for support. Patton squeezes his hand gently, and they ignore how Thomas raises an eyebrow at that.

“I think I need to go sit down,” Roman says quietly, which gets everyone’s attention in an instant. “Thank you, Thomas. Have a good rest of your day, and don’t forget to get groceries.”

“Oh! Oh shit, thanks,” Thomas pulls out his phone and starts setting reminders, calculating budget. “Catch y’all soon, okay?”

They all sink out together, Roman leaning on Patton more and more. They end up laying him out on the couch. He’s asleep within the minute.

 --- --- --- --- --- 

Time goes on and on. Heartbreak is nothing linear, of course, and neither is recovery. Roman’s cracks might never seal fully, but by the time a month or so has passed, they are thin and dark, looking more like hairline fractures than proper, actual cracks.

He’s back to his princely self. He can wear his clothes, he can do what he used to. He’s happier and healthier and he’s so in love with Patton it’s not even funny.

He’s finally found himself again, it seems. Finally rediscovered how to live and love being alive. And oh how he missed being him.

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

[bambazzle]

LGBT+ Fantasy/Fiction Books and TWs

-In the case that a book on the list is the first of a series, TWs will include warnings for the entire series-

IDNS means “I Do Not Support the Author”- reasons will be listed and linked! if you are interested in this author’s book, try to buy second hand!

I have removed some books that were on here, I know! I removed them specifically for problematic content- this book list was not just books I loved, but books I had yet to read and hoped to love. Books that misrepresent or fetishize our community don’t deserve to be supported and spread even more. I have replaced these books with ones that don’t perpetuate harmful stereotypes, so we can all enjoy our escapes! 

1. Carry On by Rainbow Rowell (Trilogy)-

(Fantasy, Witches, Vampires, kind of Harry Potter-y, MLM Romance, TW for suicidal ideation, self-destructiveness, abandonment, foster care, neglect, bullying, major character death, racism, murder and attempted murder, violence, gun violence and relationship issues. It has some heavy topics but is written in a pretty light tone.)

(DNS author: Racism/stereotyping/fetishization of Asian community)

2. Red White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston-

(MLM “Enemies” to lovers, about the son of the President and the Prince of England getting into a fight, they have to fake a friendship to fix their PR situation, TW for being publicly outed, semi-graphic sex scenes, politically charged discussions, addiction, underage alcohol use, blackmail, parental death (mentioned), homophobia, panic attacks, sexual abuse/harrassment (mentioned), racism, parental neglect )

3. Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller-

(MLM but not explicitly romance, Ancient Greece, demigods, exile, TW for abduction, abandonment, war, violence, ableism, child abuse, death, human sacrifice, human trafficking, murder, plague (mentioned), sexual assault (mentioned), self-harm, slavery, torture)

4. The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic (Trilogy)-

(MLM, very slow burn. Demisexual MC. Mafia mixed with kids with broken homes mixed with a kid who has a dream of being a pro at a fictional sport. The focus is NOT on the relationship, it is the subplot. TW for ableism, verbal and physical abuse, abuse within a psychiatric facility, alcoholism, underage alcohol use, physical assault, sexual assault, conversion therapy (mention), death of an animal, parental death, drug abuse, drug use, drug overdose, drug misrepresentation, violence, gun violence, knife violence, homophobia, hate crime, murder, panic attacks, rehab, self harm, suicide (mentioned), graphic torture, manipulation, police intervention, organized crime/mafia, graphic description of burns. It is a great series but it has heavy content and is not light reading if you go in unprepared.)

5. The House on the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune -

(MLM (WLW side characters), fantasy, found family, heartwarming romance, magical creatures, TW for abuse(mentioned), trauma-related anxiety, bigotry, body shaming, bullying, child abuse (backstory), internalized fatphobia, homophobia, microaggresions, violence, violence against children)

6. Heartstopper by Alice Oseman (Series)-

(MLM, graphic novel, slow burn, coming out, TW for emotionally abusive relationship, anorexia, self harm, suicidal ideation, bullying(mentioned), psychiatric facility, trauma discussion, homophobia)

7. The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater (Series)-

(MLM, Fantasy, about a secret private school, slow burn, found family, TW for underage alcohol use, drug use, suicide(mentioned), homophobia, domestic abuse, child abuse(mentioned), murder and attempted murder, burglary, car crash, fire related death(non-graphic), kidnapping, terminal illness, sick parent, ritual sacrifice, suicide, violence, gore, gun violence, knife violence, panic attack, PTSD, workplace harrassment)

8. They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera-

(MLM, Bisexual Latino characters, whole story takes place in 24 hours because at about midnight- aka the start of the book- they get a phone call saying they’re going to die, TW for death, animal death, child death, drowning, violence, gang violence, gun violence, homophobia, panic attack, parental suicide, suicidal ideation, sick parent, police intervention, and foster care)

9. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (Series)-

(Queer characters, but no romance in the first book, fantasy, found family, slow burn, TW for graphic depictions of violence, addiction, genocide/fantasy racism, gambling, drug use, withdrawal, ableism, abuse(mentioned), sexual slavery(mentioned/backstory), sexual assault(mentioned/backstory), imprisonment, murder and attempted murder, death, death threats, loss of loved one, prosecution, torture, violence, gore)

10. The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee- 

(MLM Historical Fiction Romance, Travel/Journey, Best Friends to lovers, TW for abuse, homophobia, adoption, alcoholism, breakups, death(mentioned), epilepsy/seizures, prison, robbery)

(DNS author: transphobia/biphobia)

11. In Deeper Waters by FT Lukens-

(MLM, High fantasy, “A young prince must rely on a mysterious stranger to save him when he is kidnapped during his coming of age tour”, TW for kidnapping, violence, abuse, war(mentioned))

12. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz (Duology)-

(MLM Latino coming of age story, TW for violence, surgery, transmisogyny, sexism, homophobia, hate crime, PTSD, hospitalization, alcohol use, drug use, animal death, car crash, death(non-graphic))

14. We Contain Multitudes by Sarah Henstra-

(MLM, coming of age, friendship and romance, TW for bullying, homophobia, abuse, underage alcohol use, drug use)

15. Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria-

(Asexual/Bisexual representation, fantasy, ragtag team goes on a quest, TW for death, abduction/kidnapping, blackmail, branding, child abuse(mentioned), coma, amnesia, execution, murder, addiction, violence)

16. More Happy than Not by Adam Silvera-

(MLM main character, YA, “it's about a boy who is considering a memory-alteration procedure to forget he's gay because leading a life as a straight teen would probably be way easier for him. It's about science versus nature, friendship, sexuality, and a quest for happiness.” About the happy ending and how even bad moments lead to good. Hopeful but despairing. TW for attempted suicide, suicide, domestic abuse, medical procedure to erase sexuality, internalized homophobia, homophobia, depression)

17. I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver-

(Nonbinary main character, nonbinary muslim side character, romance/love and building a family out of people you care about. About finding your voice. TW for bad coming out, misgendering, transphobia, family rejection/struggle, anxiety(detailed), child abuse, gender dysphoria, homophobia, disownment, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, underage alcohol use)

18. We Are Okay by Nina LaCour-

(WLW, moving out and coming of age, self-discovery and childhood romance, TW for loss of a loved one, depression, loneliness(detailed), chronic illness, death, drowning(mentioned), suicide)

19. The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness-

(Contemporary, about the normal people’s lives while living among Chosen Ones. Family/coming of age/acceptance story. TW for monsters, apocalypse, violence/explosions, death, anorexia, relapse, panic attacks, anxiety attacks, unrequited romance)

20. Lizard Radio by Pat Schmatz-

(Dystopian story about a teenager struggling with their gender identity, TW for abandonment, oppressive government, outlawed homosexuality, hate crime, homophobia, transphobia, violence)

[autisticaradiamegido]

do you have any fan trolls? trollsonas? do show

day 66

sssorta? i have a sburb au for my d&d characters, and i decided to make half of them trolls. i didnt bother changing their names to fit the typical homestuck naming conventions, but their backstories in this are necessarily pretty different than their og ones.

but that means yall dont need to have played d&d with me to understand what im talking about so! infodump under the cut

The main conceit of their adventure is that Victavyre and Davril (who originally were both played as eldritch knights for lost mines of phandilver/princes of the apocalypse at 2 separate tables) are the first two to enter the game, and their entries are Circumstantially Simultaneous. They both think they're playing a four-player session with their friends, but they end up on opposite sides of the same medium in the same way the hivebent trolls had a bifurcated session.

When Davril wakes up on Prospit, he encounters not only a sleeping Elis, but also Szelseis and Arastina. He thinks they are just weird reoccurring dream demons until he encounters Victavyre in the medium. They get their teams in touch with each other and gradually arrange to daisy-chain the two sessions together. Adventures ensue and all that.

Victavyre and Arastina (originally tieflings) are sisters in their og backstories, so in this au they are simply two grubs who were adopted by the same lusus (who i think is going to be some sort of two-headed creature, each head instinctively adopting a grub of its own).

Szelseis (originally a yuan-ti pureblood) has a giant snake lusus, and he HATES her. He keeps her around because he likes to start shit and it is useful to have a big snake around to eat your enemies when they come knocking. But he and his lusus have a very contentious and semi murderous relationship.

Hella (originally a water genasi) is a seadweller! no lusus shes just out in the ocean vibing and keeping it tight.

Davril (originally a halfling) is sort of bopped around various foster homes, and considers his most consistent family member to be his pet rat, Wink, who he eventually sprites and it is very cute but also Rat Enemies. Final boss is da giant rat who makes all OF da rules?? idk.

Esvele (originally a homebrew race similar to warforged, a human soul in a robot body) has kind of a combo of aradia and jades' robot situations? following the onset of a terminal illness, her mom (a talented scientist) built her a soulbot and she's been in there ever since. but robots don't die naturally so she ended up being passed down the line of guardianship from talented roboticist to talented roboticist throughout the 20th century, her chassis and power source being updated with whatever new technology as it came along. I like to think she eventually is able to do an aradia and come back god tiered somehow but idk, i sort of think its cool if she just stays a robot since thats how her og campaign went.

Asra (originally an aasimar) lives with her mom who is Very Important in her community (im thinking possibly the mayor of a small town) and asra has major gifted kid burnout about it.

Elis (ok hes not "originally" anything because i havent technically played him yet. hes a human wizard based on a random mini and set of dice i got in a blind bag last year and ive been trying to build him into something interesting ever since. im not even sure what kind of magic he DOES i just know hes some kind of wizard and im hoping developing his personality will inform what hes into. i mostly wanted an even number of humans and trolls for this and hes my most recent standby character ANYWAY) i dont have much for him hes just a lil guy. hes goth and eccentric and he likes wearing a lot of fucking layers.

[fiadhaisteach]

‘Tis Impressed Reader Touting Works - 2022.02.12

Hamilton x Dragon Age series by @buttsonthebeach - Solas/F!Lavellan, OFC(e)/OMC(h), other pairings listed w/each story - 515,688 words (combined) - all Primary Story Line Works complete

"Despite the name, only "The World Turned Upside Down" has "Hamilton" lyrics in it as a major feature. The odd lyric shows up here and there in the others!"

      🔸 This series is epic in scope & intensity, matching its length, while staying character focused.       🔹 A "Fix-It" series featuring a badass rogue Ellana Lavellan, who succeeds in capturing the Dread Wolf, then creates a life with Solas.       🔸 The canon characters grow, without losing their voices & her original characters are just as complicated, vibrant, and loveable as the ones we know from the game.       🔹 Very importantly, this is the series that introduced me to Dev Patel. I mean, the last two full works both heavily feature Solas & Ellana's child, Ashara, who's romantic partner looks like Dev. I haven't been the same since. 😄

 To read the series in perfect order, follow below:     1. Like You're Running Out of Time (Companion Story)     2. Chapters 1-7 of Who Tells Your Story (Companion Story)     3. Chapters 1-11 of The World Turned Upside Down     4. Chapter 8 of Who Tells Your Story (Companion Story)     5. Domestic Life     6. She Moved Through the Fair     7. Chapters 12-13 of The World Turned Upside Down     8. Body of Knowledge     9. Awakened    10. Reckoning   What Did I Miss? features missing scenes and AUs scattered throughout these! (Companion Story)

This gets long, so have a cut.

Primary Story Line

⚜️The World Turned Upside Down, ⚜️Domestic Life, ⚜️She Moved Through the Fair, ⚜️Body of Knowledge, ⚜️Awakened, ⚜️Reckoning, ⚜️What Did I Miss? (Ch. 1-15) - Solas/F!Lavellan, OFC(e)/OMC(h) - 453,440 combined - complete

Chapters: 78/78 (plus Ch. 1-15 of WDIM) Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Explicit (except Domestic Life's 'Teen') Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Primary Relationship: Female Lavellan/Solas Other Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, background Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus Characters: Female Lavellan, Solas, Vivienne (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Iron Bull, Dorian Pavus, Cassandra Pentaghast, Blackwall | Thom Rainier, Original Lavellan-Solas Child(ren), Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Sera (Dragon Age), Dagna (Dragon Age), Ashara Lavellan, Briala, Cole, Cullen Rutherford Additional Tags: Trespasser DLC, Song Lyrics, Fluff and Smut, Spoilers, Explicit Language, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Angst, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Masturbation, Alcohol, Post-Canon, Angst and Humor, POV Solas, Arlathan, Dreams vs. Reality, Explicit Sexual Content, Porn With Plot, Established Relationship, Weddings, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, POV Alternating, Fade Sex, 69 (Sex Position), Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Very Brief Non-Con Reference, Hand Jobs, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Childbirth, Intimacy, Inner Circle Cameos, Magic, Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Mirror Sex, implied Sera/Dagna, Latin as Tevene, Very Brief Torture, Family, Coming of Age, sub!solas, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Loss of Virginity, First Love, racial politics of Thedas, Character-Driven Plot, clearly marked and easily skipped Depression, chapters dealing with that are also clearly tagged, First Time Together, One-Shots, AUs, Magic used in sex, Parenthood, Male Solo, Pre-Relationship, Sisters, Terminal Illnesses, Blow Jobs, Morning Sex, VERY light bondage, one-shots and missing scenes from my main fics [Additional tags combined & truncated]

Summary: A retelling of the Solavellan romance in DA:I (tWTUD chapters 1-9), Trespasser (tWTUD chapter 10-11) and beyond (tWTUD chapters 12-13 & the rest of the Primary Story Line) - using lyrics from the musical "Hamilton" as inspiration. Come be in the room where it happens!

Even if Solas did change his mind and come back to Lavellan post-Trespasser, how would they reconnect with each other after everything that happened?

(BoK Ch. 1-5: Initial reconciliation, BoK Ch. 6-13 & rest of Primary Story Line: How their lives unfold afterwards. [Summaries combined (w/clarifications) & truncated]

      Companion Stories

⚜️Like You're Running Out of Time - Morrigan/M!Cousland - 13,589 words - HSE WIP (2019-06-26)

Chapters: 4/5 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Morrigan/Male Cousland Characters: Male Cousland (Dragon Age), Morrigan, Ellana Lavellan, Kieran (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Vignettes, Character studies, Morrigan POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Sexual Content

Summary: "The statue is so still. The artisan put in no sense of motion. They make Zakir seem like - a bulwark against a tide. Resolute. Still. That is not how he lived - how he lives his life."

"Then how does he live his life?"

Morrigan could see him - feel him - so clearly in her mind's eye. So clearly it made her ache. She wasn't picturing him the way she’d seen him last, when he left her to search for a cure to the poison in his blood - or to die in the attempt. She could see him as he was ten years before, when they met. Nineteen, reckless, cocky, angry, grieving - and, yes, handsome as the day was long.

"He lives his life like he is running out of time."

***

10 years after the Blight, Morrigan reflects on the man she loves, and hopes she has not lost. A story chronicling the Fifth Blight through her eyes, and the troubled life of Zakir Cousland, Warden-Commander.

Zakir is my canon Warden, and my Inquisitor appears in the prologue, but this can be read without reading anything else in the series. More to come soon!

⚜️Who Tells Your Story - F!Hawke/Merrill - 16,806 words - complete

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill Characters: Female Hawke, Merrill (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan Additional Tags: Romance, Pining, Smut, Angst, Grieving, Canonical Character Death, spoilers for inquisition, Spoilers for Trespasser, Past Solas/Lavellan, One-Shots, Vignettes, Sexual content in chapters marked with an asterisk

Summary: A place for my Dragon Age II one-shots. Connected to the rest of my series, but can be read on its own. 1. "Who Tells Your Story" - Rated M for non-explicit smut. Merrill pined for Marian Hawke for years before telling her the truth. A retelling of DA2 from Merrill's eyes, focusing on her romance with Hawke. 2. "Immigrants - We Get the Job Done" - Rated T. Marian's Fereldan roots grow deep, and she struggles to find her place in Kirkwall at first. 3. "Cards and Letters and Stationary" - Rated E for smut. The morning after her first night with Merrill, Marian reflects. 4. "Dreams" - Rated E for smut. Merrill has dreamed of Marian for so long. 5. "Cold Hands, No Gloves" - Rated G. Merrill thinks nothing of using magic to warm her hands at the docks; a nervous Marian disagrees. 6. "Adjusting" - Rated G. Merill fusses over Marian on the morning of her departure for Skyhold. 7. "Legacy" - Rated T. Throughout the events of Inquisition, Marian reflects on her life and those she's lost. 8. "Tomorrow There'll Be More of Us" - Rated T. Heartbroken Inquisitor Lavellan goes to Kirkwall to see Merrill following the events of Trespasser. Spoilers.

⚜️What Did I Miss? - Solas/F!Lavellan - 67,481 words - Ch. 1-15, main story / Ch. 16-20, sad AU w/ OFC(e)/OFC(e) - HSE WIP (2017-11-12)

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas Characters: Female Rogue Lavellan, Solas, Original Lavellan-Solas Child(ren), Cullen Rutherford, Dorian Pavus Additional Tags: First Time Together, One-Shots, AUs, Magic used in sex, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Fluff, Parenthood, Masturbation, Male Solo, Pre-Relationship, Sisters, Terminal Illnesses, Angst, Blow Jobs, Morning Sex, Minor Adoribull, Several originally appeared on Tumblr, sub!solas, Orgasm Delay/Denial, VERY light bondage, All three of those tags are only in Chapter 10, All of these are one-shots and missing scenes from my main fics, But you can read most with no knowledge of them

Summary: 1. Ruin - E; Solas tries to deny his growing admiration for Ellana 2. Say Yes to This - E; Ellana's POV on their first time 3. Impress Me - E; their second time together 4. Magic - E; their third time together 5. Intimacies - E; Solas knows he needs to save up every memory 6. Unsaid - E; Ellana awakens to Solas's unexpected need 7. Unbent - E; Solas goes to Ellana at Adamant 8. Congratulations - T; a slight AU of "Body of Knowledge;" Dorian chews out Solas. 9. Ancient and New - G; Ellana feels inadequate as a new mother 10. New Again - E; Ellana learns that she likes to take control 11. The Story of an Hour - G; Cullen reflects on how fatherhood has changed Solas 12. River - T; Solas and Ellana reflect on the woman Ashara has become 13. Dreams - M; an AU of "Body of Knowledge;" Solas and Ellana have a second child 14. Blow Us All Away - G; Solas and his daughters grapple with the family legacy 15. Helpless (Reprise) - G; Saeris has her first crush 16-20. The Awakened AU - G-T; two sisters try to save their mother's life.

(previous TIRTWs & TIRTW Key/Legend)

[dhr-ao3]

This Bitter End

This Bitter End https://ift.tt/NYJ12LG by WritexAboutxMe When Draco Malfoy entered her life after the war he changed her. He knows her body, has learned every way to touch her, to break her apart until he is the only one capable of putting her back together. He’s ruined her and saved her, and Hermione knows in her bones that she will never be the same.   And when Hermione Granger walked away she lingered like an echo. And now it's gone, but not entirely, and that almost makes it worse. His feelings for her are like a dying ember that refuses to smoulder; it clings to each breath of his oxygen as a last resort. A reminder that she is still here. She’s a char on his very soul, and Draco wants to hate her for that, but he can’t muster the energy.   Five years later, Hermione works as a palliative healer for St. Mungo’s battling a new magical ailment that destroys one's magical core, and Draco Malfoy continues his research for the Department of Mysteries. When their paths cross once more will they be able to place their pride aside and rediscover the romance they once shared? Or will fate have other plans, and their burdens be too much to share? Words: 0, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter, Lily Luna Potter, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Padma Patil, Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Roger Davies, Astoria Greengrass, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Arthur Weasley, House-Elves (Harry Potter) Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Padma Patil/Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones/Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Second Chance Romance, Second Chances, Healer Hermione Granger, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Post-Hogwarts, Department of Mysteries (Harry Potter), St Mungo's Hospital (Harry Potter), Researcher Draco Malfoy, Good Slytherins, No Ron Weasley Bashing, hot dad harry, lets all hug theo, go greased lightening, I cried while I wrote this and by my betas said fuck you, You did this to yourself, flashbacks and smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Hermione Granger, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Semi-Public Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, DESPITE THE TITLE IT IS A HEA I SWEAR via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/FHM6IO4 July 14, 2023 at 02:26PM

[sobriquett]

Dear Unsent Letters 2024 Author,

Thank you for thinking of writing for me for this year's Unsent Letters exchange!

I've requested all of these fandoms before (and probably reblogged many pretty gif sets) so if these ideas don't spark joy then please feel free to see what I've requested before. On the other hand, if you have your own idea before you've read any further, then please run with that. This letter -- and my letters can sometimes get long -- is here to help, not to hinder... I hope!

Please find below some loves, likes and DNWs, and then prompts by fandom (in alphabetical order!):

DNWs for All Fandoms

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | Anyone being called “Daddy” in a sexual context | Bestiality | Body Horror | Gore | Medical Experimentation | Mpreg | Mutilation | Non-Canonical Amputation | Sadism | Scat | Torture | Vore

General Likes and Loves

5+1 Times | Alternate Endings | Angst | Backstory | Banter/Bickering | Bittersweet | Canon Compliant | Canon Divergence | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Character Study | Class Differences | Coming of Age | Competence | Complicated Sibling Relationships | Cultural Differences | Dark Fic | Debt & Financial Pressures | Despair | Disabled Characters | Domesticity | Different Worldviews | Enemies to Friends/Lovers | Epistolary | Examining Societal Issues | First Meetings | First Time | Fix-It | Fluff | Found Family | Friends/Lovers to Enemies | Grief/Mourning | Grumpy Character/Sunshine Character | Historical Details | Humour | Hurt/Comfort | Last Time | Laws of Magic | Living Up/Down to Expectations | Long-Distance Friendship | Marriage of Convenience | Miscommunication | Missing Moment | Obeying Canonical Boundaries (Social/Cultural/Moral) | Outsider POV | Parent/Child Relationships | Pining | Platonic Intimacy | Politics & Intrigue | Poor Life Choices | Post-Canon | Pre-Canon | Pregnancy & Babies | Presumed Dead | Protectiveness | Redemption | Religious Elements | Reunions | Romance | Sad Endings | Secret Relationships | Uneven Power Dynamics | Unexpected/Unlikely Friendship | Unreliable Narrators | Whump | Worldbuilding

Darkfic Likes

Apocalypse | Betrayal | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Claustrophobia | Conspiracy | Debt & Financial Pressures | Degradation | Disease | Dubious Consent | Dystopia | Fire | Forced Marriage | Gaslighting | Hauntings | Humiliation | Hypothermia | Infertility | Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss | Murder | Paranoia | Poisoning | Prison | PTSD | Shame | Suicide | Terminal Illness | Unhappy Endings

Smut Likes (and more power to you if you can use these in epistolary fic!)

Biting/Marking | Bondage | Canon Compliant/Historically Appropriate (esp. period fandoms) | Desperate Sex | Dirty Talk | Dubcon | Edging/Orgasm Delay | Fingering | First Times | Fisting | Foreplay | Hair Pulling/Touching/Playing | Last Times | Loss of virginity (either/both/all partners) | Oral (any/all combinations/intensities/setups) | Porn with Feelings | Power Imbalance (Physical or Social/Financial/Other) | Restraint/Held Down | Rough Sex | Semi-Public Sex | Sensual Details | Vanilla Sex

1. Bridgerton (TV)

Letters during Anthony and Kate's engagement, or letters home from their honeymoon (which canonically lasts six months!)

What's in Colin and Penelope's correspondence during his summer in Greece?

2. Downton Abbey

Letters to and from the front during the war

Violet's correspondence with Edith and Rosamund while they are away "practicing their French"

3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë

Letters between Jane at Ferndean and Adele at school

How is the Thornfield fire reported in the press? Is the aborted wedding reported?

Does Jane ever write to Miss Temple for advice, or to keep in touch?

4. North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV

I would be delighted with either book or TV fic; I love both.

Articles about this unexpected marriage? Would there be a difference between reporting in Milton and reporting in London?

Along the same theme, what about Outsider POV on the relationship via letters, with family and friends writing to one another? How does Hannah write the news to Edith? Mrs Shaw, Edith, the Lennoxes? How does Frederick find and/or take the news?

Letters between Margaret and John during their engagement, or perhaps when they are obliged to be apart during their marriage.

An ONDB/Wikipedia article on John, Margaret, even Higgins, recapping their life and successes?

5. The West Wing

Copied from a past Unsent Letters letter:

I am extra specially excited about the idea of books and articles for this fandom, but it’s also the only one where emails/texts could be a thing here. So much possible fun! News articles, political blogs, email chains, text messages, speech transcripts, press briefing transcripts!

The assistants giving outsider POV on canonical events, with commentary/misunderstandings/D-plot drama?

Josh and Donna awkwardness or sweetness? I ship them, but can read it both in a “desperate pining” and “friendship/love” sort of way.

Donna keeps a diary.

Email chains, notes/memos in the office, fun reports? So many possibilities using the fandom.

They make a lot of reference to funny or awkward typos in the show; there may be some fun to have there, even in just a background sort of way. I have one of those will-spot-the-single-typo-on-a-menu-and-never-unsee-it sort of brains, so throw some in just for fun, I will see them and rejoice.

I am just excited for anything, and love all the characters dearly, and any others you choose to include. Equally, if you do go for one of the big group tags, please feel free to add or drop characters as you need to if it makes it work for you, I’m not precious, and it’s right here saved forever in my signup that it’s totally cool with me.

Otherwise:

Gaza angst

King Corn angst

Anything closely linked to an episode - I've seen this show enough times that I should be able to jump right in

Desperate pining, on either side