#that he really hoped would be wrong but like i said dee is very rarely wrong

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Thinking about Deuteronomy again, being that first point of contact for most cats in being welcomed into their family, newborns and new additions alike, but I'm thinking specifically about cats who were perhaps born into their group, left, and *then* came back, and how those are usually situations where Deuteronomy can sort of...tell if they'll be back when they do leave. He can't say anything about it, but he knows. Cats who know him very well can almost catch the expression that indicates one way or the other when he's informed of their leaving if he believes they'll be back. And - outside of the occasional anomaly - he's usually right about it.

He remembers, distantly, holding a little grey queenkit in his arms during one of his visits years and years ago, fresh faced and lovely, thinking: "This one will do big things" - not great things, not even potentially successful things, but big things nonetheless. He remembers a whisper of her little voice filled with confidence fading suddenly into silence; remembers thinking he hoped she would eventually find whatever it was she couldn't here, that she would find her way back when it was time, carefully avoiding the even stare of her mother as he passed her back.

And when he holds that little grey queen in his arms decades later, just when he thought he'd been wrong, only a little bigger, the sharp curves of her bones jutting from her fur, face so much older now, he sees that little one again, and smiles. Murmurs: "Welcome home", before he passes her onto the stars, hoping she finds her way back again to make up for lost time.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend. 

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up. 

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. 

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes. 

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy. 

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.  

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly. 

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates. 

“Y/N.” 

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays. 

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles. 

“Harry?” 

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye. 

“C-could I get a picture?” 

He honestly doesn’t want to. 

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo. 

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation. 

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward. 

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it. 

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention. 

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.” 

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually 

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs. 

“That’s surprising.” 

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her. 

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation. 

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly. 

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back. 

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly. 

“Dee—” 

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?” 

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face. 

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him. 

How ironic. 

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly. 

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him. 

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word. 

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave. 

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her. 

They make him feel nauseous. 

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance. 

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands. 

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her. 

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her. 

“Baby—” 

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer.  “This one mine?” 

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly. 

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him. 

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her. 

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs. 

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her. 

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments. 

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people. 

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most. 

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her. 

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same? 

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—” 

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it. 

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.” 

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully. 

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing. 

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees. 

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear. 

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away. 

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public. 

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall. 

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.” 

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.” 

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine. 

“What are you saying?” 

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything. 

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking. 

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. 

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.” 

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath. 

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.” 

She nods. 

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could. 

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all. 

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching. 

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.” 

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all. 

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago. 

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did. 

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” 

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.” 

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue. 

—

[chickenscript]

breathing space (rottmnt x reader headcannons)

A/N: i know i haven’t posted much, but i did manage to do this. i hope you all enjoy it and i have another idea i was meaning to finish too. might even start on something new because the finale of rise made me feel both pretty quashed but also very inspired and hopeful for Netflix to pick it up following the movie premiere. 

i feel like all the show needs is the right traction and hopefully with all the support from the fanbase it will have that traction.

i hope you all enjoy reading (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

                                                           ---

It was all just too much, you needed some 

breathing space.

That was where your thoughts were as you milled through the school day, almost completely caught up in your own mind but not quite when it came to interacting with friends and all. Even then, you felt inside of yourself and tried just enough to keep up with things so that no one would notice.

You almost skipped basketball practice, but to avoid the worried texts of your teammates, you went, got through it and all but raced off of school grounds when it let out before anyone could stop you.

You had one destination on your brain and it wasn’t home, not yet anyway.

The only person you could confide in about what you were feeling weren’t any of the ones you had seen already; it was your friend who happened to live in an abandoned part of the subway.

Leo:

- Being the charismatic and loud personality he was, it was nice to know he could slow down and listen to you when needed. You had worried about that in the beginning, but it subsided with time.

- The moment you sat down on his bed as he complained about training today and his eyes landed on you, he could tell from the way your shoulders were all but pinched together at the blades that something was wrong.

- So, he sat down next to you and said, 

“Well, enough about me, let’s get down to business and talk about what’s got you so strung up like that, huh?”

- You were usually apprehensive about this sort of stuff with other people, but something about Leo made you want to just let everything out like it was a gossip girl circle or something.

- You complained about your problems over the past few days and Leo intently listened, watching as you waved your hands in gesture and by the time you were done, you felt like you needed a glass of water.

- Your shoulders loosened up and went slack, and Leo slung his arm over them.

- “Better?”

- To which you gave a laughy. “Yeah”, and Leo validated your feelings of stress and annoyance. Saying he would've felt the same too about deadlines and friend drama, and bad teachers, before breaking the air with a couple jokes that made you crack up.

- Least to say, it was very hard to get you to go home that night.

- Like usual.

Raph:

- He was in the center of the lair, pumping the iron, and you sat down heavily on the worn out bench across from him after giving a greeting.

- You got to talking as you watched him bench press what had to be more than your own weight and eventually you asked if it would be okay if you derailed and spoke about some stuff that was bothering you.

- He said of course and put down his weights, moving to sit beside you. He easily took up the rest of the empty space on the bench, making you feel even smaller.

- You took a breath and went off about the things that had been irking you this past week and making you want to tear and rip and scream.

- Raph nodded along and when you had nothing else to let out, feeling like a used airbag, he put a large hand on your shoulder and said he knew how it felt to keep anger like that in.

- He used to be really bad with his temper when he was younger. Really bad. He had plenty of outbursts he still held a lot of regret for, but Splinter coached him through it and helped him get it under control over time. In no way was it an easy road, but it did Raph a great justice in the end.

- You nodded, looking at your friend a bit differently.

- It was hard to imagine him as an angry person, despite his brutish size because since day one he had proved his stature spoke nothing for the person he was and you admired that he was able to become that person.

- You were especially glad he had ended up the Raph you knew today.

- You asked if he'd be willing to help you like Splinter had helped him.

- You got a toothy, contagious smile in return that melted your worry away as he ruffled your hair, "Of course baby bear! What're friends for?"

- And you just knew he wouldn't let you down.

Donnie:

- You were just finishing a fearsome round of the newest video game Donnie bought when your feelings from the day hit you again.

- You thought just spending time with your friend would help those feelings dissolve, but it was obvious you would need to let out your thoughts or they would cling to you with a death grip.

- You fiddled with the joysticks of your controller and he glanced at you, noticing your shift in attitude.

- "All good over there?" he was sunken back in his beanbag chair and it looked like it might swallow him whole.

- With a long sigh, you reluctantly went into a vent about the things on your mind to Donnie, trying not to leave out any detail so he could understand your duress. 

- You still clicked at the joysticks all the while.

- Your posture slumped a bit, and you quietly told him how it all made you feel like you were mad. Then you shook your head, your gaze lowered to your feet, and apologized for ruining the gaming sesh with this depressing info dump.

- Donnie nodded, eyes fixated on the TV screen. He understood how things could accumulate under the skin like that over time and make you feel crazy.

- Then he did something he rarely initiated- he set his controller down and sat up to reach over and lock his arms around you, thoroughly shocking you.

- "I ah, I'm sorry." he tried to comfort you.

- You hugged him back, actually feeling a lot better with everything off your chest and because of Donnie's words.

- "Thanks Dee." you smiled into his sweatshirt, the fresh smell of lavender wafting off it sinking into your skeleton and warming up your flesh.

- He rubbed your back, seeming to get into the swing of the moment. And this soft turn was just what you needed.

Mikey:

- You were his assistant for the night and helped him put together a new entree recipe he wanted to try out.

- It was always fun cooking with him and helped you feel lighter after the week's events, but that didn't last long. After the tedious and thought distracting part of cooking was over, your mind turned against you again.

- As Mikey set up a timer up for how long the food had left to cook, he asked you if you were feeling alright.

- You wondered if he just saw right through you, but then you remembered it was Mikey you were talking about.

- You hesitated, before admitting that you had some stuff on your mind.

- He nodded, showing you you had his attention, and you slowly divulged your problems.

- You felt more than a little dumb when you finished as you felt like maybe you had blown some things out of proportion or maybe Mikey wouldn’t be able to understand your reasons for being upset.

- To your surprise he did and gave you all the reassurance you'd been needing. It was enough to nearly make you cry.

- "And if you ever need professional help, there's always Dr. Feelings here for you." he assured you with a smile.

- You laughed a bit too at the mention of one of his personas and was wrapped up in a warm Mikey bear hug not a moment later that wiped the rest of your worries away.

- "You're sweet as honey Mike." you smiled, very much glad you followed your gut and came here today.

[magpiemorality]

Ok so this is a slightly disjointed idea but, 24 hour diner with Virgil or Dee as waiter/person who works there and one of the boys is a regular customer, but who shows up at the oddest of hours. they talk one day and our customer boy tells him about slightly unbelievable happenings, and Virge/Dee isn't sure if they are making fun of him, but this continues. They become each others constant, cause life's hectic. Any ship :] - xaime

This isn’t entirely what you requested because my mind half read it and went off on a wild tangent, but I hope you enjoy! 

Combined with:

This isn't a prompt as much as it's a challenge; how many different names can you give Deceit in one short story without it being incoherent? - @loveceit

"It was a dark and stormy knight" listen, it was a pun and a combo of purple prose+virgil nickname so i figured it could become a story therefore you get it *goes back into the night* - Anonymous

AO3

***

The diner was always an interesting place to work. From the peppy college students to the millennials seeking a quirky date; from the families with rowdy kids to the construction workers that were on a project nearby; it was a great place to be a people watcher.

Just a shame Virgil didn't much like people. He was only there to finance his freelance work and pay for his rent, which made him the perfect candidate for the night shifts.

When he'd accepted the graveyard hours he'd assumed he could just get some work done, hang out in silence until the morning guy, some peppy high-school grad waiting to get into the community college a few blocks away, showed up to take over.

No one told Virgil that the night shift often got the most... interesting customers.

Case in point; D- uh, Dee something. It might have been Damien? Virgil was sure he'd introduced himself as Damien once, but he couldn't quite remember and the guy was a regular by now so he couldn't ask, either. Damien- or maybe Darren?- was a fascinating individual that had managed to pique even Virgil's lack of interest, coming in as he did every time Virgil was on shift without fail. It wasn't always the same time, sometimes Darren, or Dalziel, arrived as the night started around eight or nine (if the sun had gone down), and sometimes he arrived as late as four or five am, only a few hours before Virgil got to go home.

No matter what though, he always stayed until Virgil's shift ended, disappearing in the few minutes when Virgil headed in the back to change out of his apron and grab his stuff. What a mystery. Virgil might not have liked people but he adored a good mystery.

They talked a little every so often, just exchanging pleasantries when Virgil brought D- Derek?- his coffee or a slice of pie (homemade by the chefs but not remotely fresh; this wasn't actually the 50s and demand was too high for authenticity like that). The man was often working diligently away on a clunky laptop with no discernible brand, tap tap tapping providing a nicely soothing rhythmic background to Virgil's own work over at the counter. It was always the same volume, even when there was dead silence, or rain outside, not that Virgil consciously noticed that.

Once he almost caught a glimpse of what D...rake? No definitely not a Drake, eesh. Maybe Declan? Still not right... What Dee was going. It looked like coding, but not coding that Virgil really recognised. More like if the Matrix had been an actual thing of sorts, flickering symbols moving up and down and somehow forwards and backwards, deep into the screen. It made his head hurt a little and Dee- no wait, it was... it was... nope, gone again. Maybe Devon? Ew no. 100% not right.

Anyhow, since then Virgil hadn't ever tried to look again, feeling faintly queasy at the thought of seeing that screen again, and the mysterious Dee just kept tapping reliably away.

The mystery deepened when Virgil had to take a day shift one week. It was busy, a little annoying because he had work to do he would have to stay up late to do instead, and his sleeping pattern was immediately off-kilter after the change of rhythm, but there was something else. His regular D- David? No, too plain. He was more of a Despereaux, or a December, something like that... His regular wasn't there, and the absence was more noticeable than Virgil could have predicted. Even worse, there was some creepy man with crazy intense eyes who came in part way through Virgil's shift and would not. stop. staring. When he got his things and headed to go home the man just smiled at him brightly and he hurried to grab the bus, giving in to the urge to keep looking over his shoulder as he made his way back to his apartment.

He told Drew, Dara, Dolion, whatever his goddamn name was, next time he was on the night shift. It was like slipping into bed at the end of the day; how right it felt to be back under cover of darkness. Dylan, D-ax? That was a name right? Not his mystery regular's though... Dee seemed curious about where Virgil had been, when he served the guy his drink that night, and insisted he sit down for a chat while the diner was otherwise empty. Virgil, despite the work he needed to get done, agreed, and they spent a while having a comfortable and easy conversation that had them both laughing in turn.

That night Virgil left work with a smile on his face for the first time in a very long time.

It only took another few shifts before Desmond or Dexter or Diaz admitted he'd been rather worried when Virgil had changed shifts. He was equally worried about the weird guy that had shown up on that shift. "There are some bad people out there," he'd murmured, looking out the window into the dark streets with a faraway expression as Virgil hung on his every word. "And there are some even worse things than them that prowl the streets." He'd shot Virgil a soft smile, a little apologetic, and had turned the subject neatly onto Virgil's word, leaving the words lingering in the air, almost solid enough to touch as they followed Virgil around for the rest of the week.

That conversation turned into a part of the routine, sitting together over cups of hot, strong coffee, grinning and laughing and sharing thoughts on the world. Rarely did their own lives get much discussion, the past just seemed... unimportant somehow, when compared to the now and the what could be. Draco or Dorian or Dominic or whatever his name was, was quickly becoming Virgil's best friend, and from the genuine delight on Douglas or Diego or Daniel's face he felt the same way.

And one night his friend was late.

It was near closing and Dee still hadn't shown up. Despite the massive coincidence Virgil had never bothered to wonder why he seemed to know the right nights to visit the diner, subconsciously writing it off as nothing strange, but now he forced his worries down with the logical answer that Dee simply had other things to do.

It wasn't weird that he had never once failed to show up for the past... had it been more than a year now? Close to two, even? It... that wasn't weird...

It was weird as hell. But it wasn't anything to worry about; no that pleasure belonged to his absence. Even when Virgil went and changed and got his bag, wondering if tonight of all nights Dean or Dustin or Donovan would have appeared in that moment instead of his usual disappearance, but it wasn't to be.

The journey home felt wrong and Virgil was restless when he forced himself to go to bed, full of turbulent thoughts and concerns. "There are some bad people out there," his thoughts whispered in the early dawn light. "And there are some even worse things than them that prowl the streets."

And yet, somehow, he was there again the next shift. He looked tired, Dalton or Deacon or Demetrius. His eyes were dark and his hair ruffled, and his laptop was nowhere to be seen. He smiled though, when Virgil spotted him, already hunched down in the booth in the corner, the shadow of bruises on his face.

Virgil waited for the other lonely customer to finish up and head off before turning the never-used sign to CLOSED and bringing the entire pot of coffee over for them both. He wrapped his friend in a hug when he stood from the booth as Virgil approached, only making sure to put the pot down first.

When they fell back into the red leather bench seats, eyes on the table in front of them and silence thick, Virgil knew something was changed forever.

He looked up as Dee cleared his throat, a rueful smile on his face. "I owe you an explanation, Virgil," he said, voice hoarse and gravelly.

"Do you?" Virgil asked, looking at him curiously. Somehow it felt like he was actually seeing Dee now, like he was clear where he'd been slightly blurred before. And Dee just smiled again.

"Let me tell you a story. About a man living in a world he wasn't meant to, and someone who saved him."

Virgil's eyebrows furrowed together and he leaned forwards, elbows on the table so he could rest his chin in his hands.

"It was a dark and stormy knight," the man called Dante began. "That saved him..."

-

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

[codevassie]

i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

On Ao3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride. 

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all. 

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“ 

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe. 

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater. 

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater. 

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat. 

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing. 

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love. 

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one. 

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined. 

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“ 

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst. 

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there. 

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas. 

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning. 

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing. 

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste. 

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire. 

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘ 

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved. 

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything. 

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother. 

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved? 

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness. 

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed. 

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place. 

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself. 

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore. 

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him- 

Virgil. 

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible. 

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets. 

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all. 

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him. 

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated. 

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said. 

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep. 

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze. 

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXXVII: Cold Comfort For Change

Crowds of people seated, sucking in each other’s oxygen with their open, smiling faces. Plates full of lobster and mashed potatoes and what was that? Spinach? It was something green. Could’ve been seaweed or...whatever other plant was green. I didn’t think about the color green often. Maybe like once or twice, and only when I saw something green. That was all.

Through the air was a nauseating aroma of boiled vegetables and a vague hint of starch. Carbohydrates? I wasn’t sure. Whatever potatoes smelled like when they were heated. If not for the aroma, loathe as I was to breathe it in, I wouldn’t have been able to tell there was any sense of heat at all. At least the food was warm. Maybe the people, too. It did look like a sunny day, and by sunny, I meant that the sun was out.

Decorations of little stone angel statues were lined on shelves and windowsills. Glasses, a counter with a dedicated bartender (some guy in a fancy three-piece suit with a monopoly man mustache). Stairs which led...where? Beats me. Upstairs, probably. If not for the food stench which drowned out all other smells, I might not have picked up on the sleek scent of refined mahogany which made up the hardwood floors, counters, stairs...ah, hell, everything.

What was I doing? Waiting for my seat. I had a reservation and I figured maybe if I arrived a little early, I could get to my seat faster. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

I tapped my foot. It didn’t make anything go faster and the crowds, the chatter, everything worked in tandem to see how far I could stand being in such a place. Rich folks and people on dates who probably pretended to be rich in order to impress the other person. All I wanted was a good meal, something I didn’t have to make, and look at the mess I got myself into: at any point, any one of them could look over to me and they would raise an eyebrow, tilt their head, point, stare in confusion.

It would have made sense, too. I mean, who on a near-summer day would wear a thick, red jacket and have their arms folded as they shivered in place and wished they could find a place of warmth at last, some kind of warmth that would never come? Plenty of people, maybe, I mean, maybe the air conditioner was really working on overdrive. It’s not like I checked the temperature outside before I stepped foot in such a posh hellhole.

All these people smiling and laughing and making face noises. It’s just like how people on the Titanic must’ve been like. Am I the iceberg?

“Dee Flecked?” Called the server. Or receptionist. I didn’t know these restaurant job titles. It wasn’t my job to know. The...whatever was another “some fancy guy”, just like the bartenders. His features were...a face and clothes. That was all I was going to warrant.

Yes. ‘Dee Flecked’. I have to be careful. I’m veering awful close to my original name. At least I don’ t know anyone with a ‘D’ in their name. Nope. None at all.

“Me…” I raised my hand with a feeble motion.

“Right this way, madame,” he motioned.

Finally someone with manners.

He ushered me to my seat, which was a solitary table in the middle of the dining hall. Which meant I was ambushed by all these people who probably didn’t feel so much as a hint of a draft. I guess I should’ve been grateful as at least in the summer time, it was manageable.

“Uh...can I...have a different seat?” I looked up and asked the guy in expensive clothing who was probably paid too little to be way too polite (which meant he probably couldn’t even have afforded his clothing. Was that a plothole, but in real life?).

“I’m sorry, madame, but there are no other seats available,” he broke the news in such a way that it was like he was telling me my great grandmother who I never knew and so had no attachment to had just passed away.

“Oh...that’s...yeah, that tends to happen in a place like this...ha…” I tried not to express my disappointment too hard and I hoped my weak and shaky voice didn’t give me away. To aid in my endeavor, I waved about a hundred dollar bill.

“Here’s a per-emptive tip,” I looked down at the table and muttered.

“Thank you,” he took it, “I’ll get you the finest water we have.”

I let out a foggy sigh of relief. I had done it.

Now, as for what I was doing there, or what I was doing anywhere at all, I couldn’t really say. I’ll be honest – I wasn’t expecting to still be around after all that time. Many months went by (but less than a year) since I parted ways from that glacial diner. For the first several whiles of my time alone, I didn’t really had any particular goal or objective. I slept in alleyways and rooftops alike, anywhere where I thought I wouldn’t be bothered and wouldn’t have to pay rent. Food was difficult to come by, but shoplifting from grocery stores was easy. Also there were food banks, but I didn’t want to rob a food bank.

To think I was living at all, though. It wasn’t really in the plans, but as I said, I had no plans. Life just had a way of going on. Didn’t know how to feel about that one, but it was a little out of my control, so I let it go (conceal, don’t feel) for the most part. Make no mistake, it was unbearable, and at times I did hit something of a rock bottom. I remember being in Italy, concealed by any shadows I could occupy, and would beg others for just a sip of wine. Eventually, though, I had enough, so being individualistic in nature, I did something about my situation and worked hard to earn a fair bit of money.

...In other words, I robbed a rich person’s house in the dead of night while they were on vacation and took off with over a million dollars.

“Ray would’ve been so proud,” I remarked.

Not that I care. It’s not like I miss him. I don’t miss any of those people.

I made my peace with that part of my life and I was sure the feeling was mutual for everyone else as well.

“I’m so glad Remora’s finally gone! Everything’s much easier now!” Was what I was sure they must’ve said. ‘They’ being any one of them, including Tigershark.

Heh. ‘Remora’. What a silly name that was. To think it was all because I saw some dopey fish one day.

Yeah, I thought of the kid from time to time. Thought stuff like, “crap I just left and didn’t even say anything to her.” But then I was reminded of the fact that she had Ray and Sunny anyway, and they were much more equipped to take care of a kid. Plus, as far as I could tell, they were caring people. Not some frost-bitten oaf like me. After being reminded of that, I would always be relieved.

So yeah. No complaints from me. I had my own life now, and I didn’t know what kind of life that was, but my organs still functioned (possibly? Haven’t checked in a while).

Two or more minutes passed and the server handed me a glass of water in a wine glass.

Gee, it really is fancy.

“Thank you,” I handed the server another hundred.

“Have you had time to look at the menu?” He asked.

Fuck. There was a menu? All this time...see, this is what thinking does to you.

“Ice...cream?” I blurted out.

“You want ice cream?”

Why did I say ice cream? Well now it’s out there, so I have no choice but to double down, otherwise I come off as awkward.

“Yes. Get me some of your finest ice cream. Please,” I begged, then gestured and handed another bit of currency to the server.

“Very well. What flavor, madame?”

“Fish…” No. That would be awful. Shut your mouth now.

“Fish?”

“No. I said ‘fresh’. As in, fresh strawberries, please.”

“Very well. I will have a waiter bring you our finest of sherbets.”

“Who?”

“Who will the waiter be?”

“No. Who is ‘Sure Bert’?”

Rather than answer my question, he laughed, then walked away.

How rude. And to think I gave him a tip. Oh well, I have to remember how hard of a life food service workers have. He probably doesn’t get much tips from other people. He probably sleeps on broken glass. Rich people tend to be stingy, after all, which is why I should have their money instead.

When the waiter arrived, he set down a large bowl filled with several mounds of light-reddish colored ice cream and piles of strawberries on top.

“Here you are, madame,” the waiter took a bow as he gestured to the food before me.

“Th...thank you,” I shivered. It was as if I was also one of those ice balls.

“Are you cold, miss?” He asked, his soft politeness almost deceiving me into believing he had any concern.

“Mm...a little…”

“Would you like to eat outside?” He offered.

What the fuck? That server guy said there was no other seating available. That bastard.

“Uh...no...that wouldn’t fix anything. Thank you, though,” I appreciated the offer, really, even if I knew how futile it would have been. For the effort, I handed him a couple of hundred dollar bills. Also, for the record, his attire was so fancy that it reminded me of that one ogre in Shrek. Couldn’t quite remember that ogre’s name, but he wore a fancy outfit, that much I knew. Also, the waiter had hair, I guess. I wasn’t really paying attention.

After he took the money, his tune changed.

“Oh...oh my. Uh...can I massage your back? Bring you cushions for your seat? More food, perhaps?” He seemed desperate and predatory.

“What’s your problem? I just want to eat my ice cream, creep,” I side-eyed the guy who I thought was decent up until that moment.

“Sorry. By all means,” he skittered away, obvious damage control.

I shook my head. Here I thought I would enjoy myself at such a stuffy establishment, but no, it was not meant to be. How tragic.

I left that place, and I wasn’t even sure if I paid for my meal. All in all, I was rather disappointed, especially since I didn’t even want ice cream. I would’ve been just fine with something like shrimp fettuccine alfredo, or a massive super rare steak along with a valley of grapes. But noooo...lousy service gave me ice cream instead.

That was fine. It was good ice cream, for what it was worth, and even though it wasn’t filling, it did bring me a false sense of warmth which I couldn’t have gotten from whatever other food I would’ve wanted instead.

Out on the streets, I took my stride back toward the apartment I’ve occupied for about four or five months now. My days never really consisted of much, so as far as I was concerned, my day was pretty much done. Yet the sun had yet to set and there was little guarantee that I would see any sleep. Such was the gamble I was willing to take. It wasn’t like the apartment was a home, and it wasn’t like the quiet I had found was peace, but inaction in a confined setting was close enough to both of those things for the time being.

So when I opened the door and was about to make my way up the stairs, I was stopped by the landlord, a vile woman who always seemed to wear Hawaiian shirts and had dark sunglasses. Even at night.

“Lenora!” Shouted Abalone, the vile landlord in question, and an extraordinary cause of problems. Many times I’ve heard her cursing up a storm and pounding on doors, demanding her toll like she was on a bridge and not in an apartment complex. Coupled with those demands were the threat of eviction, which I would then wait until she was done with her tirade, walk up to the doors of the people she made miserable, and slipped rent money underneath their door. All so I could get some peace and quiet in my own apartment.

“How many times have I told you to call me Len? Len Arietty!” I reminded her. Two of us could shout, even though I really didn’t like to raise my voice. It was such a chore to do.

(But yes, I went by Lenora, because it seemed much more name-like of a name than Remora, which was not a very name-name)

“Hmph. I’ll call you the name you put on your lease and nothing more,” she stuck her nose up, that self-righteous attitude which was unwarranted.

Nobody appreciates a good pun these days. That’s the problem with modern society.

“And I won’t call you at all. Because I don’t have a phone,” I pointed out. I had a phone, but it was back at a certain diner which wouldn’t be named (I was pretty sure it didn’t have a name, anyway).

“You should get one. What if you’re late on a payment and need an extension?” She hung over my head, but being that I just ate, I didn’t take the bait.

I could buy out the apartment complex, myself, if I wanted to, and I would do it just to put you out of a job.

“Have I ever been late on a payment, Abalone?” I asked in turn, doing my best to make a little baby voice, along with it.

“One day, Lenora. One day,” she warned. What she was trying to warn, however, wasn’t clear.

“One day what? Which day? Tuesday? Just any old day?” I asked, genuine in my confusion.

“Just one day,” she growled.

“Okay, fine, don’t tell me which day it will be,” I was exhausted enough as it was, I wasn’t about to play any guessing games, “uh, one day to you, too, and take care?”

I trudged up the stairs. There was nothing more to speak about and if I wanted to be confused, I’d just go seek out any other social interaction.

After a sluggish march, I stood at the door to Apartment 108. The most basic of numbers. Totally inconspicuous. My hands shook and felt frostbitten as I struggled to place the key in its respective hole. It was a delicate process, one with many fumbles, and at one point I dropped the key. It wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but I didn’t care for such things as ‘pride’ and any grandiose reactions were just a waste of breath.

Inside of the apartment was a sparse collection of what was necessary and nothing more: a small kitchen with a refrigerator, toaster, and microwave oven. None of those things went used, as I preferred to eat out (in spite of the presence of other people), but at times I would press the lever for the toaster down, just so I could try to feel the warm currents against my hands. When that didn’t happen, I would feel compelled to stick my hand in, but so far, I’ve resisted.

Aside from those things, there was a closet with a box of clothing. Shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap. None of those things were very impressive and showers always felt awkward. It was just standing there and letting water fall on me, worse, no matter how much I turned the dial, it remained cold. Then when I stepped out of the shower, and steam came out, but I continued to be a shivering mess, I just felt like a fool.

When I slept, if I slept, I would lay on my back in the middle of the floor, wrapped up in a snuggie (yes, that very same snuggie gifted to me from Cybele, some random woman who lived in an airport. While I didn’t really know her, so I couldn’t even hope to care about her, I refused to allow myself to forget such a kind gesture. Besides, snuggies are...snug) and a space heater next to me to keep me company. Even if the space heater did nothing, it was the gesture, what it represented...or maybe I was just desperate. Like, maybe one day, I would actually feel what I was meant to.

Most of the time I laid on the floor, regardless of sleep. It was just what I did. Dwell on things, like life, what I’ve been through, events that had transpired, and who I was. None of it ever did me anything good and any questions I had on life never went answered. It sucked not even having a phone, as there were probably hundreds of thousands of memes that I was missing out on. Things I would never understand without the context, and even then, sometimes things were better without the context. Small price to pay to live in the isolation I so desired, I suppose.

But let’s not dwell on that. Let’s not dwell on my dwelling. If rest may come, then let it come. That was enough.

By now, there must have been an apparent contradiction: if I wanted to isolate myself, why live in a populated area? In fact, I was probably better isolated in the arctic, but that place was so. Damn. Cold.

Well, the answer was a strange one, and it was both an advantage and disadvantage: with all the crowds of people in a city, most people didn’t care who you were. Paid you no mind. Then again, when there were crowds, there was always the possibility that they would pay you mind. In fact, that meant even more people with their watchful eyes who would want nothing more than to react to your every move and mistake. Any quirk or sudden motion that didn’t fit with the norm and those faceless entities were sure to pounce.

But the same thing could happen in a less populated area, and in fact, in a place less popular, you would know for a fact that people were talking about you. That was terrible and bad and uncool. Would not recommend.

Of course, I had a solution, and it was to just not care. When that solution failed, which 9.9 times out of 10, did, I wandered into the town square where there was a fountain and park benches scattered around and took a seat. For whatever reason, few people ever occupied the town square, and especially not in the morning. Someone more inquisitive might have wondered why that was, but I wasn’t about to question a good thing.

Down on the ground was a crow that hopped about. Rather than pigeons, the city seemed to be more dominated by crows. Wasn’t complaining, birds were birds. Could’ve been a cockatrice and I wouldn’t have anything to say on the matter. Of course, I stared down at the crow and their little hops. My palm was against the side of my face and I leaned forward.

“Look at you: are you dancing for others or just to dance? Or is that just how you walk?” I asked the little bird. Then, out of boredom, I dug into my jacket pocket and tossed some bird seeds the crow’s way.

“Make no mistake: I’m not rewarding you for your dance. I’m just bored,” I informed the crow, not that the crow cared. In the crow’s eyes, a free snack was a free snack.

As of late, it’s become a routine of mine to toss stuff at crows. It started one day (probably not the day that landlord was referring to) situated at the town square where I thought of nothing in particular and I had a sandwich in my hand. Some pieces of the sandwich and when a crow started eating the fallen piece, I got a little annoyed.

“Get your own sandwich, crow,” I remember scolding the black bird. My words didn’t seem to deter the crow at all (what could I say? I wasn’t a very threatening person) and I didn’t really care to scold the crow any further. It was just a sandwich, after all. But after that day, I took it upon myself to buy some bird seeds at the local bird seed store.

“Just so you know, just because I’m doing this nice thing, I don’t care about you,” I told the crow, then tossed another handful of birdseed. That crow just pecked away.

“See? That’s what I like about you: you don’t care either. I could call you a dummy stupid butt bird and you wouldn’t have anything to say, would you? I could call you a big stinky hairy butt bird.”

Yep. Nothing to say. The crow looked up at me for a brief second. I gave a small wave, and then they went right back to eating.

“Why can’t more people be like you, crow? We have a mutual apathy for each other and we still get along just fine…” I think I was starting to think things I didn’t want to think about.

Just as I was about to seed the crow further, that little opportunist looked away, then flew off.

Looks like we got a dine and dasher.

“Heh, were you offended by what I said after all?” I wondered aloud. If anyone saw me they must have wondered, “what was that crazy lady doing in that thick jacket, shivering and talking to a crow?” But what were they doing watching me for? If anything, they were the crazy ones for watching.

Maybe the bench would be a nice place for a nap, if I could find any tiredness at all. I tapped my foot and pondered my options.

“What to do...what to do…”

Before I could figure that out, the crow returned (or at least, a crow returned. Could’ve been any old crow).

That crow landed next to my feet and set down something on the ground. I spread my legs and peered down to find a silver coin.

“What...what the...no. No, no, no. That’s not part of the deal. You’re not supposed to give me money, look,” I reached into my pocket and pulled out several hundred dollar bills, “I’ve got plenty of that. I’m just doing this out of boredom.”

Instead of doing the sensible thing and taking off with the quarter after realizing their mistake, the stubborn crow pushed the quarter closer to me with their beak.

“Dude, you’re being real pushy. Don’t you know that’s a real turn off?”

Again, the crow remained persistent, and having had enough, I got up and shooed the crow away.

“Go on, begone with ye!” I waved my hands away, and the crow at last took off, although I noticed that the quarter was still next to me. What a hassle.

“Would it be bad if I didn’t take this? I mean, what if that crow was actually a fairy in disguise and if I don’t take their payment, they’ll curse me?” I pondered. There was no real need to ponder, as I knew that fairies weren’t real (although there were creatures from outside of earth that were fairy-like) and it wasn’t like my life wasn’t already cursed from the day I was born. But still, if fairies were real…

OK. I took the quarter. Better safe than sorry.

My next plan of attack was...my growling stomach. Well, that was unexpected, but who would I be to not quell the beast?

Whenever I felt that beast (my stomach) roar, I did what any sensible person would do and I went and got coffee. Back in my diner days, I never really gave coffee much thought despite it being a signature drink at such places. Yes, I was aware of its existence, but I never really saw value in it. Now, having lived a new life filled with self-discovery and wonder, I learned the truth: coffee was like a drink and a meal all in one. Well, it helped to also get a meal along with the coffee. Maybe I’d consider that.

I looked around and as luck would have it, there was a coffee shop situated just behind where I had sat, obscured by tables with umbrellas and kiosks (one selling deep-fried portabella mushrooms, the other selling horseshoe crab enthusiast magazines with little horseshoe crab plushies hanging off the ceiling of the kiosk). Drip Drip Drop Coffee was the name of the place, and with a name like that, it was almost certain that the coffee was top quality.

“I know a place…” I mouthed the words, then stepped forward and into Drip Drip Drop. An ominous feeling followed me along as I entered. There were indeed far too many people. There were at least five people inside, and worse yet, some were conversing with each other. Not seated were three people in line who I had to stand behind. As much stomach continued to growl, I looked up at the menu.

Oh, thank goodness, they have sandwiches. Sub sandwiches, to boot. I think I’ll order a cold cut. Every kind of meat on it. Double stacked. You know, now that I think about it, why are they called ‘sub’ sandwiches? I get it’s short for submarine, but it doesn’t even look like a submarine. It looks like a sandwich. Makes me think that whoever named it didn’t even know what a submarine looked like. That, or didn’t know what a sandwich looked like, and just thought everything else that wasn’t a submarine was just like a submarine, but not. Maybe it’s called that cause some bored person in a submarine had enough materials to make a sandwich, and they just happened to be in a submarine when they made it. On that note, I’m willing to bet that if you drop a sub sandwiches in the ocean, it will, indeed, get soggy.

“Monster energy iced cappuccino with quadruple shot espresso for ‘Boruto’!” One of the baristas shouted. I found that to be an odd name, but a little curious, I looked around and saw some average height scrawny woman in a camouflage print hoodie as well as camo pants whose brown ponytail poked out from her backwards cap.

“Heh. Heh heh heh. They probably think my name really is Boruto. Suckers,” sneered the gremlin-like stranger.

I shook my head. Didn’t people have better things to do than give poor baristas a fake name? They were already underpaid and overworked as it was, no need to humiliate them further.

“Hello? Are you going to order?” Asked a faint and soft, but cheery voice. I looked around, then heard a tap against the counter. That was when I realized that there was no longer a line in front of me and I was supposed to be the next to order.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I stepped forward. Behind the counter was a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties and had wavy, pink hair along with three piercings along both ears. On each cheek were three freckles.

“That’s fine! There’s no one behind you!” She informed me in a sing-song like voice. Indeed, there was no one behind me, much to my relief. But something told me that I would have noticed had there been someone behind me.

“Oh, huh. You’re cute,” I remarked, and realizing that had been spoken aloud, I continued as if nothing was said, “I’ll get a…” I shivered much more than I meant to and it felt more like a jolt.

“Air conditioner?” She asked.

I gave a feeble nod.

“Yeah, it’s always out of wack. I get it’s a warm day and all, but seriously, does it have to feel like we’re in the freakin’ arctic?”

Finally someone who gets it. Or at least I don’t have to make up a big excuse.

“Yeah...Okay. I think I’m ready. I’ll get a mocha and a c...co…” the shivering continued.

“Take your time.”

I really don’t want to. I want to be in, then out.

“Cold cut sandwich,” I sped through the words.

“Great! And how do you want your coffee?”

“Cold...too…” I answered through grit teeth.

“Mm...mm...I get it. Yeah. Hot day, cold coffee. Makes sense. Yeah.”

That had nothing to do with it. Maybe it didn’t make sense for me to get it, what with the whole idea of wanting to feel warmth, but the thing was, when I drank hot coffee, it just tasted like cold anyway. So if I got cold coffee, at least I could taste it. Besides, it’ s not like the temperature of the coffee really changes the body’s temperature. It’s not like people dump cold coffee on their head on a hot day, or hot coffee on their head on a cold day. That’ s not how it worked.

I fished out the handful of hundred dollar bills and set them on the counter.

“Uh, keep the change? Bye.” “Wait,” she called out before I could get very far, “Can I get a name for the order?”

Crap. Name. Think, think…

“Karen,” that was a rather unassuming name with no connotations attached whatsoever, unlike something like Rhea. “Karen Alotte.”

“What kind of name is that?!” Shouted the annoying ponytail gremlin, “At least Boruto is an actual name! Fictional, mind you, but still real!”

I lowered my head. Customers really were the worst.

“Don’t let it get to you,” the barista told me. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a name that’s not Boruto.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess?” I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Well, I wouldn’t have to deal with any annoying customers and their pointless comments much longer. About five minutes later, my name was called and I headed out the door without a second thought, back to where I was situated in the town square. While I didn’t know the time, I assumed it was about noonish, give or take some minutes.

Now there were two crows when once was one. It must have been a good omen, all because I took that quarter.

“Hey guys. Look what I got,” I pointed to my sandwich. Those crows didn’t so much as look up.

“Well, that’s fine, too. I’m not offering you any.”

One iced coffee later, and halfway through my sandwich, I heard a distinct voice yell out from behind me.

“YOU’RE CUTE TOO!” Their voice rang through the air and I turned around and saw a girl with pink hair who stood before me, one foot in front of the other, and cupped her mouth with her hands.

I turned back to the crows.

“Get a load of this girl,” I pointed my thumb behind me and told them, “I feel bad for whoever she’s calling to.”

Seeing as no one else had it in their hearts to break the news to her, I took it upon myself. After all, I was cold enough to not hold back.

“Hey, girl! You’re embarassing yourself!” I shouted back to her. “Everyone around can hear you!”

She looked over at me and stood up straight, then blinked.

“Oh. Sorry,” she replied, then walked over. “I was trying to get your attention, actually.”

I pointed to myself.

“Me? Cute? Why?” I was most confused. I didn’t recall ever being called ‘cute’ before.

“Does it have to be said?” She gave a smile that looked like she was about to burst into laughter. “Your puffy jacket, your short black hair, your nervousness,” she began to list.

“The nervousness isn’t cute...I’m just generally uncomfortable,” I corrected.

“Okay, well, still! You said I’m cute, and I think you’re cute too! Just accept it!”

I looked away and blushed. So that’s what it was all about, huh? I just had to say that out loud and now I was reaping the consequences?

“So it was you,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird, right? It’s just that I’ve always been told that by creepy dudes and not someone as attractive as yourself,” she remarked.

“I’m not at...at...I’m repellent,” I concluded, and put my hands on my hips all proud.

“Oh, sure. Tell yourself that,” she slouched over and groaned, then perked right back up. “Hey! Can I sit next to you?”

I looked around.

“It is possible,” I informed her. I didn’t know why she would want to, seeing as there were plenty of other places to sit elsewhere, but unless she had a condition that made it hard for her to sit down, then I didn’t see why that would be a problem.

She sat down and I felt a wave of discomfort come over me.

It was so much easier to eat a sandwich when I didn’t have someone sitting next to me.

“Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” I asked.

“It’s my lunch break! I’m usually not very hungry on my lunch breaks, so I usually wait to eat until I’m off work. Because of that, I usually have a lot of free time, and since I’m a very social person, I tend to have conversations with random people.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that. What if you end up talking to someone dangerous?” I suggested.

“Hmm...that’s a good point. Are you dangerous?”

“Not at the moment, no,” I replied without thought.

“Then I think it’s fine to talk to you, no?”

I shrugged.

“Do what you want.”

She beamed a bright grin, but it took about a solid minute before she had anything more to say and instead she just kicked her legs back and forth against the bench. It was a little creepy.

“So, Karen, was it?” She leaned her head forward and asked.

“That was a name I used, yes.”

“Oh? That’s not your name?”

Damn it. I shouldn’t have phrased it that way.

“I’m...still trying to figure out a name,” I admitted.

“What do you mean?”

I let out a heavy sigh. If there was something I cared about...then that one thing was something I didn’t want to care about. But I had to be delicate in my apathy.

“Well, it’s like...I was going by a different name for a little while and before that, I had a different name, my original name. I also had many other names, but that original name, that was who I considered myself to be. You follow?”

She nodded.

“I think so. Go on?”

Why? Oh, well. If I’m committed to not caring, then I have to treat this with a carefree attitude.

“Thing is, that name didn’t really make me uncomfortable in of itself. I once went to a meeting just for the hell of it and decided to talk about the name issue with them, too, and they thought I was referring to a ‘deadname’, which I didn’t know what that was, so someone explained it and mad respect to trans people, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

“All right. So what do you mean?”

“Well, I guess you can think of it like a deadname. Because it’s like, imagine there was another me, like, hypothetically, and it’s like that other me died. That other me, who shared that name, no longer exists, and can’t exist, but they still follow me. Not physically, but it’s like I’d get compared to how she was, the good and the bad. Worse, I compared myself to that other me. I felt inferior at times, other times I desired to be superior. It was like I was living in a shadow of myself and I didn’t know any other way to escape from it but to change my name. Thing is, though, all the names I’ve come up with just haven’t feel right, either.”

“So, you’ve been trying to escape from yourself?” She asked, now less inquisitive and more sounding confused.

“Yeah, funny enough, I think I have been, and I don’t know what it is: whether or not I can fundamentally change or whether or not I want to. I mean, I’m comfortable enough, as uncomfortable as my existence is, but I also didn’t want to associate with that other me. Hypothetically, I mean.”

“Right. It’s easy to say ‘don’t compare yourself to others’ but I suppose it’s harder when you have this idealized version of yourself that you compare to? I know I get thoughts like, ‘I should be better than this. I know I can be smarter, so why do I have this job?’ Which can then spiral down and...yeah…”

I wasn’t really sure what she was referring to. She had me in the first half, not gonna lie, but then it just fell apart in the second half.

“You sound like you need therapy,” I pointed out, “but anyway, I think what it comes down to is, there’s over a million people with that name, or at least five. Sure, she was one version of me, but does that mean that two people can’t have the same name? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m not exactly like her, but she lived her life and I’m living mine. So I think I’m ready now,” I concluded, then looked over to her and tried my best to give a smile. It was only slight. But progress was progress.

“One talk and you’re ready?” She looked surprised.

My heart took a huge leap. It was probably the coffee, but it could have also been because of what I was about to say.

“Yeah. I’m Rhea Flection.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Miss Flection. My name’s Ceres. Ceres Lee.”

Aww...everything was going so well, too…

I got up.

“Nope. Nope. Not doing this again. I’m out,” I took a few steps away.

“What?!”

Oh, come on, me. If you can get past one name, you can get past another.

I sucked in my pride, which in this case, was just my breath, and I walked right back and sat right back down.

“Okay, sorry. That was rash,” I admitted. “Also, I left my sandwich behind.”

I picked it up and continued eating.

“What was that all about?” She asked.

“I once knew someone with a name similar to yours and she was very dear to me,” I confessed. “But I didn’t care about her. Though I wanted to be friends with her, and close with her, but...I guess can’t really do that when you’re unable to be close with others.”

“Okay, so it’s someone dear to you that you don’t care about?” She asked as she counted on her fingers. What she counted, I wasn’t sure.

“Yes. Exactly. See, you get it. By the way, I don’t have feelings for you.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to.”

Damn, she got me there.

“But yeah, her name was Demetria, and Ceres is the Roman equivalent of Demeter...yeah, I know, I’ve done my research, but in my defense, I only found that out recently. Anyway, she was kind of a nuisance and I didn’t really understand much of her behavior and I was just fine being on my own. But I don’t know, something kind of happened over time and then I got sick and I really wanted to confide my whole life and then I told her something I shouldn’t have. I mean, it felt right at the time, but it wasn’t true.”

“What was it?”

“That I didn’t care about her.”

Her mouth hung low and she tilted her head, like she was just about to throw up.

“Okay...but didn’t you just tell me that you don’t? I swear, you keep contradicting yourself.”

“I know! My head was a mess then and it’s a mess now. I didn’t understand and rather than think about it, I decided that I didn’t want to and so I haven’t been, but it still bothers me.”

“Sounds like you need a therapist,” she pointed out.

“Hey, that’s what I told you.”

“Yeah, and how do you know I don’t have one?”

Argh. I didn’t consider that one.

“I don’t know. I think I still need to figure out how to identify that I care about something. That would be a good first step. But still, I wish I could take it back. I can at least identify that as a mistake.”

“So, Rhea Flection? You didn’t do any self-reflection?”

I scowled.

“Ceres Lee? Seriously?”

She nudged me, I nudged her back. We both laughed.

“I can’t believe you called me cute only to talk about another girl,” she laughed, “do you know what that all sounds like to me?”

Don’t say ‘love’. Please.

“What?” I asked, as much as I’d rather not hear the answer.

“It sounds like I’m in some kind of romantic comedy! Like I walked into a movie set and I didn’t even know it!”

“Oh, come on. These things can happen. This isn’t fiction, it’s real life.”

“I know, I know,” she laughed and wiped away some sweat from her eye. “It’s just...so cliché, y’know?”

“I guess,” I grumbled, “but if I’m gonna be feeling things, I’d like to know that I’m feeling things.”

Ceres pulled out her phone.

“Oh hey, I still have like fifteen minutes before I gotta get back. Wanna walk around town a bit?”

“Sure, but I don’t see why,” I replied and shrugged.

We walked past her place of employment, past the various shops, and continued to wander.

“I need to kill off time. I’m not about to go back to work early!” She explained.

Makes sense, but why am I tagging along?

“Look! It’s a hat shop!” She’d point out, or, “look! An ostrich museum!”

My eyes scanned around throughout; nothing of interest stood out to me, but I didn’t want to miss anything in case something caught my eye.

From an alleyway shot out a thin thread-like appendage in Ceres’ direction. Acting fast, I ducked, then shoved Ceres out of the way. She wobbled a bit, lost her balance, then fell. Still better than whatever that thing would’ve done to her.

“Hey, what was that for?!” She balked.

“Sorry. Just wait here,” I instructed.

I ran into the alleyway. It may have been nothing or it may have been a trap. Even if I had ran right into a trap, I would much rather have done so than endanger some stranger I just met.

At first, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a dead-end alleyway with a dumpster and a brick wall in the very back. Then, as if materialized from the shadow cast by the enclosed area, was a dark cloaked figure with a blank white stone mask over where their face should have been. Behind the mask was a thick head of long, flowing golden hair. They pointed one near-skeletal thin hand forward, and out from the cloak, released several more of those appendages.

I ducked and rolled toward the side of the wall.

“You have evaded every one of my traps, and in some cases, were already lying in wait with a countermeasure,” they spoke, a solemn monotone, not unlike my own voice, but with a wispy tone of sorrow attached.

“Uh, sorry for being smart, I guess?”

They shook their head.

“Even as those you’ve allied yourself with in the arctic are encased in an inescapable fog, you remain unharmed. But that all ends now. Once you are gone, I will have no need for such drastic measures.”

After hearing those words, I was stunned and I felt the shivers return, along with a tenseness I didn’t anticipate.

“What are you talking about? For that matter, who are you?” I forced out the words, a heavy and chilly breath let out along with them.

“The fact that you don’t know only makes it worse,” uttered their cryptic reply.

From behind me I heard the clacks of shoes and caught in the corner of my eye, Ceres, running up to me.

“What’s going on? Who is this guy?” She asked.

“No offense, but I think they’d just give you the same answer they gave me,” I replied without much thought, and then upon realizing who was next to me, turned to scold. “I thought I told you to stay where you were!” I hissed.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why!” She argued.

“That’s because I didn’t know what was up, but you should trust that I wouldn’t just push somebody for no reason!”

My presumed enemy spoke up and freed me from my distraction.

“So I see you’ve brought someone else with you. Rather unfortunate, but I will dispose of you both.”

“Go. Now,” I hissed at Ceres.

She looked at me, then over to the cloaked figure.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good call,” she nodded, and began to run out, but fell.

“Ow! It’s like there’s an invisible wall or something,” she rubbed her forehead.

They must have set up a bounded field. They’re really expecting to trap us in and kill us both.

Each of their arms stretched out now and the fingers on each hand turned to little blades. Along with that, several thorny vines protruded from each arm.

“Okay. This guy certainly isn’t normal,” in fact, I’m reminded of a previous encounter. “Ceres,” I addressed her, “I’m much better at taking a life than I am defending one, so I suggest you take cover behind that dumpster.”

“Taking a li – What are you talking about?!” She cried out.

Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I’ll take any hits that come, so just take cover.”

At last, she did as I instructed, and hid behind the dumpster.

With little time to react, I covered my head with each arm as the vines shot forth my way. Their thorns cut right into my arms and I felt each sting. I ducked under to avoid any more hits, and moved forward toward the figure, whose arms were poised to strike me. Before they could slice through me, I grabbed one of their arms and tossed them into the nearby wall, their back slammed again and they fell back.

“Let me guess: Buddy Fairweather?” I asked as I stood back up.

“Took you long enough. He was just a spare corpse, but I was the man who spoke through him, yes,” oozed out his voice as he picked himself back up.

Spare corpse?

“I should have known better to assume it would end with him,” I remarked. If I recall, I even figured that things wouldn’t end, but just like a fool, I forgot all about it.

“How unfortunate, indeed. But it will end with you. You’re powerless without your rifle. Worse, you have no weapons, nor any means of defense.”

I hate to admit, but he’s right. I can take some hits, I’ve got my reflexes, but I’m unequipped against a supernatural being.

“Hey Ceres! Find me something to use as a weapon, will ya?” I called over.

“You want me to go dumpster diving?!” She called back.

“Yeah!”

She stood up and opened the lid and I saw several of those vines launch toward her again.

“Nope!” I kicked my leg up and stamped those series of vines out of the way. His clawed hand struck at my leg and I lifted it higher just to avoid them.

That was a close call.

“I found a metal rod!” Ceres exclaimed.

How convenient.

She tossed it over, but a few of those vines caught it instead. They worked together to bend, then snap them in half. Desperate, I grabbed onto them from the base of one of his arms and yanked against them. As I squeezed and tugged, the thorns from the vines tore against my palm and bled through. I would just have to endure a bit of bleeding.

As I exerted my strength, I slammed the group of vines against the wall. At the same time, they were successful in snapping the metal rod in half, but also dropped the split pieces as well. I hurried and picked them up in each hand, and at that same instance, he tried to strike down with both of his bladed hands. I caught them with both rods.

I then ducked down and released the rods, then shoved them both into his chest. To my surprise, blood seeped through the wound.

“Rhea! Are you okay?” Ceres shouted.

Jeez. No discretion at all.

“So you’re going by that name, now? Before you only used it as a ruse, but now you embrace it?” He asked, still alive, even through what should have been a fatal wound. But of course, I knew better than to consider something so simple to be fatal. Not when I wasn’t dealing with a simple person in the first place.

“What’s it to you?” My lips spread to an ecstatic smile.

“I only find it amusing, is all,” he seemed to smile as well, then took one of his hands and swiped right at me. I managed to pull out one of the rods to block the attack, but in the process of trying to pull out the other, his other hand swiped faster than I could react and slashed across my face. Small cuts formed along my cheek. As much as he got a clear hit in, I was most surprised to find how little I felt from it.

“Are you hurt?!” Ceres cried out.

Blood ran down from my cheek, but I only felt a little bit of a sting at best.

“No, I’m just bleeding,” I replied, then turned to my enemy, “don’t you know that if you wanna go in me, you have to go deeper?”

He tried to slash again, but I wouldn’t let him get away with it twice, not when I was sure he’d make for a more fatal cut the second time around. I pulled out the other rod, blood oozed from the gash in his chest, but he looked unfazed by the injury. I blocked his swipe, then kicked him back into the wall and plunged the tip of one of the split rods into his head. He blocked with his bladed hand, but it just went through as well and I continued to drive it in until it tore through his mask and wedged its way into his skull.

He gasped out and cracks formed in his mask until it broke off. In its place, instead of a face, looked to be a mass of worms.

“I take it that after I tear you apart, this won’t end?” I asked.

“Yes...this is but one feeble body…”

“Good to know,” I hissed, then took the other rod and jammed it back into his chest.

As he gasped out his last breaths, the worm-face caved in and formed something of a smile.

“Tell me: do you fear death?” He rasped.

I shook my head.

“No. But I fear what you might do with the dead,” I answered.

After that, his body dissolved into a black ooze, then a puff of smoke which fizzled up until it faded and there was no longer a single trace that anyone, or anything, was there.

I took several heavy breaths after that and dropped the metal rods to the ground.

“What was all that?!” Ceres stood beside me in shock. “For that matter, what did he mean by anything he said?! And ‘rifle’?”

“A rifle is a type of gun,” I informed her.

“I know that! Okay…” she took heavy breaths as well, more out of shock than anything, as she had no trace of injury save for some bruises from falling. “How do we get out of here and are you going to be okay? You’re badly injured!”

“This?” I looked down at my arms. “Nah. I’ve had worse. But that should’ve gone smoother, that’s for sure. All that tells me is that I’ve been slacking. But that was just the rush I need.”

I was smiling. Even a simple sense of heat from injuries were enough for me.

“What do you mean?”

I smiled.

“I guess I’m just never truly alive unless it’s in a fight.”

“Okay...you’re scaring me a little. But seriously, how are we going to get out of here? Weren’t we blocked off?”

I shrugged.

“Those barrier devices aren’t meant to last for a long time. They usually dissipate after a while,” I explained. They’re good when you want to trap someone in and are confident that you can take care of your target quickly. Less effective in prolonged fights. However, it’s more concerning that he had one set up at all. I don’t have to think very hard to understand the implications.

“Well, gee, ain’t that fucking convenient?” She just about gasped. Poor barista must’ve seen too much and if I had to guess, her head was spinning in a thousand different directions.

I unzipped my jacket and took it off, then dropped that on the ground as well. It was dirty now and did me no good, seeing how torn it had become due to the nature of the fight. As soon as I did so, I began to shiver with greater intensity.

“Are you all right?” She looked up and asked.

“Y-yeah...it’s just a condition of mine. Come on, let’s get out of here,” I folded my arms together and walked out from the alleyway. Sure enough, there was no barrier keeping either of us in.

“You know, I never noticed before with the jacket, but you’re really muscular,” Ceres pointed out.

“I’m surprised, myself, since I haven’t been very active in a while,” I replied. Though something tells me I’m ready to start working out again.

As soon as we stepped back out into the street, Ceres checked her phone.

“Crap! My lunch break just got over! My manager said that if I was late from my break again, she’d fire me! My life is over!” She started to freak out.

“Considering what we just went through, I’d say your life was almost over already,” I pointed out.

“This is so much worse! I don’t wanna be out of a job!” She began to whine.

“I think if you had died, you would have also been out of a job, just saying.”

“This is serious!”

I groaned. Talk about skewed priorities. Before I could argue further, she ran back toward the coffee shop.

“I’m not gonna make it in time!” She yelled as she ran. I chased after and soon caught up to her.

“You know, I don’t think your boss should fire you. If anything, it’s my fault you got into that mess,” I told her. After all, if she had literally gone to talk to anyone else, she might not have had that problem. Besides, whoever her boss was should be a little understanding over the fact that their employee’s life was threatened.

We both rushed into the coffee shop at once and she ran past the customers and into the back. I followed behind, even though that probably wasn’t allowed. But who was I to care about something like that?

In the back was a little area with a large porcelain sink and many dishes and soapy water filled to the top of it. At the back wall, where the uniforms were, stood the manager, a middle aged woman with curly red hair. Her arms were cross and she tapped her foot.

“Ceres Lee! What did I tell you would happen if you were back late from break again?” She growled.

“But...but..!” Ceres stammered and tried to come up with an explanation, but her words didn’t ever come.

“No excuses! You’re always slacking off!”

“Hey!” I cut in. Her managed turned to me and exchanged her cross expression my way.

Great. As if I really wanted to deal with confrontation.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I’m a paying customer,” I informed her.

“Okay, well, this place is off limits, it doesn’t matter if you’re a customer or not.”

Do I look like I give a fuck what’s off limits?

“You shouldn’t fire her,” I refused to back down. “She was with me.”

“Trust me: she does this all the time. You’re not helping her case.”

I furrowed my brow and scrambled for an excuse.

“For your information, I’m her girlfriend!” I blurted out.

Ceres just looked at me all tense, her face red, and she shook it slow to tell me that what I just said was a bad idea. But as with most things, I didn’t care.

“My dear is always telling me how much she hates how little we have to spend together because of how busy you guys make her,” I came up with.

Tenser still, Ceres’s face didn’t move, but her eyes darted first to her manager, then toward me.

“Is this true? Is this person your girlfriend, Ceres?” Her manager asked.

Ceres broke a sweat, then gulped.

“Y...yes…” She squeaked out, almost inaudible.

“I see. I didn’t know we worked you so hard considering you’re PART TIME,” she just about spat in Ceres’ face. Manager or not, that just seemed unnecessary.

Looks like I’m going to have to embarrass myself now.

“Hey!” I snapped, then stepped up to the manager until she backed up into a wall. I raised my right leg up to the wall and planted my foot next to the manager’s head.

“Do you know why they call me ‘Karen Alotte’?” I growled as I asked her. She looked over to my leg in terror.

“Hey,” I snapped my fingers. “Eyes up here. Do you know why?” I asked again.

“B-Because it’s your name?” She took a feeble guess, fear having been struck in her. Just like Ceres, her face turned red as well.

“No. It’s because I be carin’. A lot,” I then pointed behind me. “Now, my girl over there, this job is important to her, and I know that if she loses it, she’s going to be hurt. She’ll cry. That girl means the world to me and if I know that she’s been hurt, there will be hell to pay.”

“I...I see…” She glanced over at my leg. How disgusting. Couldn’t even look me in the eye.

“Let me tell you something: when I first met Ceres, I thought she was a weirdo. I didn’t understand her at all. She’d say things like ‘I want her to step on me’ and ‘wow, she could kill me and I’d thank her’,” as I was about to go on, I was interrupted by Ceres:

“What?! Er...I mean, that’s private stuff!” She was doing her best to play along, I could tell. I ignored her outcry. I wasn’t finished.

“But over time, she grew into an amazing person, someone who was both admirable and admired me as well. Sure, she still says weird things sometimes, but I love her anyway, and I know I’ve said some hurtful things in the past, things like how I didn’t care about her, but how could I not care about her? I mean, she’s…” I looked over to Ceres. She tried to force a smile through clenched teeth. “Well, just look at her!”

“Ahem,” her manager cleared her throat. “I...see your point,” she then turned to her employee, “Ceres!”

Ceres stood up stiff.

“Yes, ma’am?” She shouted, as if she was a cadet in an army.

“I’ll let you off with another warning, just today, but try to separate your love life from work. Got it?”

“Yes,” she hung her head low.

“Good. Get yourself cleaned up and get back out on the floor!”

I waved to Ceres.

“Bye, honey,” I told her in a teasing voice. After that, I walked away. As soon as I stepped out from the coffee shop, I heaved out a huge breath.

“Damn, that was embarrassing. I’m never going to that coffee shop again,” I told myself, then headed back to the apartment. There were a few things I had to retrieve before I could leave town.

For the most part, I didn’t really have anything to take with me. I gave away all the items in the apartment, save for the snuggie. That I wrapped around myself like a cape. I told the landlord that she could go to hell, and as much as I could have bought that apartment complex out, I figured it would be a waste, since I wouldn’t do anything with it, and I was ready to ditch that whole city anyway.

I had to take a few flights, as the next city I visited turned out to be a bust. But someone suggested I try another city, so I went, and at last found what, or rather, who I was looking for.

“Well, well,” she smiled her sinister smile as her head was leaned back against a shack, “look who decided to show up.”

“Hey Wendy,” I waved and already felt like I was going to regret being there. Beside Wendy was a large cup from a fast food restaurant and she took it and sipped through the straw, then set it back down.

“Name’s Ellie Tomiko now,” she informed me with a sly smile that told me she wasn’t all too serious about that change.

“Okay. Whatever. Sure.”

“Oh, poo. You’re no fun,” she seemed disappointed, then offered her drink to me, “want some?”

I took her cup and took a sip, then spit it out.

“What is that crap?!” I exclaimed.

“What? Never had soda before?”

“I know what soda tastes like. That was not it.”

“Okay, so maybe it got flat and then turned warm from sitting out in the sun too long, but it's still good,” she took a sip to demonstrate. Her taste buds must’ve been broken.

“What’s the point of something being warm if I can’t feel it? There wasn’t even any steam.”

“Because not everything warm has steam and not everything’s about you,” she informed me.

“I never said anything was. It just doesn’t make sense to me, is all.”

“So everything warm doesn’t matter if it’s not steamy? What about love?”

That didn’t make sense to me. Leave it to her to impart the philosophical questions, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around how you could assign a temperature to an emotion.

“How do you make love steamy?” I asked her.

“Want me to show you?” She smiled that sly smile once again, and I decided I was better off not knowing.

“Nah. I don’t trust you. I can always look it up online later.”

“Very well. So what can I do for you? By the way, you just missed her.”

I wasn’t sure who she was talking about.

“Who?” I asked.

She ignored the question, just as I figured she would.

“How have you been?” She asked instead.

I shrugged.

“Fine, I guess. I’m still alive.”

“That makes one of you,” she observed. That kind of stung a little. “But good. It’s good to see you.”

“What about you?” I asked, out of courtesy.

“Can’t complain. I’ve got plenty of money now. I took your advice and checked out that diner. Ray’s got me working as an escort now.”

“An escort?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. I help people along, get them to safety.”

“Why does he have you doing that for?”

“You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” She asked right back instead.

Wrong. I have some idea.

“No. Tell me.”

“Basically, soon after you left, a thick fog filled the air and has remained since. Anyone who passes through it gets injured, and that’s only if they’re lucky. Some wind up dead. There’s no physical force that gives these injuries, but some people report seeing shadows in the fog, and others claim to hear voices, but can’t make out the words. Almost like the work of ghosts.”

This is all my fault. If not for my shortsightedness…

“Anyway, because of the properties of my sword, I’m able to pass through unharmed, even if it is difficult to navigate around. So Ray has me gather anyone I can and either send them to the diner, or send them to the nearest hospital. It hasn’t engulfed all of the arctic, but the fog seems to spread further with each passing day. All flights to and from the area have been canceled, in hopes of minimizing the risk.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“It’s like an ebb and flow. Sometimes it eases up. Not the fog itself, but the damages. There’s periods where people don’t pass through. It’s still a risk being away, but he says he can afford to keep the place together as long as things don’t get too bad, but when things start to pick up again, the risk, the injuries, all that, I go back.”

“Are they all okay?” I asked.

“They’re still holding up, but it wears at them. I suspect it’s only a matter of time and they’d already be gone by now if not for outside help.”

“Outside help?”

“Yeah. They’ve practically made it into a full on restaurant again, except they don’t charge people. People sleep in the booths and any spare room there is. There’s a waitress and everything.”

Waitress. That brings to mind De...no, shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

“Who’s the waitress?”

She shrugged.

“Dunno. Some kid with white hair. She takes the orders, Tigershark makes the food. Ray and Sunny oversee the whole thing. It’s a mess, but they’re making it work.”

That’s at least somewhat of a relief.

Before I could probe her for any more questions, her phone rang.

Oh, that’s new. She has a phone.

“Well speak of the devil!” Ellie (or Wendy) exclaimed, “how’s it going, Ray? Guess who’s with me right now. R –” Before she could continue, I gestured to her by sliding my finger across my neck and scowling. For added measure, I kicked her in the shin. “– Ow. Rowdy Roger, my good friend Roger.”

She then held the phone away and covered it with her hands.

“What was that for?” She hissed.

“I don’t want him to know I’m here,” I muttered.

She shook her head and put the phone back up to her ear.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I was feeling a bit silly, sorry about that. Oh? That bad, huh? All right, I’ll be on my way. Just keep holding out, okay? Bye.”

She hung up and set the phone down.

“Well, looks like that’s my cue,” she announced.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Why? Worried about them?”

I gulped. My head sunk.

She studied me, then spoke again:

“You miss them, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well look at you, my little Remora’s grown up. She’s got emotions,” she remarked.

“Hey, don’t tease me,” I pouted. “It’s just...I left and I shouldn’t have and now this…”

“What about Demetria?”

Oh, of course she had to go there.

“Yes. I miss her too.”

She scratched her chin.

“What if you see her again and she’s not the same person you knew when you last saw her?”

“That doesn’t matter. I want to see her again. I want to see everyone again.”

“You know, I’ve seen her recently. She’s gotten stronger. She might even be strong enough to take you on.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Ellie let out a heavy sigh, then looked up.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, which I’m sure you will, but the two of you really piss me off.”

“What? Where is this coming from?” I was taken aback.

“You know where it’s coming from,” she smiled her usual smile, even if I could tell her words were sincere, “you start feeling things you don’t understand and what do you do? You get all worked up and leave. Do you know what you do when you don’t understand something?”

“What?” I asked, even though I didn’t really like the lecture.

“You work on figuring it out! It’s just like if you’re on a mission, you gather all the information you need, you look for a solution.”

“But it’s not a mission,” I corrected.

“It was important to you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Well if you won’t think about it when it’s important, maybe it would help to think of it as a mission. As for her, she’d go on and tell me how ‘it’s no longer part of my life, so it’s no longer important’ as if that makes any sense at all.”

“It doesn’t?” I asked. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Come on. You’re no longer a janitor, but that life affects you, does it not?”

Ugh…

“Yeah.”

“So don’t you think it’s dumb to be like, ‘well, that didn’t work out, so it no longer matters to me’ when it clearly does. You guys can have your little soap opera if you want, misunderstand to your heart’s desire, but I’d really like to be left out of it. I like you guys, but I’m not here to babysit.”

“Thanks, I think?”

She shook her head.

“No problem. So about this fog situation, what are you going to do about it? We can’t let it keep going on, can we?”

That time, it was my turn to shake my head.

“I’ll gather as much information as I can, then work toward a solution,” I concluded.

“Good. Now, I should start heading out.”

“How are you going to get there?” I asked.

“I’ll figure out a way. What about you?”

“Same.”

As she was about to turn away, I asked her:

“Hey. Can we...be friends?”

She turned around and blinked.

“Friends? Sure.”

“Cool. Can I have your number?”

She smiled and held out the phone.

“This isn’t my phone.”

“Oh,” well, that was a bust.

“What about you?” She asked.

“I don’t have a phone right now. But I’ll get one eventually.”

She gave a light chuckle.

“Well, Remora, I’m sure we’ll see each other soon one way or another. Take care, eh?”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “You too.”

Before we parted ways, she added, “wait right here.” After about a minute, she came out from the shack and handed me a sheet of paper.

“This should give you some leads.”

I folded the paper and placed it into my pocket.

Once we parted ways, I read the note, then began to formulate a plan: first, I would have to dye my hair again. Then, I’d need a boat. In other words, it was time for me to get rid of all my money and do something drastic.

[harcourtholmesii]

Kiss The Cook

Tumblr Request by: Oky Verlo

Request: Characters of your choice: Person A is making food they have never attempted before, and is very worried over how it's turning out (they think it's good, but are they projecting? Have they made it too much to their preference? Are they lying to themself?) And ask Person B to taste test. Person B does and assures them it's great. Affection!!

Notes: I love these two, so I really couldn’t help myself. I tend to have the idea in my head that Remus has greater mood swings than any of the other Sides, just because of how volatile he is as a function. Do let me know what you think!

Pairing: Janus Sanders (Deceit) X Remus Sanders (Dark Creativity)

Words: 1299

Warnings:

-          Sexual References and Implications

-          Hurt / Comfort

-          Only Slight Gore

-          Referenced Violence

-          Referenced Illness and Vomiting

-          Anxiety

Enjoy!

Janus awoke to a clatter of pots and pans, muted only by the bedroom door and walls of his room. He despised how it was his room that was the closest to the kitchen, as he had always been a light sleeper. Due to the noise from outside, he could only presume it was Remus getting into the kitchen cabinets again. Such action must be supervised, lest Janus end up nursing both his own queasy stomach, and Virgil’s head over the rim of the toilet bowl.

 He switched off his heat lamp, feeling the chill of the Dark Side work its way under his skin. Dressing himself appropriately, in nothing short of his full suit and bowler hat, he exited his bedroom and crossed the threshold of the lounge room.

 The broken television in the corner sparked around the head of a morningstar lodge through the glass. It must have broken again whilst Remus was watching his horror movie selection. The last time that happened, they had to go speak to Roman to have it replaced… That conversation was more embarrassing than Janus cared to admit.

 A cacophony of sound and the sudden smell hit him all at once as he entered into their small kitchen. Half torn to pieces already, he could see how Remus was stirring a strange concoction in an enormously, over-sized bowl. The chef’s hat he wore had been all but burnt to ash, and as Remus turned to grin his wild smile at Janus, the deceitful side could see how his apron, titled with ‘F*CK THE COOK!’ remained perfectly intact.

 ‘Remus… What are you doing?’

 ‘What does it look like, Dee-Dee?’ Remus shot back, almost giddy with excitement. Through the brownish batter, Janus could make out the bony fingers and a couple of rats’ tails in the bowl. As part snake, he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not by the assumption that he ate rodents, but if there were anyone who was going to succeed at offending him, it would be Remus.

 ‘You don’t look like you are tearing up half the kitchen.’ He hissed, starting to collect the stained and broken bowls that littered the floor. Remus watched him, and from where Janus was, he could see how the man looked almost embarrassed. If he had animal-like ears, he could almost imagine Remus’ drooping down.

 ‘Sorry Janus… I was trying to make a cake.’

 ‘You never make cake…’ He threw back, furrowing his brows.

 ‘Only because I’m not allowed in the kitchen.’ Remus huffed, but the manic grin had faltered in that moment. Janus was always good on picking up those signs of discomfort or dishonesty.

 ‘You know why you’re not allowed in the kitchen. Any time you haven’t made something, Virgil and I end up half dead from the flavour. How can you put chicken beaks and human gallbladder into a dish and expect us to like it?’

 Janus watched as Remus turned away from him. His shoulders sagged slightly, his head tilting to the right side. When it did that, Janus knew he or someone else had said something that had displeased the Side. The almost exuberant whips of the wooden spoon had become languid and unenthused.

 Janus clicked his jaw in frustration.

 ‘I just wanted to make something for you and Virge. I thought you might like it?’

 ‘Like it?! Remus, I-…!’ Remus eyes turned up to Janus’, revealing those mossy green eyes, with flecks of grey all throughout. If those eyes had been any wider, Janus would have thought they would pop out of the Side’s skull. It was pathetic, if only slightly adorable.

 He huffed, crossing his arms. His fingers tapped over his arm, attempting to determine how he might proceed. He didn’t want to poison himself, but he also didn’t want to hurt Remus. Dark Creativity was his closest friend, and rarely did they have gripes or arguments.

 ‘Fine…’ Remus was immediately in his face, and the Side had spilled about half of his brew over Janus’ shoulders when he hugged him. Deceit shuddered at the feeling of the rats squirming about, still alive, as they followed the flow of the batter down the back of his suit.

 ‘Under one condition.’ Remus pulled back, cocking his head to one side. His grin had returned full force, and the man was childishly bobbing up and down on his feet. ‘You can cook, but I will be helping you.’

 ‘Deal!’ Remus smacked him across the back, pulling back the now empty bowl and tossing it over his shoulder. Janus couldn’t be certain if he just heard a cat shriek and take off as the projectile landed. Remus, however, almost oblivious to the mess he had created, started on finding a new, clean bowl.

 Together, the two of them had managed to clean up portions of the kitchen (for only a short time as Remus’ idea of mixing included spattering half the batter onto the walls and cupboards) and start cooking something less damning. The further through they went, the batter thickening and devoid of offal and living specimens, Janus started to notice that the excitement on Remus’ face was weakening.

 By the time the cake had been removed from the oven, smelling heavenly of chocolate and coffee, Remus looked almost scared. Janus raised his hand to rest it on Remus’ shoulder, offering him a softer look.

 ‘Is there something not wrong, Remus?’

 ‘I… I don’t know.’

 ‘It looks and smells fantastic.’ He hummed, taking a moment to pick a piece off the cake. It looked perfectly normal and smelled divine. But Remus was watching him like he was about to eat cyanide. As Janus raised it to his lips, Remus stopped him, wrestling the piece away and tossing it across the room, much to Janus’ disappointment.

 ‘What’s wrong, Remus? It looks perfect!’

 ‘But it was I that made it!’ Janus furrowed his brows in some confusion.

 ‘I don’t understand.’ He said.

 ‘You always have a problem with what I make. What if I made it worse?’ Remus questioned, glaring at the cake as if it was an intruder. ‘What if I kill you with it?! What if you die?!’

 ‘I don’t think I am going to die from this… Remus, I love your work, but your creativity with food is what concerns me. I think you can make perfect food if you just follow the recipe. Maybe even not the whole recipe, but just use it as guidelines. Then, maybe you could still make something of your own, but it won’t be so… deadly.’

 ‘Really?’ He asked, watching as Janus picked up another bite-sized piece of the cake. His eyes worriedly watched his fingers, and Janus could see him twitching with discomfort.

 ‘Well, I made this with you, so I don’t think it is likely to kill me.’ With that, he tossed it into his mouth and bit down. Rich chocolate exploded in a plethora of flavours, still gooey but not so wet, and with a warmth to it from how it had only recently been released from the oven.

 ‘Do you like it?’ Remus asked, eyes wide with hope and worry.

 He paused, raising his hands so they could both rest on Remus’ shoulders. He brought him closer.

 ‘I love it.’

 Remus smiled.

 ‘Perhaps, you ought to try it…?’ Janus leaned in, their lips crashing together for only a few moments. It was rarely he that initiated, but it seemed Remus was not displeased by the surprise. In fact, he seemed far more excited than Janus was expecting, even from those short moments.

 ‘What do you think, Remus?’ He hummed, licking his lips. ‘You’re the chef, after all.’

 ‘Hm…’ Remus raised one hand to his face, stroking his moustache almost cheekily. ‘Perhaps another free sample?’

[gold-and-rubies]

I’m Not an Angel, Baby - Chapter 1

And here’s the first chapter for this fic. It’s in the pov of my courier, Bridget. Warning for violence.

The Mojave Wasteland was an unforgiving place that tended to breed certain types of people. In order to survive one had to be wary, cutthroat, and unforgiving. That or you had to have a good sense of community, people you can fall back on if things go south. Or just really, really lucky. Bridget O' Donaghue was one of the lucky few.

Bridget took a bullet head, with really the only downside being lost memories. It was a curse to not know who you really are, but it was better than the alternatives. She was just thankful that her eyesight did not get worse, and that her glasses did not break.

She sat in what constituted more as a crevice than a cave in the mountains. She wished she had a fire, but the road from Nipton to Novac was crawling with Vipers and Legionaries. She did, however, risk having the radio play on her Pip-Boy. M. New Vegas recounted tales of a random hero’s good deeds. It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about her.

She had no idea what kind of person she was before taking a bullet to the head, but she wanted to be a good person now. Either she was always a good person, or a near death experience her to be one. She supposed it did not matter much.

She sat there and stared at the sky until it was sunrise. It was not safe to travel at night.

She stumbled out of the crevice, and took a moment to stretch out her limbs. They were unbelievably cramped from sitting in there all night. Grabbing her bag, she continued down the road to Novac.

She felt a small amount of relief when the dinosaur came into sight. Towns were usually safe places. Usually.

She walked up to the first person she saw. A woman in a blood soaked tank top. Bridget was starting to second guess the comfort she felt when she first saw the place.

“Um, excuse me?” Bridget said in an attempt to get the woman’s attention.

“Do you need help? Broken bone? Too many rads?” the woman responded.

Although she was caught off guard by all the questions, it was nice to know where the blood came from.

“Uh, no. I just want to ask a few questions.”

“Well, hurry then. I have important things to do,” she demanded.

She narrowed her eyes at her. She was not fond of being talked to like that.

“I’m looking for some people that came through here,” she explained, “One was a man in a black and white suit jacket.”

“I saw them come through here,” the woman nodded, “but I don’t know anything about them. I think they stayed a night. You should talk to Jeanie May. She runs the motel.”

“Thank you,” she said and took off toward the motel. She pushed open the door. It was surprisingly cool inside. A woman sat behind the counter to the right of the door.

“Welcome! Welcome! I’m Jeanie May Crawford, and this is the Dino Dee-lite Motel. You look tired. I hope you didn’t spend too much time on the road,” she smiled.

Something about the woman made Bridget’s skin crawl. She seemed like she was just a sweet, old woman, but there was something off about her.

Her hand fell from the door to her hip, resting on her holstered revolver, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Oh, of course dear!”

“There are some people who came through here that I’m looking for. One of them was a man in a black and white checkered jacket. Do you have any ideas as to where they went?”

“Oh yes, I remember that group. They were talking about the city, but they weren’t very civilized. I believe I heard that man say they were heading to New Vegas. I don’t know why though, or which way they headed exactly. You should talk to Manny Vargas. He’s our daytime sniper up in the mouth of Dinky.”

“Thanks,” she responded. Her hand raised back to the door, but she hesitated for a moment. The thought of renting a room crossed her mind. It would have been nice to sleep in an actual bed, but something held her back. She decided it would be better to sleep under the stars here. At least for the time being.

She blinked a few times as she stepped back into the wastes. The sun seemed particularly bright that day.

She made her way up the stairs. Inside the dinosaur she briefly greeted the man running the gift shop before heading up the next set of stairs. He was the first person she met in this town that did not set off any alarm bells. She knocked softly on the door before opening it. The last thing she needed was to be staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Manny greeted.

“Hi. I was just wondering if you could answer some questions for me?”

“Well, what do you want to know?” he asked, his voice edged with caution.

“There was a group of men that were here. One of them had a black and white checkered coat on. I need to know where they went.”

“Must be pretty important if you’re hunting down a group like that,” he folded his arms across his chest.

“I… They took something from me. I need answers,” she explained.

“You know I’d love to help, but I have some things I need help with,” he proposed.

She struggled to suppress a groan in response. She was more than willing to help people, but she did not appreciate the way he set this up.

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. What do you need?”

“Novac is home for me, and I want it to be permanent, but there’s an issue. The only thing we have here is scrap, which we get from the old REPCONN test site. Recently, a bunch of ghouls moved in. They need to go. I’d do it myself, but I need to keep watch,” he explained.

She folded her arms over her chest, “Alright, but don’t expect me to get it done right away. I haven’t slept for a few days.”

“As long as you get it done.”

She nodded, and headed back down. She spent the rest of the day asking everyone else if they had any information on the man. Instead she ended up agreeing to help the old ranger and the McBrides. She also heard whispers about the other sniper. The one with the night shift.

Her body ached from the long day, but she forced herself to climb the steps again. Again she softly knocked on the door before opening. This time the man on the other side of the door was a lot less welcoming.

“Don’t sneak up on me. What do you want?” he demanded.

Despite his unwelcoming tone, he was one of the few people there that she did not immediately feel genuinely threatened by. She could sense something was wrong, but not in the same way as the old woman.

“Relax,” Bridget put up her hands, “I’m just here to ask a few questions.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said coolly.

“Look, I’m only here to get some information. The sooner I get that the sooner I’ll leave,” she argued.

“Wait. You aren’t from around here are you? Maybe you shouldn’t go. Not yet.”

She scowled at the sudden change, “Why?”

“I need someone I can trust. You’re a stranger. That’s a start,” he said. His expression was impossible to read from behind his sunglasses. She realized he was wearing sunglasses at night. She became more confused.

One of her eyebrows raised from the scowl, “You only trust strangers?”

“I said it was a start,” he reiterated, “This town… nobody looks me in eyes anymore.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked cautiously. She was unsure of what to make of the situation. While she did not feel like he was a bad person, the words from his mouth were not exactly reassuring.

“I want you to find something out for me,” he sighed, “I don’t know if there is anything to find, but I need someone I can try. My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come and what route to take, and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don’t know who.”

Her scowl turned into an apologetic frown, “I’m sorry. I know how horrible the Legion can be. I was the first person to see what they did to Nipton. You want me to track her down?”

“No. I want the son of a bitch who sold her… I know she’s dead.”

She nodded, “Alright, I’m more than willing to help. What do you want me to do?”

He pulled his beret off and handed it to her, “Take the person to the front of the dinosaur and put this on. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She nodded, and headed back down the stairs for the second time. Normally she would not agree to helping with a hit like this, or at least she thought she would not do it. This person, though, no matter how innocent they seemed, did something unforgivable, and they could be putting others at risk.

She ran through all the people in the town. Given their statuses as ex-NCR army, and their reactions to what happened at the ranger station, she immediately crossed out Manny and Ranger Andy. Nobark was too paranoid to do anything like that. As off putting as the doctor seemed, Bridget did not think she would do something like that, and she was too new. Cliff apparently spent all of his time in the dinosaur or his home. That left the McBrides and Jeanie May.

She settled on Jeanie. The old woman filled her with dread already. It would not hurt to do some investigating.

She walked to the door of the motel lobby, and was surprised to see the door was unlocked. Trust like that was rare.

She looked around the room, and immediately spotted the safe behind the desk. She pulled out a bobby pin she hid in the bun holding her black hair from her face. She cracked the safe in a small amount of time. She pulled out the first paper she laid eyes on, and felt her blood run cold.

It was the perfect proof. A bill of sale. She pocketed that, and the caps for good measure.

She jogged over to Jeanie May’s home, trying not to shake too much from the anticipation. She banged on the door, and hoped it would wake her up.

Luckily, it did, and before she could say anything Bridget was begging her to follow her. She tried not to show any reaction to how easily she agreed to follow.

“So, what did you need to show me, dear?” she asked once they got to the front of the dinosaur.

Bridget pointed straight ahead of them, and pulled on the beret, “Over there.”

The sound of Boone’s rifle sounded as soon as the beret was on her head. She looked down to her side, and sure enough she laid dead beside her.

Boone was ready for her this time when she opened the door this time. She immediately handed over the beret.

“How did you know?” he asked, grabbing it from her.

“This,” she said, handing over the bill of sale.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he sighed, “Here. A hundred caps. It’s all I can give. I think our dealings are done here.”

She ran her thumb over the bag of caps. She looked at him, and a feeling that she should not leave him behind.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be staying. Don’t really see the point in doing anything, but hunting legionaries. Maybe I’ll wander. Like you.”

“You could come with me,” she offered.

“You don’t want that,” he argued.

“I have to take care of something, but I’m planning on taking down as many of those fuckers I can along the way, besides, you’ll do a lot better if you have someone watching your back.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Well, alright then. We can head out when you’re ready,” she nodded. She hid how pleased she was to have someone to watch her back.

“Tomorrow evening would be best.”

“Okay,” she agreed, and proceeded down the stairs for the third time that day.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Touch My Hands and Heal Me (BuckyxOFC & StevexOFC)

So just a fun one shot to help me get over some writer’s block. I’ve had this idea in mind for awhile so I’m excited to finally get it out. 

Warnings: Some swearing, violence. 

Words: 6k

Touch My Hands and Heal Me

This was the last place Steve wanted to be on a Thursday night. Nothing against the bar itself but it had been a hellish week and all he wanted to do was relax in his suite in the Tower and pretend for 5 minutes that he was an average guy.

 Which is probably why Sam dragged his ass to this bar. 

And of course, Bucky tagged along even though he was just as exhausted. Either from a self-induced guilt trip or his belief in Steve's inability to stay out of trouble, Bucky grumbled but tucked his head down and followed silently. Jerk. 

 Sam led them down the streets of NYC to a little hole in the wall sports bar an air force friend recommended. 

 It always amazed Steve how easily people failed to notice him without the suit and shield. Walking down the sidewalk with a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap on and a brown leather jacket over jeans, no one looked at him twice. Or Bucky in a black hoodie. Or Sam in a gray Nike long sleeve and ball cap. It was nice that there was somewhat a sense of esoteric, that only on the rare occasion was he swarmed now, or perhaps people were used to him. What it truly made him realize was that most people only really saw and cared about Captain America and not Steve Rogers.  No one cared about the little guy from Brooklyn anymore. All they wanted was the glorified icon of patriotism. 

 He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, willing the tension in his head and muscles to leave. Tony and him had a long meeting with Senator Thaddeus Ross today and when it finally concluded, he fled to the gym to make use of the weight bags. He probably would be receiving a bill from Tony because of all the busted bags he left behind. The man was a genius, you would think he would have reinforced them long ago. 

 Apparently he needed a drink- according to Sam. 

 He was pleasantly surprised when he walked through the door of the bar -The Old Guys Tavern-  and found it calm. It was a smaller establishment, nestled between a BBQ restaurant and a sporting goods store on a back road. It was a sports bar with several TVs showing different games playing, framed pictures all over the walls of different famous athletes, a few framed mirrors, a jukebox in the back corner near 2 pool tables. A long bar took up half of one wall, across from it several booths and a few scattered tables near the pool tables. It was simple and felt reminiscent of how bars used to be. The lights were dim but instead of feeling like a club -no matter what Natasha said he was NOT doing that again- it gave an illusion of privacy. 

 He quickly noticed that among the 23 people already there, most were male and either middle aged or elderly, with the leaning towards those with gray hair. 

 "I thought you two would feel at home here amongst your age group." Sam quipped, scanning the bar with a smile on his face. 

 "Does that mean we need to find a kindergarten for you?" Bucky retorted. 

 Steve just shook his head as Sam laughed.

 They settled into an open leather booth, a Minnesota Vikings versus Green Bay Packers football game played on the TV across from them. 

 "You dragged our asses out here, you got first round."

 Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "A'ight man, I see how it is. I try to help you have a social life and this is the thanks I get. See if I bring you out again, cyborg."

 Steve watched Sam walk up to the bar before turning to his oldest friend, seated across from him. The dark rings under his eyes only confirming how the week had affected him too. 

 "I'm fine, Steve."

 "Your face says otherwise."

 The corners of Bucky's lips turned up for a moment. "I'll be fine. It's just…" He sighed heavily, running a hand through his long, dark hair. 

 "A reminder that we're in the wrong century?"

 "Yeah...we shouldn't be here."

 "I know, Buck. I know."

 3 days ago they had attended Dum-Dum Dugan's funeral and it hit them both hard. He had been the last Howling Commando alive besides Steve and Bucky and it felt like a knife in the heart. They did not just lose a friend. It felt like the closing of a book. Another reminder of something they used to be a part of, something that they knew, was gone. Yet here they were, drowning in the murky waters of the 21st Century. 

 "Alright boys, here it is." Sam slid a glass bottle of Heineken to both of them while slipping next to Steve in the booth with his own. "You guys made plans for next week yet?"

 "Clint said we could visit the farm. Natasha and Wanda will go, I'm certain." Steve said, idly rubbing the label as the condensation dampened his finger. 

 "Vision will go if Wanda goes." Bucky snorted, taking a sip of his beer. 

 "You sure it's alright if I leave? I can tell my family that something has come up. Can't promise they won't show up at the Tower with enough food to feed an army though." Sam smirked.

 "No, you deserve to go see your family." Steve said, hoping to hide the pain in his voice. "Buck and I will figure out something." He hoped. 

 Next week was Thanksgiving, the first one Steve and Bucky would be together for since 1944. The one last year, Bucky had been in Wakanda, still working to get the trigger words out of his head. Thankfully Princess Shuri figured it out. Which reminded Steve to contact T'Challa soon to get an update -from his viewpoint- of the revisions of the Accords. Steve did not trust Senator Ross' update from earlier. That man had an agenda and clearly resented the need to keep the Avengers updated. 

 "I'll make sure to bring some of my mom's pumpkin pies back for you guys. Soon as I tell her the great Captain America ate the whole one last year, she will lose her mind."

 Steve blushed and rubbed the back of his neck at the reminder.  "I didn't realize it was to share. I thought Pepper bought it for the kitchen."

 "Hey! Don't compare my momma's home-made, award-winning pumpkin pie to some cheap-ass, store-bought kind! I should kick your ass for that insult."

 "Oh, I want to see that." Bucky deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the TV across from them. 

 Steve changed the subject before the bickering started. He knew it was mostly in good humor but sometimes it grated on his nerves. "Parker stopped by this morning to try out the new suit Tony made him."

 "You still seriously considering using him on the field? He's a kid." Sam questioned. 

 "He took out both you and Buck at the airport."

 "Alright, touché, but still. A damn kid."

 "I told Tony if he keeps his grades up and practices hard with us, I won't fight it." Steve smirked. "But if he gets hurt, Tony has to deal with Aunt May."

 That made them all chuckle. Once when Peter practiced with them, he had landed wrong and twisted his ankle. From what they heard, you would have thought Peter had lost a limb with how Aunt May berated Tony and fussed over her nephew. It had become a running joke amongst the team. 

 An hour passed, Steve and Bucky both having to take their turn buying the beers, as they chatted or just watched the games on the TVs. Everything had been going so well, which should have been a flashing beacon that something was going to happen. If this week had been any indication. 

 One of the guys who had been playing pool with a few others started their way. He was in his forties, slightly overweight, in business attire, looking like he got off work at an office and came out to grab a beer with friends.  Steve had noticed him several times over the past hour glancing their way but paid no mind. No one else had approached them or even acknowledged them. Most likely someone trying to figure out how he recognized their faces. 

 He approached the table and stared at each of them before a toothy, crooked grin appeared. Looking back over his shoulder, he called over to his friends. "It is those goddamn Avenger shits. I knew it. Coming in here like they own the place."

 "Hey, back off, man." Sam tried to keep his cool but Steve could see that the guy had gotten under his skin. "We are just here for a beer, minding our own business."

 "You know, I bet all those stunts you pull, the "world-saving" and shit, it's all fake. You pretend, keep the masses happy and feeling protected while you just live like kings off government money. Yeah…I know the truth."

 Before any of them could respond to the guy, about how very wrong he was, a new voice from the bar spoke up. 

 "Chuck, quit trying to start a fight. They could kick your ass without breaking a sweat."

 The guy -apparently Chuck- glared over his shoulder at the speaker. "Shut up. No one asked you to get involved."

 A woman probably mid twenties slid down off the bar stool she was sitting on and stalked their way. Steve can't help but watch her, feeling as if a hurricane was approaching.  Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her hazel eyes stared defiantly at Chuck. She wore a loose white t-shirt with some kind of symbol on the front and black leggings that highlighted all her curves and showed off her long legs. Combat boots and a dark leather jacket completed the look. 

 "Just cause you're still pissed doesn't mean you gotta start shit. Now, leave them alone, you're bothering them."

 "We will leave. We didn't come here to start trouble." Steve injected, glancing between the man and woman standing at the end of the table. 

 She turned slightly to pin him with a pointed look that had him regretting his words and shutting his mouth.  She turned back to the guy -Chuck- and they glared at each other for several long, awkward, tense moments before he huffed and took a step back. 

 "Bitch," he muttered but glared at her still, "probably going to let them all fuck you like the whore you are."

 As soon as the last word spewed out of his mouth, she hit him with a right hook that left him half sprawled on the table beside them. 

 "Dee, no fighting. God, girl, get out of here!" The bartender called over, clearly exasperated as he ran his hand through his white hair. 

 "Sorry, Ray." She shrugged unapologetically. Flexing the fingers on her right hand, she turned back to Steve, Bucky and Sam. "Have a good night, boys." 

 Steve watched her walk out of the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chuck get up, spitting blood on the floor, with the help of one of his friends. He looked like he wanted to say something but his friend quickly dragged him back to the pool tables. 

 Perfect. Steve was not in the mood for a fight. 

 "Think she's ok?" Bucky was staring at her retreating form also, even when she disappeared from view. He turned back slowly to meet their confused looks. "That hit...might have broken something."

 They sat in silence for a second before sliding out of the booth and heading out.

 The air had a winter's bite to it but not yet unbearable. Although it took a lot for Steve to feel really cold now. Those rare moments always brought up painful memories of icy waters and darkness. Something he prefered not to think about. 

 They managed to glimpse her before she turned down another street. Simultaneously they started to jog to catch up. Thankfully not too many people on the sidewalk stopped to stare at three huge guys casually jogging at 10pm at night in jeans. 

 "Hey yo! Dee!" Sam called out as they turned down the street.

 She stopped, slowly turning around to watch them approach with a single eyebrow raised. "You boys lost?"

 "Naw, we wanted to see if you're alright. That was quite a punch."

 Thank God for Sam's ability to always talk. Steve never thought he would be glad for that one day but right now he was. Staring at her, he felt tongue-tied.  

 She smiled, holding her hand up and wiggling her fingers. "I'm fine. Not a big deal."

 Steve could not help but notice her nails were painted a shimmery dark blue. 

 "Why did you do it?" They all looked at Bucky with his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "I mean, you didn't have to stand up for us. Hell, he has to weigh twice what you do. So...how come you got involved?"

 "I don't like bullies."

 "Ah shit, she's the female version of you, Steve." Bucky bemoaned, dragging a hand down his face.

 She giggled, the sound rich and feminine, and Steve could not help but smile in response. 

 "I'll take that as a compliment, Sergeant Barnes." 

 "Call me Bucky, please."

 "Ok, Bucky."

 "I guess you already know Steve and I." Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your name Dee?"

 She seemed to hesitate for a second, looking back over her shoulder. "Lydia."

 "Nice to meet you, Lydia. Thanks for helping out back there."

 "Oh believe me, it was my pleasure. I've been wanting to hit him for a while. I doubt Ray will let me back though."

 "Cause you hit a rude customer? I'd think you're doing him a favor." Sam snorted.

 "Ah no, I may have hit Chuck's cousin last week...broke his nose."

 The three stared at her in varying degrees of amusement and shock.

 "What? He was bad mouthing the New England Patriots. Tom Brady is my boy."

 "Shit, doll, you're something else." Bucky laughed. 

 "Thank you. Now it's lovely to meet you all but I need to go. Tootles."

 "Wait!" Steve was not sure why he stopped her except that some part of him was not ready to lose her yet. He took a step closer. "Where are you headed?"

 She raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what he was getting at. "Home."

 "Let us walk you. It's the least we can do."

 "It's not that far, I promise. I'm sure you superheroes have better things to do. I'll be fine."

 "Come on, Lydia, we got you kicked out. Let us make sure you get home safe, yeah?" Sam joined the petition. 

 She chewed her bottom lip, eyes scanning between the three of them before letting out a sigh. "If it makes you feel better."

 ----------

 When Bucky went to the bar with Steve and Sam, his expectations were to keep an eye on Steve, taunt Sam and just pretend that he had actually slept the past five days instead of pacing or staring at a wall all night. 

 Watching a beautiful dame punch a guy to defend them… this night got a whole lot more interesting. 

 The four of them walked down the sidewalk together, Steve and Bucky behind Sam and her...Lydia.

 "So, you know who we are and what we do," Sam said casually, "tell us about you."

 "Well I get into fights at bars and I watch football. I'm not that interesting."

 Bucky could not help but snort. A shared glance with Steve confirmed his own amusement.  

 "Alright. Who taught you to fight? You got a mean swing that clearly shows some training." Sam continued. 

 "My brother." She shrugged. "What were you guys doing out? I would think you'd have booze at the Tower or be more likely to go to a high-class, expensive bar instead of Ray's little place."

 "Naw, we just wanted somewhere quiet and out of the way. Besides, if we break out any booze, Tony always somehow senses it and magically appears."

 She laughed, and Bucky felt his heart lighten at the sound. 

 "Maybe we were hoping to meet someone as beautiful as you, doll." Bucky was not sure where the words came from, but for a moment he felt like the Bucky from the 40s who knew how to charm and flirt.  A forgotten piece of him buried beneath the decades of trauma endured under HYDRA'S thumb. 

 She spun around to look at him, still walking backwards with a smirk and teasing glint in her eyes. "I'm far from beautiful but I'm more than happy to pretend for you."

 He chuckled, he could feel Steve's curious eyes on him but he paid no mind. It felt good to remember this piece of him, to remind himself he was more than a damaged person, even for only a minute. "Dollface, you just gave the best right hook I've ever seen a dame throw. I'm certain that is the sexiest thing I've seen in a long time."

 Laughing, she paused momentarily to slide to his side and kiss his cheek. Her arm slipped through his and they continued walking like nothing had happened. 

 Except something had happened. 

 With her touch, it felt like all his senses tripled in intensity. Her kiss...such an innocent kiss yet it set his blood on fire and brought out a warmth in his bones that even HYDRA could not freeze out. 

 "You go around kissing strangers often?"

 She winked at Steve. "Only the cute ones."

 "She called you cute, man!" Sam laughed. 

 Bucky pretended to scoff. "Cute...I'm not cute. Take that back." He nudged her with his elbow, thankful she was on his right side. 

 "Would you prefer devilishly handsome?"

 "Hey, if the shoe fits…" Bucky shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. Steve's chuckling almost broke it. His blue eyes met her hazel and he realized he was glad they had met. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way- Cupid's bow lips, button nose, soft features. She was tall for most women, about 5' 10" even in just combat boots. Yet it was the energy around and within her that made her stand out. She felt like joy...she radiated life...there was a sparkle in her eyes that had not been tainted by the evils of this world yet. 

 "Pain in the ass also fits." Steve muttered, walking on Lydia's other side. 

 "Punk."

 "Jerk."

 She slipped her other arm through Steve's.  "I'm pretty sure 'trouble' is the best description."

 "Now that I can attest to." Sam said, leading the group. 

 They walked another block in the same formation. Lydia between Steve and himself, her arms looped through theirs. They chatted, flirted and teased easily, like they had known each other their whole lives. It was odd but Bucky was not complaining. It felt good. He found himself hoping this was not the last time they would see her. The warmth infusing itself into him from her touch was addictive. Her laughter and smiles made the darkness in his mind slowly fade. If the shared looks between him and Steve just over her head meant anything, he knew Steve felt the same way. 

 "My apartment is just down the street. You don't have to walk me to the door."

 "Trying to get rid of us?" Steve asked.

 She just laughed and shook her head. "When did I become so lucky to have three such handsome gentlemen to escort me home?"

 "When you slugged a guy to defend us." Bucky caught her eye and winked. "You're stuck with us now."

 "I'm not complaining." 

 One moment they all are laughing and talking like the best of friends. In the next moment, everything changed.

 A shot rang out.

 Bucky could feel the bullet whizz between his and Lydia's head. 

 Shit. 

 In a split second all three guys went into defense mode. Steve grabbed Lydia, shielding her with his body as he pushed her against a brick wall in a side alley. Immediately, Bucky and Sam flanked him on either side. Without a word, Bucky pulled out a pistol for both Steve and Sam, handing them over, then retrieved one for himself. He knew after this, Steve would criticize the amount of weapons on him for just a run to the bar. Bucky did not plan on sharing about the amount of knives on him additionally. He did not want to worry Steve that much. The less he knew in this case, the better. 

 His eyes scanned the nearby rooftops. The trajectory of the bullet showed the shooter was somewhere above them. At least that narrowed his search. Somewhat. On the other hand, he doubted they acted alone. Why give away their position? Did the shooter just have terrible aim? Were their others? Why the hell did this have to happen now?

 His breathing slowed, senses on high alert, eyes trained for any movement. He waited, listening intently for any sign of back-up. Quickly peeking around the corner, he noticed the side road they were on was deserted. It consisted of several closed stores on the side they had been walking on and across the street was apartment complexes. Logically there should have been someone walking around at this time. It was NYC, there was always someone awake. His eagle-eyes scanned around them, searching desperately for wherever that bullet originated from. Or for the others bound to be laying in wait somewhere around here. 

 He hated being shot at. 

 "Sniper, my ten o'clock. Apartment building, top floor, third window in." He reported, glancing behind him at the others after another peek around the side. 

 Sam faced the opposite way, keeping an eye on the other side of the alley, but nodded at Bucky's report. 

 Steve hovered over Lydia, who was crouched on the dirty ground. His eyes swept over the area and the switch from casual Steve Rogers to righteous Captain America was evident. Most likely wishing he had his shield. 

 "HYDRA?"

 "Not sure." Bucky replied, grip tightening on his pistol. Of course when they were having a great time, those bastards would show up. Damn it.  "You alright, doll?"

 "Yea...yeah." She stuttered out, still crouched underneath Steve. Her eyes were wide but clear, breathing fast but manageable. His opinion of her increased. Although she seemed frightened, she was not panicking. A reaction most common in civilians being shot at for the first time. 

 Steve spoke to Bucky. "Think you can get him?"

 "Not here."

 "Go. We got your back."

 Before he moved, a hand gripped his hoodie, surprising him. Following the hand that was holding him in place, he met her eyes. 

 "Be safe." She murmured, hazel eyes meeting his stormy blue in earnest. 

 "Just for you." With a wink, he slipped out the alley, keeping to the shadows and moved silently as a ghost. 

 It did not take long for him to get into position. He only wished he had his sniper rifle.  Climbing some rickety, metal stairs attached to the back of a store, he swiftly placed himself across from the sniper on a rooftop. If he had more time, he would have preferred to go into the apartment and silently kill the sniper, but for some odd reason he felt like he was working against the clock. 

 Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Breathe in.

Bang. 

 Holding the smoking pistol in the direction of the apartment, he waited. There did not seem to be any further movement.  He wondered if he should go investigate, just to confirm. God, if this was HYDRA, he did not want to leave any civilians without protection. With the gunshots fired, he figured someone would have called the cops by now. Hopefully they would be useful with the civilians.  

 Racing back across the rooftop, he flew down the stairs ready to confirm the sniper's death. It was then a new sound drifted to him…and he bolted towards it. Heart racing within his chest. 

 Please no. He begged silently. 

 He turned the corner to see where the fight really was. The sniper had only been a diversion. Something to force them into the intended alley.

 They had played right into the enemy's hand. 

 Twelve guys in all black, faces covered, made the crowded alley even smaller. One was on the ground lying still, a pool of blood growing beneath his chest. Three were cornering Sam, taking turns attacking him with batons. Six were actively fighting Steve, trying to take him down using tasers, yet they were never able to subdue him fully.  Two had Lydia between them, both gripping one of her arms each as she struggled and thrashed to escape looking like a wildcat.

 Please no. 

 Bucky threw himself into the fight, fear and rage pouring into his blood to fuel him. He tackled one of the men cornering Sam, a knife slipping in between the man's helmet and Kevlar, blood spurting from his neck. Bucky rolled off him, and in two strides jabbed a knife into the back of the knees of one of Steve's attackers. The man dropped, howling and unable to stand. Another swipe and kick brought another man under his knife, blood oozing where a kidney was. 

 "Lydia!" Steve cried, throwing one of his attackers against the brick wall behind him. 

 The two men were trying to manhandle her into a doorway but her twisting, kicking and flailing made it difficult. 

 Bucky threw his bloodied knife into the thigh of one of them. The man stumbled, almost dropping Lydia, who cried out at the harsh treatment. Before the other man could raise his own pistol, Bucky grabbed it with his metal hand and crushed the end. Pure rage filled him at the thought of them trying to take her. He punched the man, now holding the useless gun, in the side of the head with his metal arm. The man dropped like a rock. The pistol bounced on the ground when it fell from his hand. 

 In a fluid motion, Bucky yanked the knife out of the other man's thigh and kicked him in the head. The man's head rocked back further than humanly possible with a cracking sound. 

 Silence hung over the alley after Steve and Sam knocked out or killed their attackers. Bucky stood there for a long moment, surveying the carnage around him, and trying to steady his breathing. His hands shook slightly. Blood was splattered on his black hoodie and jeans. It had been so easy -too easy- to take the lives of those men. Even though he did it to protect Steve, Sam and Lydia...his hands never felt clean. Would he ever be clean? Would he always be a monster?

 "Bucky?"

 His rage evaporated at the soft whimper of his name.

 "It's ok, doll. I got you." He pulled her into his arms, away from the bodies of the men who tried to take her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his chest while his own arms held her close. She trembled but if it was from fear or fading adrenaline, he was unsure. Murmuring soothing words to her, he ran a hand up and down her back in comfort. 

 Why did this have to happen tonight?

 He glanced back over to see the spread of bodies on the ground, all wearing black clothing that looked vaguely military. Nothing like what HYDRA usually wore. Sam was on the phone, probably calling the fellow Avengers for clean up and to scout the area. Steve was stepping over the downed men, coming to his side. 

 "Are you hurt?"

 Bucky shook his head, his eyes scanning over his best friend. "You good?"

 "Yeah, she ok?"

 Lydia turned her head, reaching an hand out to place on his forearm. "I'm fine...thank you."

 Steve patted her hand on his arm but did not remove it. He glanced around once more before meeting Bucky's eyes. "This doesn't...these men don't seem like HYDRA."

 "I noticed. Wrong weapons and fighting tactics. More like mercenaries."

 "Mmmm." He rubbed the back of his neck before looking at Lydia, still in Bucky's arms. "They seemed pretty intent on taking you. Any reason why?"

 That question had itched at Bucky too. HYDRA would be more interested in taking himself and Steve. She had been the focus of this attack. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they let her walk home alone. 

 "No...no...I don't recognize them."

 "It was a long shot. Well I think you should stay with…" suddenly Steve's eyes widened and he recoiled. A second later, blood soaked his white t-shirt in the middle of his chest. 

 Then the sound of a muffled shot rang out in the alley. 

 Bucky glanced over to see one of the downed men Steve had been fighting, on his knees, pistol extended. He staggered to his feet and took off back on the side road. 

 "Sam!" Bucky cried, pointing to the escaping man. 

 The Falcon did not hesitate. He raced after the man, a snarl on his face, eyes determined. 

 Turning back to his best friend, disbelief clouded his mind as he saw all the blood soaking Steve's shirt. 

 No. 

 No.

 NO! 

 Steve placed a hand on his chest, a dazed look on his face as he pulled it back and watched the blood drip off his skin. Ever so slowly, he dropped to his knees, still staring at his hand. 

 "No, no, no! Damn it, Steve! NO!" Bucky moved to his side, practically ripping the leather jacket off Steve's shoulders and tearing the t-shirt in two to see how extensive the injury was. The bullet had entered Steve's upper back, almost hitting his spine and exited the middle of his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Blood poured out, leaving trails of red on Steve’s torso. 

 "Sorry, Buck."

 "No, no. Don't you start that shit. You'll be fine. Damn super soldier shit is good for something." He tried to staunch the blood flow with Steve's ripped shirt but the training in the back of his mind told him it was useless. His lungs would be filling with blood now. It would take a miracle to save him. Yet Bucky did not stop his first aid. He refused to let his best friend die. He couldn't...he could not live without Steve. They had only just found each other again. He couldn't...God, please no, not Steve...he had to live. Bucky was not ready to be alone again.

 Lydia slipped to Steve's other side. Gently she took his bloody hand and clasped it between her own. Tears coated her cheeks as she watched. 

 "Buck…"

 "No, stop talking. Everyone is on their way. Sam called them. It'll be fine."

 "I need you to…"

 "Nope, don't even start trying that speech."

 Steve rolled his eyes, blood beginning to taint his lips. "Jerk."

 "Punk."

 "Steve, look at me." Lydia stated. Both soldiers watched her, her commanding tone unable to ignore. "You're going to be alright but you'll still need to rest for a while, ok?" She glanced over at Bucky, a fire burning in her eyes. "Hold him steady."

 What?

 He did not have time to question her before the strangest thing happened.  

 Lydia leaned forward and pressed her lips to Steve's bloodied ones. One of her hands cradled the back of his head, as her kiss deepened. Even on the brink of death, Steve had no problem reciprocating. His bloodied hand cupped her cheek, leaving behind a stain on her skin. Their lips moved as if they had done this before...no hesitation...no awkward fumbling… What started off as a soft caress was turning into something more heated. 

 Bucky momentarily felt like a voyeur and was beyond confused. Steve should be saving his breath, not exerting himself. Damn that looked like a great kiss though. 

 The kiss lasted only five seconds and when they separated, both were breathing heavy like it had been far longer. Her lips were tainted red now, but her eyes shone brighter like starlight caught in her irises. 

 She looked at Bucky, tears streaming down her cheeks unashamedly. "Take care of him." Quickly she leaned over Steve, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s  hoodie, and gave him a hard kiss on the lips before standing up and dashing away. 

 "What….LYDIA!" Bucky yelled after her, watching her run down the alley and turn onto another street. Part of him wanted to chase after her and demand answers but a cough from Steve diverted his attention. 

 "Hey, it's ok. They will…."

 "Look." Steve interrupted, motioning at Bucky's hand. 

 He glanced down to see scraped knuckles, probably from when he tackled one of the men. Not a big deal. The serum would heal them within a day. Yet they were healing...immediately...right before his eyes. Within seconds, they looked completely normal, only Steve's blood marred them. 

 What?

 Immediately, Bucky pulled the torn shirt from Steve's chest, gaze locked onto the exit wound that would surely kill his best friend. A gush of blood should have resulted from the compact being removed from the wound, blood allowed to flow freely once again. Yet nothing happened. Dried blood caked his chest turning a dark red but there was nothing bright red...nothing fresh. 

 "Holy shit."

 In the next moment, Bucky felt as if the world tilted off its axis. 

 The wound slowly began to heal. Muscle and skin grew and reattached. The once graying complexion that Steve wore was returning to a healthy pink. His breathing deepened, not short, rapid breaths of dying lungs. Steve's blue eyes stared at Bucky, mouth gaping open. Curious and a bit frantic, Bucky peeled the shirt off Steve's back to see the entry wound. Both holes, once profusely bleeding and killing his best friend now looked like they were weeks healed. Some redness around the sites and fresh skin sealing the holes but still tender. 

 WHAT?!?!

 "Steve…." He did not know what else to say. His oldest friend, his best friend, his brother...he was dying...and Bucky could not save him. It was his worst nightmare come to pass. The very thing he dreaded most. Now though…

 Steve stared back at him wide-eyed before turning his head to look down the alley where Lydia fled. "She healed me….she saved…" He looked back at Bucky. "Who is she?"

 "I'm not sure…"

 "We need to find her."

 Steve started to get up but Bucky pushed him back down. "You were just shot, punk. She said to rest."

 "We can't let her get away! What if more of these mercenaries find her?!"

 "We'll look for her. Wait till the others get here. I'll go with Sam." Bucky held Steve's gaze until he relented, slumping back onto the unforgiving, concrete ground.

 The sounds of the city enveloped the quiet of the alley- car horns, sirens blaring, someone singing loudly the next street over. The two sat there, waiting and thinking. Both of their minds struggling to fully comprehend what just happened but desperate to chase after her.  

 "You just want another kiss, huh?"

 Steve chuckled, rubbing a hand over his chest and wincing. "That was some kiss. It felt like electricity going through my veins."

 Bucky thought of his own quick peck and how it felt like a shock hitting him. "Yeah. That's some dame."

 "Find her, Buck. I don't…" He sighed.. "It felt...no, she felt right."

 All Bucky could do was nod. He prayed she stayed safe until they could find her. Something in his gut told him they needed her. He looked down the alley once more, wondering where she went and who she really was. 

[suffering-is-my-comfort-zone]

Prompt for @smallballofanxiety: Virgil teleports to anyone who gets anxious and this time it happens to be someone he never expected

Pairing: Platonic Virgil and Deceit

Word count: 1694

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Panic attacks, Self deprecating thoughts, slight suicidal thoughts

Virgil wasn’t quite sure when it started, he knew that whenever Thomas was experiencing anxiety he would show up. He had always just assumed it was because he was the embodiment of anxiety. Slowly, however, he noticed it was whenever someone was anxious. First it was slow, he had a feeling that he was being summoned to whichever side was experiencing it. Soon it escalated to him suddenly being teleported to their side.

Whenever Roman was anxious about Thomas’ new audition, whenever Logan was stressed out about the schedule, or when Patton was becoming overwhelmed by emotions there he was. Out of nowhere he was right next to the side where ever they are. This put him in some compromising situations at times, especially when they would blame him for the anxiety they were feeling. After a while of mysteriously popping up, the light sides became used to it. They no longer jumped when he appeared but instead talked to him about it. It made Virgil feel more like one of the light sides. He never expected to pop up next to one of the dark sides.

That particular day Deceit had just gone back to his room after attempting to get the light sides to see his point of view. He couldn’t figure out what else to do to get them to see that he was also trying to protect Thomas. They all saw him as nothing more than a liar, a snake who was always poised to bite. It wasn’t his fault that he was created specifically to deceive Thomas and those around him. He was able to tell the truth; he just had a hard time with it. Anxi-Virgil, should know better than anyone what that’s like.

How was it that he was able to escape being a dark side? Why were they called the dark sides anyways? They all served the same purpose, helping Thomas. Deceit couldn’t understand why Virgil would act that way towards him, they used to be so close. Did he simply forget about all that? Did the light sides trick him into thinking that Remus and him were so much worse than the three of them? Would he ever be able to work along side them? Yes, he was a little overpowering with his lies but he didn’t mean any harm. Neither did Remus. Did he do something wrong? Was his lies the reason Virgil left him? Was he giving too much of his time to Remus? Virgil had to understand that Remus needed more attention because he did dangerous things, right?

Virgil was in the middle of talking to Roman about Nightmare before Christmas when he suddenly was back in the dark side of Thomas’ mind. For a moment he froze in fear, thinking that maybe he did something to be forced from the light sides. Then he noticed Deceit in the corner, curled up with his knees to his chest. He hesitantly took a step forward and cleared his throat in hopes to gain the others attention.

“H-Hey Dee, is everything alright there?” Virgil crouched down by his once good friend. He could see the tears streaming down his face as Deceit quickly sat up and wiped his eyes.

“Of course not, why are you here?” Deceit’s voice cracked as he lied to the anxious trait. He didn’t want anyone seeing him cry. He had a reputation to uphold.

“You sure about that? You seem upset.” Virgil wasn’t sure how to react, he could see through Deceit’s lies. One of the perks of knowing him for so long. He didn’t want to associate with the dark side for longer than he needed to, but he also knew that even if he left, he’d be teleported right back. When Deceit looked up at him, he saw everything he needed to know. Deceit’s eyes showed all his fear and anxiety even as he stood up.

“Shouldn’t you not be with your new friends? Planning all the ways to keep us around.” The lies didn’t flow as easily as he wanted them to. He still was lost in his thoughts. Why was Virgil here? To rub his betrayal in his face again? Make fun of him for failing at his attempts?

“I uh-had a feeling that something was wrong. I can sense anxiety, it is kinda my thing.” Virgil ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to deal with any of this, why would Deceit be anxious about anything. He was cocky about everything he did. Even when they hung out he was always so confident. It was one of the things Virgil admired about him.

“I’m not anxious!” Deceit yelled out accidentally causing Virgil to flinch. He looked down at the ground, of course Virgil left them. They were always too loud, too energetic, too overwhelming. Deceit started to hyperventilate as he thought about more reasons why Virgil left. He assumed that Virgil had already left when he yelled as the anxious boy hadn’t said anything. Everything was messed up because of him, he couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t even keep his small family together.

Virgil watched as tears started flowing down Deceit’s face again. He hesitated for a moment before pulling the older side into a hug, shocking both of them. Deceit tried to pull away from the hug but Virgil just tightened his hold.

“Shhhh, breathe. Just breathe. Match your breaths with mine.” Virgil led him over to the bed and sat him down. Deceit was starting to have a panic attack and Virgil needed to calm him down now before it got out of control. He put Deceits hand against his own chest to have him feel the anxious traits breathing. By now Deceit was full on sobbing when he realized that Virgil hadn’t left his side.

“Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be with your friends instead of being here with me?” He couldn’t bring himself to lie about his current feelings with everything going on in his head. After the way Virgil treated him in front of the others it didn’t make sense for him to stay. Virgil shook his head and rubbed Deceit’s back with his free hand.

“I can’t leave you like this. I’m not gonna let you spiral into a panic attack; I know how fun those are.” Virgil tried to crack a joke to make the other side laugh. His attempt was unsuccessful but he did get a small smile in return. Deceit’s breathing was starting to return to normal but he was still crying.

“I can’t imagine how those are any fun at all. Maybe for Remus.” Deceit looked over at Virgil looking for any sign of a lie. All he could see on the anxious trait face was true concern. “Why are you so concerned? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

Virgil’s face dropped at Deceit’s words; he didn’t realize that he had hurt Deceit’s feelings so badly. “Dee, I never hated you. I just don’t want the others to hate me again. You’re still my friend, I still care about you.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around V? I’m supposed to comfort you when you panic, not the other way around.” Deceit chuckled slightly, hiccuping halfway through his statement. It was very reminiscent of the times before Virgil left, only with the roles reversed. Virgil rolled his eyes and gave Deceit a rare smile.

“Part of growing up means I don’t need to rely on you all the time. What’s caused you to panic so badly? Aren’t you always confident?” Deceit’s face fell slightly, he didn’t want to admit his fear to Virgil. He wanted Virgil to still look up to him, especially when the anxious trait called him confident. He pulled away from Virgil slightly and put his hand behind his neck.

“Its stupid really. Nothing you need to be concerned about. You should head back to the others before they realize you’re gone.” Deceit was trying to force Virgil to leave, trying to lie like he’s supposed to be. Virgil simply shook his head; he knew that Roman had assumed he was transported to another side. No one questioned his random disappearances anymore.

“Talk to me Dee, I’m here for you.” Deceit looked at him warily, deciding whether he could trust Virgil. He never questioned the anxious trait before but what if he’s changed after hanging out with the light sides. He wanted to trust Virgil, like how Virgil always trusted him. After deliberating for a few seconds, he sighed.

“I’m just- It’s just- Ugh.” He took off his hat and played with the rim. “I’m not insecure about my position in Thomas’ mind. I’m not thinking that Thomas would be better if I didn’t exist. I’m not wondering if I’ll ever be accepted as a legitimate side. I should just duck out and not come back.” Virgil stared at Deceit in shock. Dee thought that he wasn’t worth enough to be an actual side. Virgil knew how that felt, that’s why he tried to duck out before.

“Dee, you’re very important to Thomas. Without you he wouldn’t be able to ignore all the negative comments that he gets. Ducking out isn’t the answer, what would Remus and I do without you? You help all of us, without you Remus would be too prominent in Thomas’ mind and I would be too much of a nuisance to him. Don’t you dare talk about ducking out.” Virgil grabbed Deceit’s shoulders as he talked. The anxious trait looked Deceit in his eyes and frowned. “You’re my friend Deceit, I can’t imagine you not being here. I care about you and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t. I promise I’ll make more time for you, just don’t duck out, please.”

Deceit’s eyes teared up again, Virgil’s eyes showed nothing but the truth. The anxious trait generally cared about him; the reason why didn’t matter. He was just happy to hear it. Virgil pulled him in for another hug and Deceit thought that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as bad as he thought they were.

[quoth-the-sparrow]

Anything For You

A Sanders Sides One Shot

Warnings: TS Deceit, Sympathetic Deceit, depression, feelings of hopelessness, mild hurt/comfort, food mention (If I need to add anything let me know)

Pairings: Loceit

Description: Damian is going through some stuff but Logan is there to help

Word Count: 1,378

You can also find this story here on ao3!

I wrote this for @magicallygrimmwiccan

Damian sighed as he flopped back into bed. He knew he really should go take a shower, brush his teeth, or at least go downstairs, but he couldn’t bring himself too. This time of year is always the hardest for him to deal with. Pathetic, maybe, but he couldn’t exactly help it.

Maybe he could just lay here all day. Pretend there wasn’t anything needing his immediate attention. His commissions and other obligations could all wait until the horrible feeling of loneliness went away. Whenever that would be. A day, a week, a month, a year. Maybe it would never get better. Maybe he’d just be alone and depressed for the rest of his life. “Wouldn’t that just be my luck.”

His phone beeped at him from his nightstand. He thought about ignoring it but decided against it. He could answer his phone. With a sigh, he rolled over to grab it. He had a text message from his best friend, Logan.

Logan: Dee, are you doing alright?

Dee: Never been better, nerd. Why do you ask?

Logan: It’s already half past noon and usually I hear from you anywhere from 8am-10am. What’s wrong?

Dee: Nothing, I told you that I’ll be fine

Logan: You’ll be fine? As in you’re not fine right now?

Dee: Don’t read too much into my wording. You’ve been spending too much time around Picani

Logan: Dee, I know you. We’ve been friends for 4 years, 9 months, 2 weeks and 5 days. I can tell when something’s wrong. I know this is a bad month for you; do you want me to come over?

Dee: …how do you even know things like that? Who keeps track of these things?

Logan: It’s one of my many talents. I’m going to go over there, see you soon.

Dee: Wait, L, no, you don’t have to do that

Dee: L?

No answer, which likely meant he was already on his way. Great. Damian grabbed the covers and pulled them over his head. He didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now… but perhaps having someone with him would help. Then again, this ridiculous crush he had on Logan would probably get in the way.

He didn’t think he could even get up to answer the door, but then again, Logan probably knew where the extra key was hidden. That nerd wanted to come over so badly, he could figure it out.

Sure enough, he got another text about thirty minutes later.

Logan: I’m here. May I let myself in?

Dee: I suppose so

Damian heard the front door open. He sighed. Maybe he could fake being happy long enough for Logan to go away. Then again, Logan would see right through him. He had this uncanny way of reading a person as easily as a book.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Damian. May I come in?”

He sighed before saying “Yeah sure, why not.”

Logan entered the room and sat at the foot of the bed. “Have you been in bed all day?”

“Maybe,” Dee mumbled as he shifted further away.

The covers were gently pulled away from him. “I was using those, you know.” He tried to reach for the covers but Logan only pulled them further out of reach.

“Let’s go downstairs, okay? I brought some things, that’s why it took me so long. My apologies on that; I tried to hurry.”

Dee finally looked over at his best friend. Logan looked concerned, big brown eyes focused on him. Despite how awful he was feeling, his heart skipped a beat. Logan was so damn amazing, sometimes Dee wondered why he even bothered to hang out with someone like him. Surely Logan had other, better friends.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Logan shook his head. “I wanted to. Come on, Damian. Please sit up? I know you can do this. It isn’t good to be cooped up in bed all day.”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s sad boy hours. Either be sad with me or go away.” Dee had meant to sound more harsh but it came out more as an empty threat.

Logan took Dee’s hand in his and gently squeezed. “You can be a sad boy downstairs, come on.”

Dee said nothing. After a few moments, Logan added “I brought Subway, and your favorite ice cream. And a surprise.”

“Wh- a surprise? Logan you didn’t have to…” he stammered. Logan only smiled, the rare kind of smile that Dee had never seen him give anyone else.

“Come downstairs with me and see. Do you need help sitting up?”

“No, it’s fine I got it. Just… be patient? I’m gonna be a bit slow at first.” Logan, to his credit, was very patient, guiding Dee out of bed and down the stairs. The coffee table was covered in food, and a white plastic bag was resting on the couch. Dee reached into the bag and pulled out a snake stuffie, which he immediately hugged to his chest.

“You like it? I found it at the toy store. It reminded me of you." Dee thanked him and set the snake down on the coffee table.

"Here. Let’s sit down and we can talk while we eat.” Dee nodded and sat down, as Logan handed him a bag of food.

He opened up his bag and smirked. “You got my usual. You’re such a nerd. It’s so sweet that you have all my orders memorized.”

Logan chuckled softly. “I told you, I know you, Dee. You’re my best friend.”

The two ate in comfortable silence until finally Logan asked “Why do you do this?”

Dee looked over at Logan. “Why do I do what?”

Logan ran a hand through his dark hair. Adjusted his glasses. Took a deep breath before answering. “Around this time of year, it’s always the same. You lock yourself away, don’t talk to anyone. Not even me.”

Dee shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know if he could explain. Didn’t know if he wanted to. But Logan was his best friend too, after all. If he couldn’t trust him, who could he trust? Maybe he’d understand. “I… well, you know. Sometimes the world just gets to be too loud, too bright, too full of expectations. And I’m not good at handling it so I just hide. Wait it out alone.”

“Why alone? You know that I… I’m here for you. Always.” Logan moved closer, and hugged Damian close. “I just want you to be okay.”

Dee froze for a moment before hugging Logan back, snuggling into his chest. “I just don’t want to bother anyone is all. It’s not like my problems really matter. You have other friends besides me. I’m sure they are more deserving of your time,” he mumbled.

Logan tilted Damian’s chin up so he could look at him. His gaze was intense, and Dee exhaled a sharp breath.

“Damian. You are never a bother, least of all to me. I may have other friends but that doesn’t mean your problems or feelings aren’t as important. That isn’t how it works.”

“Logan…” Dee could feel the blush that was spreading across his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he leaned up and kissed Logan. The other boy surprised him by kissing back. Dee’s heart was racing, and he finally felt something other than the crippling loneliness that had been plaguing him for the past week.

When Dee pulled away, he was pleased to see Logan blushing too. He reached up to adjust his glasses again. “Well then. I was correct about that, it seems.”

Dee raised an eyebrow. “Correct about what?”

Logan held Damian close. “Well, I’ve had romantic feelings for you for a while now; and after careful observation and long discussions with Patton, I concluded that you reciprocated said romantic feelings.”

Damian rested his head against Logan’s shoulder. “You talked to Patton about me?”

Logan hummed softly. “I did. He’s more of an expert on romantic feelings than I am. Besides, I’m fairly confident that you’ve talked to Virgil about me.” He stroked Damian’s back, which only made him cuddle closer.

“Hmm yeah, you’re right. Thank you for everything, Logan. Really. You’re amazing.”

Logan smiled. “Anything for you, darling.”

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this story! Reblogs are greatly appreciated. Tell me what you think! If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my taglist, please let me know by sending me an ask. You can find me on ao3 at Storytelling_Sparrow. Thank you so much for your continued support!

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[just-some-gt-trash]

15.-Regal

The prompt list was made by @hiddendreamer67

AN: me is half dying and thats because this is later than usual and the end is trash, I am so sorry. Also, Roman is the living proof of Murphy’s law

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”I'm back!” Said Remus as he entered his room, getting Roman's attention ”I convinced the cooks to give me some cookies while they finished my lunch, do you want some?”

The kid sat next to his desk and opened the cage's door, leaving some cookie crumbs in the floor next to the prince.

Roman looked at them and kicked them away ”I don't want your food”

”But you need to eat something, you heard dad, I can't let you die” Remus picked Roman up and got him out of the cage and on his open palm, he grabbed the crumbs ”Open wide” he said as he got the cookie closer to the prince's mouth, practically forcing him to eat it.

Roman struggled to get the food away ”Fine, I'll eat, but I can do it alone” he grabbed the crumb from the kid's fingers, trying not to focus on the fact that he had to use his both hands to grab it, and started to eat it.

Remus smiled ”Good boy” he said petting Roman's head, he grabbed a full cookie and ate it ”We'll play when you finish your food” he said with his mouth full.

Roman didn't like this, he felt like some kind of pet, and it was clear the kid thought he was one, he started to wonder if his absence had been noticed by now, or if someone was looking for him, he didn't notice he finished eating while he thought, but Remus did.

”Well done! Now we can go out and play!” The ten-year old giggled and left Roman in the table, he stood up and opened a small chest, looking for the toys he wanted to play with.

Roman stood up and looked around, there was a scarf hanging from the table and it was long enough to get to the floor, if he managed to escape, his father would force Dee to make him normal sized again and he could continue with his life like anything of this ever happened.

The prince ran to the scarf, but he was lifted from the back of his shirt before he could make it “Oh no Roman, you have to stay close to me, I don’t want to lose you”

Roman coud do noting more than stay still as Remus stuffed his toys on a bag “Okay, now we’re ready, I’m sure dad wont mind if we play outside, but you have to be quiet okay?” The kid left Roman on his bag and closed it, getting out of his room.

“And now the brave knigt fights the big and bad monster! Rawr!” Remus moved his dragon action figure close to Roman, who apparenly was playing the role of a night, he was holding a toy sword and waering a helmet that belonged to one of the kid‘s toys, the shrunken prince had to consantly push it up and away from his eyes, bothered by the fact that it was too big on him.

“Y-you won‘t win this battle monster!” Said Roman he figured he had to do what Remus said if he didn‘t want to be punished as Dee said, he allowed his son to do it ater all.

The kid giggled at the prince‘s acting “Remus!” A maid screamed from the doorway to get his attention “your food is ready, come for it before it gets cold”

“Coming!” Rmus stood up and turned to Roman “stay here, I‘ll be back shortly” he said before running back inside to get his lunch.

The prince was surprised, he couldn‘t believe Remus actually left him alone, he took the helmet off and ran to another entrance to the castle, hoping it would get him close to someone who could help him.

He rarely was on this part of the castle, so he didn‘t remember the place he was going in was a storage room, there were mostly food kept inside, and there was no other way out of it than the door Roman had come in from.

“Ugh, they brought us the wrong kind again” said a worker as he went inside.

Roman hid behind a bag, the end of it was floded and he climbed on the wrinkles it‘s position created as he listened to the conversation “You better go to the town o return them, and make sure they give you the right ones this time, everything has to be perfect for the wedding”

The wedding? Roma thought it would be cancelled by now “fine, but you‘ll go next time Taylin”

“Yes, yes I will, now hurry up, we have to start whit the food soon Joan!”

“I know, I know” Joan lifted one of the bags and left it in the caret “and I‘ll be back shortly” they kept getting bags into the carret, one of them being the one Roman was hiding behind.

The prince did his best to not make a sound as he held the outside of the bag tightly to avoid falling, he knew he had to get help, but he would rather get itfor someone he knew more, he had trusted Dee after all, and he barely talked to the people in the castle aside from his father and Thomas.

“And make sure they give you the right thing” Taylin leaned and kissed they couple‘s cheek.

Joan smiled and got up of the caret “I will” they grabbed the reins and started to make they way to town.

Once they arrived, Joan stopped the horses in the middle of the town and started to take the bags to the people in charge of the store, Roman managed to fall out of the caret between all the movement, he started to panic and hid behind one of the caret’s wheels, he looked at all the people, there was no way he could go unnoticed in town.

That’s when he remembered there was someone who knew how to go unnoticed between humans, Patton, and the store Joan had stooped at just happened to be in front of the alley where they first met, he glanced around once more and ran towards it, surprisingly getting there safely, he looked around the boxes, he knew Patton went into the walls, so he started to knock on them and one part got pushed inwards, a door, now he just had to find the borrower.

Roman went inside the tunel and made sure to close the handmade door before starting to walk, it was dark but it wasn’t very wide so he used his hands to touch the walls and guide him, just hoping he would get somewhere.

A blurry figure could be half seen at the distance, and it was getting closer, the prince backed away fearing for the worst, instead, two arms were hugging him “Don’t ever scare me like that again! You’ve been gone for days” he said breaking the hug.

Roman could now look at him, he was pale and had purple hair, how the hell did he get purple hair? One of his eyes was green and the other one was purple, he was a bit shorter (huh) and clearly not Patton ”Uh… sorry?”

“Sorry? Is that everything you have to say! I thought you were dead Pat!”

“Oh” The prince had forgotten he looked very much exacly the same as the borrower, and he was clearly being confused with him now “This is a misunderstanding, I might look like him, but I’m not Patton”

The borrower raised an eyebrow “What the hell are you talking about?”

Roman took a deep breath “I’m Patton’s friend, we met a week ago and we both have no idea why we are so similar” he said giggling awkwardly “And the thing is, I need help, and seeing as Paton’s not around, do you think you could provide some?”

“Did you hit your head or something?” He said as he rubbed his forehead “I have nor the time or patience with this, let’s get back home and I’ll check if you have any wounds” The borrower grabbed Roman’s hand and pulled him deeper into the tunel.

Roman followed “I’m telling the truth! I’m not Patton!”

“Whatever you say”

The prince groaned, they stood silent for a while and Roman decided to break the ice “You’re not even going to tell me your neme?”

The borrower glanced at him for a second before continuing “You must have really fucked up your head to not remember me, it hurts me padre” he sighed “but if it’ll help, I’m Virgil, and you have been living with me for four years”

“Nice to meet you Virgil”

Virgil stopped “Yeah whatever” he pushed a side of the walls and pushed Roman inside, it was a house, light by a single candle, most of the furniture was handmade and others were just normal objects, but at this size, they could be reproduced as other things.

“Sit over there” Virgil pointed to a thimble close to a table, Roman sat on it, it was at the right hight to be used as a stool, Virgil turned to see him with a wet piece of cloth in his hands “Geez what did you do to your hair?”

“What do you mean?”

Virgil used the cloth to rub Roman’s hair “It’s darker, what did you put on it?” He asked rubbing harder.

“Ouch” Roman moved his head away from Virgil “that was way too hard”

The borrower looked at the cloth, there wasn’t any spot on it, it was still clean “It’s not coming off”

“Of course it’s not, my hair its like this because I’m not Patton”

Virgil looked between Roman and the cloth “B-but if you’re not Patton” His breath started to accelerate “then where? W-where is him?” Virgil took several steps back until his back met the wall, he slid down to the floor and hugghed his knees.

“No, no, no, Virgil” Roman stood up and the kneeled in front of the borrower “look at me and breathe please, I need you to breath”

He looked up at the prince with tears on his eyes and did as he indicated until he calmed down “T-thanks… and I’m sorry, for not believing you”

“It’s okay” Roman stood up and offered his hand to the other.

Virgil took it and the prince pulled him up, unintentionally, they ended millimetres away from each others face, but instead of pulling apart immediately, they stood there for a couple of seconds, Virgil looked away blushing “W-well… since you’re not Patton, what’s your name?” He asked.

Roman didn’t look away, he kept starring at the borrower “Right, uh, this is going to sound weir but” he took a deep breath “I’m prince Roman”

The borrower looked back at the prince once he had back away a few steps, and then he started laughing “Okay, I might have mistaken you before, but I’m pretty sure you fucked up your head badly, because from what I remember, prince Roman is a human!

“Yes, I am a human, but my father’s advisor shrunk me as a part of his evil plan to take the throne, that’s why I need your help”

Virgil stopped laughing “Are you serious?”

Roman nodded.

“Okay” Virgil took a deep breath “Let’s suppose I believe you,how and why should I help you, your majesty?”

Roman frowned “well, first of all you should take this seriously”

“Of course” he said sarcastically.

“And, I was hoping you could take me back to the castle”

Virgil crossed his arms “Why do you think I know how to get there? And how did you get here in the first place?”

Roman sighed “I got stuck between some bags of food they had to return, and then I fell fron the carret”

“Wow, you are really stupid for a prince”

He made some offended princey noises “It doesn’t matter, and, since the day I met Patton, I’ve been looking around the castle and I’ve noticed some borrower entances, I don’t think anybody uses them anymore, but we could use them to move around”

That’s when something clicked on Virgil’s head “Wait, if you’re a human, how did you meet Patton?”

“Oh, I saw him in an alley, and we kind of just talked after noticing we were like twins”

“And you just let him go? Why?”

Roman shrugged “Because that was the right thing, I asked him if he wanted to go and live with me in the castle and he said no, I just respected his decision”

Virgil blinked surprised “but you’re a human, you capture us and see us as pets or just get rid of us like pests”

Roman smirked “so you believe me?”

“I didn’t say that”

“You did” Roman kept smiling “and it doesn’t matter if you see humas that way, right now I’m your size, it’s not like I can do any of that”

The borrower looked away “but how do I know you wont do it if I help you and you grow back to normal?”

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” Virgil raised an eyebrow “Okay dumb question, just help me please, if I don’t get married in a week the kingdom will be ruined, there will be people living in the streets and you could get discoreved more easily” said Roman “If you don’t help me, we both are going o be in serious trouble”

Virgil sighed “Fine, fine, we’ll get out tomorrow I have to go get some stuff” he said grabbing his bag “just, don’t touch anything, don’t turn the candle off and don’t get out, I’ll be back shortly” is not like he had something better to do than to help a regal.

To be continued...

Taglist

@snekky-boi

@brain-deadx0

@agentblackkat

[sunnykeysmash]

The Structure of S14: a theory on how the season’s arc is structured, and on the ending

Here we go, finally, the post that drove me to make tumblr in the first place.

This is a direct follow-up to the other two posts I just did, so if you haven’t done so already, you need to read all the info/proof I have provided in them, in order to understand why I say what I’m gonna say.

You can do so right here.

As I said, every single episode in S14 serves a specific purpose in the arc/structure we’re witnessing, and none of them are fillers, NONE of them.

First, this is how I think the rest of the season is gonna go, based on the proof.

Assuming all the proof is correct, Charlie now knows that Mac Knows about Dennis' attraction to him/guys. So, cue the episode where we see his point of view, we get to see how he perceives them, which informs our experience on the next episode. The Gang Solves Global Warming. 

Following Escapes’ symbolism, after Mops, during Global Warming, he’s gonna pass the Key to Frank, aka he’s gonna tell him about what he knows, possibly in frustration post some event in Global Warming, because he’s been forced to witness their oblivious mutual pining without any new development.

In comes “A Woman’s Right To Chop”, a Dennis and Frank pair up episode. Pretty weird, those happen VERY rarely. But there’s a reason for why it happens now. So, Frank confronts Dennis in Chop about what he knows. Dennis denies it, and wants to prove to Frank that he's wrong. This becomes his new character motivation that will drive him all the way until the finale. What I think he’ll do to desperately try to prove to Frank that he’s wrong is, just like in TGGR with Dee’s planned role as diversion, Dennis bangs a chick. It just so happens that Jackie Denardo starts in S14, and we don’t yet know in which episode, so I can’t confidently say whether she’ll star in Chop or Jumper (we can’t fully determine when he will bang her, but I’m confident he’ll bang HER, or come close to), either way, that’s the reason she stars in S14. She represents the culmination of Dennis’ forced attraction to girls that actually never occurs. Getting over her means embracing his true feelings.

So, he bangs her. Just like Frank and Charlie post sleeping with the girls, Dennis feels that “it doesn't quite feel right”, and he misses Mac, but he doesn't pay it any mind yet. Continuing with this, it is unclear whether Mac will learn about it in Jumper or Big Mo, all we know is that Mac doesn’t seem angry in the Big Mo clips, so my guess is the latter, as the build up would come to a halt as Mac finally confronts Dennis about his feelings and he, in order to deny, reveals he banged her and staged the Big Mo thing so that Mac will get off of him for good. This argument would then drive Mac to decide to actually give Big Mo a chance, which is when Dennis’ jealousy would truly make him snap out of the denial.

This can technically also be supported by the dialogue in TGGR, which goes as follows:

“I know that what you had with [x] (Dennis) was special, and I know that I (Big Mo) can never replace him, but that’s dead and buried now, and you gotta move on. And I know that it’s crazy because we just met, but I feel like if you just give us a chance, we could tell a lovestory for the ages.”

So this brings us to the key question. How does it end? The synopsis for Jumper was kind enough to give us a crucial hint, which, when paired with the “Jump” symbolism (”Why do blind people hate skydiving?”), and the theme of CHANGE that I discussed, can pretty much give us a fairly accurate guess in my opinion.

“Could he? Would he? Should we?” Let’s dissect this.

- Could he? Could dennis have what it takes to get over his facade of heterosexuality and admit his love and need for mac (and men) to himself? To even accept and realize what he feels? Possibly. He's afraid of change, but he's also tired, and sleeping with Jackie would prompt him to realize that something is very wrong.

 - Would he? Is he willing do it? to let down his defenses and do it in the open? Say it to him? He's not known for saying things openly, except in desperate times. See Tends Bar. He can't let himself lose Mac.

 - Should we? Should we get together? The very existence of this question implies that the answer of the previous ones are affirmative. So, could he? Yes. Would he? Yes. Should we? For Dennis, yes. He has admitted it to Mac at this point, he feels vulnerable but ready, and hopes that Mac agrees. Mac knows better now, he knows Dennis is desperate, and he's not sure if Dennis just wants to keep his position of power. He needs proof. Commitment. He knows Dennis has never been one for committing, but Mac can't hand him his heart if he's unsure whether it'll get shattered. He needs to know that it'll be safe. Mac is romantic, Mac commits. He needs to know Dennis can do it too. He sees this as just another plan he'd make to keep him, for now. What happens next can be two different things. Either the ONE YEAR is what we have to wait to know what Mac answers. Or it’s what he asks of him as proof of commitment. Wait one year. “If you feel the same way by then, I'll know you meant it, and I'll be ready to give us a try.” Mac loves Dennis, but he also knows him, and he knows himself, that he could never handle his heart being played with. And that he doesn't want to ruin what they have by jumping into things. You see, Dennis is the man that needs to jump, in this arc. He’s the leading man. Mac doesn't have to. Mac is his parachute. And after what just happened, he needs to be able to trust Dennis, just as Dennis needed in Chokes.

So, TGGR has two endings, as I previously discussed. A good one, and a bad one. Supposedly, this is to keep the ending unclear, but knowing what we know, the story we are following is the Charlie and Frank one. Which tells me that, ultimately, it all ends in a YES. They do end up together, even if we get a dubious cliffhanger, on the other side of it is a YES.

That said, since we can safely assume that Big Mo will parallel Jumper, we can also assume that it really doesn’t matter whether the Jumper jumps or not, and actually, the mere application of this algorithm TO the Jumper further confirms my claims, let me explain why. Let me apply it.

First of all, let’s make an assumption that I think we can all agree on. Whenever the gang intervenes, they make things worse. 

Now:

- Could he? die/jump? He could jump, he probably wouldn't die thought. The McPoyle guy didn't. 

- Would he? jump? ...How would the gang know or be able to guess the answer to this question, without interacting with the jumper?

- Should we? Intervene? If they answer yes, he'll jump. If they answer no, he might not. But here’s the catch.

The "should we" question is a question asked to TWO people, hence the "we", so it has two answers. Depending on the person.

And it ultimately doesn't matter which one the jumper will reflect. It’ll probably be a red herring anyway. They likely won’t intervene at all, thus the jumper won’t jump. 

"should we (intervene/get together)? yes" Dennis jumps. It reflects his answer. "should we (intervene/get together)? no(t yet)" Mac doesn't jump. It reflects his.

Obviously we can’t 100% assume that Mac will say no (but he needs to, in order to justify the one year thing), however the theme of change might hit him as well. We know he’s impulsive, the doesn’t think things through. Him waiting would be his change. Not only that, but Dennis getting a no(t yet) would be the most appropriate ending for his arc of taking Mac for granted, AND it would reverse their dynamic, possibly. Plus, karma, which usually gets implemented in stories/arcs, especially so in a series as self aware as IASIP.

Having said ALL of this, I can finally get to the structure itself.

As I said, every episode has a role, and so far that has been the case. So I’m gonna try to compile them, as I think fits, one by one.

I present to you, “The Structure”:

TGGR: Establishing the arc. The meta episode to set the ground rules, to give us the map of what's gonna happen, so that no one is surprised. It tells the audience to pay attention to what they’re about to experience, and not take details for granted. Thundergun: Establishing the conflict. A look at Den's past attractions and his reaction to them in the present. It tells us where he is currently. It tells us the inherent conflict of his real feelings that he has always had vs his resistance to change (symbolized by thundergun itself changing, skillfully enough). Dee Day: Transitional. It solidifies the conflict regarding the relationship itself, not just Dennis’ personal one. It tries to unite the past with the future, but fails because the needs of the arc haven’t been met yet. So it sets up Chokes. Chokes: The first turning point. Mac and Dennis are able to work out their core hang-ups, and realize they are still perfect for each other. First part of the relationship conflict resolution. First acceptance of change: Mac learns to make his own decisions and not follow what Dennis wants. Texts: The second turning point. Mac and Dennis work out their communication problems. Also advancement of the situation of Dennis’ conflict. Mac and Charlie become aware of Den's feelings. This is the second part of the relationship conflict resolution, not yet the ending of it as Dennis’ conflict hasn’t been resolved, thus the relationship conflict can’t yet either. Mops: The aftermath. Now that Charlie is involved, we take a look at his point of view of Mac and Dennis, now that he knows. The conflict between Charlie and Mac+Dennis will likely be established here, as it will start to give the character his motivation for what’s to come all the way to the finale. Either that or it’s breathing room, but I stand by my case that no episode is a filler in this season. Global Warming: Advancement of the conflict of the dynamic between Charlie and Mac+Dennis, and advancement of Dennis’ personal conflict. Charlie, now knowing, is fed up at things not going forward for Mac+Dennis, he was happy at Mac figuring it out, hoping it would lead them to speed things up and stop bothering him with their complex rituals, but they haven’t. He’s annoyed with Mac and Dennis about this whole thing. This is the character motivation that drives him to tell Frank what he knows, possibly in frustration after something that happens in GW. Remember how in The Gang Escapes, Charlie passes the key to Frank, and it’s him who opens the lock. Chop: Confronting the issue, running away from it. This is the start of Dennis’ spiraling because of his conflict, that will lead him to the events of the finale. Frank is paired with Dennis, something truly rare. It's on purpose. He confronts Dennis about his feelings. Dennis denies. Gains a new motivation going forward and into the finale: proving that his denial is actually accurate. Jumper: With his new motivation setting in motion the events that will lead to the finale, he bangs a chick. Trying to prove it further, he thinks of a plan to get Mac off of him for good, thinking that's why people keep believing that he’s gay. Big Mo: Obviously, the finale. The final turning point. Acceptance of change. Resolution of Dennis’ personal conflict. End of the conflict of the dynamic between Charlie and Mac+Dennis, as all the other conflicts have been resolved, so he too is content.

As change is finally accepted, we reach a Point B in the finale, different from the Point A at which we started. Change is effective on Dennis, which now accepts himself fully, and feels ready. Change is effective on Mac, which makes him make his own decisions no matter what Dennis wants, and thus doesn’t jump into the relationship yet.

One year from the finale, season 15. We have a new beginning. It’s unclear whether the year of waiting is supposed to be for the audience or in-universe, so it’s unclear whether in s15 we’ll deal with a reversed dynamic of Dennis yearning and Mac refusing, or if the year passes off screen as we wait, which would imply the promise that S15 starts with canon MacDennis.

Either way, this is my dissection of the season so far, and obviously I might be very wrong, and if I am please don’t kill me, but this is how I think things are going, and how I think things will go.

Feel free to ask me about anything that is unclear, as english isn’t my first language so I might’ve explained something a little roughly. I do look forward to knowing the fandom’s reception to my thoughts, if anyone is brave enough to read all the way through here. And hey, if you did, thank you so so much! I hope you enjoyed it.

[sunny1ace]

Fix You - Part 3.3 of the FamAU

Characters: Logan Sanders, Patton Hart, Janus Viper

Summary: Patton feels like his chances are slipping away from him

Words: 2900

Warnings: Repression, anxiety, sad feelings, let me know if I should add any more :)

A/N: UgH I don’t like this but it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so I just gotta buckle up and post it

Taglist (let me know if I should add you or take you off): @espepspes @kaileah-kat @i-need-you-buddy

***

Patton doesn’t mind mornings, the light shining through the window, the birds singing, the sound of campus waking up and the occasional bark of a dog.

This morning though, he’d rather just go to sleep.

He was up until one in the morning, just staring at his ceiling, doing nothing. He might’ve gotten up to draw or work on some homework, but he didn’t want to wake up his roommate.

The roommate who apparently doesn’t have the same politeness towards him because he throws a shirt at Patton’s face rather abruptly before either of their alarms even go off.

Patton grabs it and sits up, raising his eyebrows at Dee. “Something wrong?”

Dee looks bored. He generally does, really. Patton has learned to see through it.

“Patton, dear, if you don’t get up and go, you’ll miss your morning rendezvous with specs.”

Patton blinks at him a few times, then flops back down on his bed.

Across the room, Dee sighs. “What is it then?”

“There’s only a week left!” Patton covers his face, sticking his legs in the air and probably looking ridiculous.

“Then tell him.”

Rolling sideways and off the bed, Patton stands, making a pouty face. Dee is staring at him like he looked at the cat Patton brought in from the rain last year. “I can’t just tell him! What if… what if he hates me?”

“Of course, love. After four years of following you around like some love sick cyber puppy, I’m sure he hates you.”

“Really?”

“No!”

Patton loves Dee, he very much does, after bunking with him for four years, how could he not?

That being said, he might be on the brink of shooting Dee one of his famous condescending glares right back.

“Well you could be a little clearer, kiddo.”

Dee sighs for the third time. “Come on, Patton-pouter, I’ll walk you outside.”

Excited, because Patton rarely has time to spend with his friend anymore except at night, Patton pulls on his shirt and shoes in record time. “Are you meeting Maeve?”

“Later,” Dee says, and he goes just a little red at that. “She wants to go over her Welfare project. Again.”

“I’m sure she’s just being thorough!” Patton says brightly, pocketing his phone and throwing open the door.

Dee shuffles through with a grumbled, “Thoroughly obnoxious.”

Patton watches as he flips his hair back from his face, and doesn’t try to hide the proud smile when he doesn’t duck his head to cover the large scar on the left side of his face, even after Dee sticks his tongue out at him.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I’m just glad you’ve decided to stop hiding!”

“It’s been almost a year, Patton. Are you ever going to stop mentioning it every morning?”

“Nope!”

Patton smiles brighter when Dee turns away, barely concealing a small smile.

His smile falters slightly as he looks down at his shoulders. He opens the door again and leans into the room just far enough to pull his cardigan off the coat hook inside. Patton rubs the fabric between his hands and stares at it.

“I am aware of your- er- fascination with cats. So I’ve gotten you a gift… if you’d like it, of course.”

“Lo! This is absolutely purr-fect!”

“Oh god.”

Patton snaps out of the memory when Dee waves a hand in front of his face, and knocks his chin up with a finger. “Come on, you’ll be late.”

Nodding, Patton throws the cat-cardigan over his shoulders and ties it securely.

“Don’t you ever wear it?”

“How would I take it off fast enough to give it to someone who needs comfort?”

Dee goes just a little bit red, and he scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re pretty!” Patton giggles when that makes Dee turn even redder.

The two walk side by side, and Patton shuffles his feet just a little more than usual. Sure, he’s always happy to see Logan! It’s just…

Just what? Patton bites his lip and shakes his head, taking deep breaths until he can smile without it shaking.

He’s excited to see Logan. That’s it. No deeper meaning, no hidden sadness. He’s happy.

Patton is happy.

Dee opens the door out of their dorm building, leaning against it with one hand in his pocket and looking very much like the lawyer he’s studying to be. “See you this afternoon, darling.”

“Have fun with Maeve!” Patton calls, waving his entire hand so it flaps around on his wrist. Dee snorts and gives him a two finger salute before going back inside.

Looking around, Patton takes a deep breath, letting the smells of campus flow through him.

Leaves and fresh cut grass, coffee and waffles, it smells like fall.

“How can something… smell like a season?”

“You know! How winter smells cold, How summer smells like the beach-“

“We’re nowhere near a beach, Patton.”

“It’s the idea of the thing!”

“I thought it was a smell?”

Patton laughs out loud at the memory, reaching up to pull at a few of his curls, measuring them to his nose absentmindedly as he walks.

He passes a tree, and stops at a chirping sound. He turns and tilts his head at the bird a foot from his face, and he could’ve sworn the bird tilted its head back. “Hi there little guy! I hope I didn’t interrupt your morning song!”

The bird chirps three times, fluttering its wings and hopping to a higher branch.

“You’re beautiful,” Patton tells it with a wave, and continues on his way. He thinks it’s a woodpecker. Logan would know.

It’s about three minutes later when he sees Logan ahead of him, right on time, as usual. Patton waves at him even though his back is turned, “Hey!”

Logan doesn’t stop, but his steps slow down and Patton races to catch up. “Hey Logan!” He says again, maybe a little louder than necessary.

He debates giving Logan a hug, but decides on a light hip tap so as not to invade his space without warning. “How are you?”

Logan nods, and when he adjusts his glasses Patton has the sudden urge to do the same, so he does, and his ears turn pink even when Logan doesn’t notice.

“I am well,” his friend says, and Patton gives him a once over.

His face is slacker than usual, he’s slouching more than usual (though it’s still barely at all) and his tie is crooked. It takes all Patton has to not reach out and adjust it. “You sure? You’re looking a bit tired.”

“That would be because I am,” Logan replies, and his heart sinks. Then Logan smiles at him, and Patton can’t help but smile back. “Not to worry, one bad night of sleep won't stop me from functioning properly.”

Patton guesses it’s been more than one night. He doesn’t comment on it, mostly because that would be a weird follow up to the giggle that escapes him because Logan is so gosh darn cute.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Patton focuses on the sidewalk, stepping over cracks and occasionally veering off to look at pretty yellow dandelions. On one of the flowers is a ladybug, and he crouches down next to it to watch it crawl between the itty bitty petals.

“How are you, Patton?”

Patton stands, messing with his cardigan sleeves so Logan can’t tell his hands are shaking. He grins as wide as he can, “I’m awesome! On the way here I saw a woodpecker!”

Patton doesn’t miss the way Logan slows to walk with him, and for some reason it makes his throat hurt.

“Considering where we are,” Logan starts in his teaching voice, and Patton’s throat gets tighter. “It’s more likely you saw a Northern Flicker. They do look quite alike.”

Getting an idea and jumping on it, Patton makes a face at Logan, “Do you want to see my impression of a Northern Flicker?”

Logan looks hesitant, eyeing him warily, and then nods.

Patton grins wider and points his hand north, and starts flicking.

“I don’t see how that resembles a bir- oh.” Logan’s face turns exasperated. “Oh because you’re flicking to the north- that’s- that’s completely awful.”

“You love me,” Patton coos dramatically.

He regrets it the second he says it.

“Do you have lunch plans today?” Logan asks, maybe a little too quickly.

Patton tells himself very sternly in his head not to cry. He reties his cardigan to have something to do and shakes his head, “Nope! None.”

Quiet. Patton blinks rapidly.

Logan clears his throat and for a horrifying second Patton thinks he’s going to ask why in the world would Patton thinks he loves him because they’re only friends and besides they’ll be strangers in a week and-

“Would you like to attend lunch together?”

Patton almost passes out in relief. He clasps his hands behind him, another way to hide the shaking. “Yeah! We’ve been friends long enough that you don’t have to ask anymore, Lo.”

Logan trips a little, but keeps his eyes ahead. Patton wonders just how tired he really is.

The coffee shop door swings open when Logan pushes at it, and Patton bounces through.

Almost everyone in the coffee shop waves at him or says hi, and it makes Patton’s insides warm. He passes Eliot on their way out the door, and the student waves at him, “Hey Patt!”

“Eliot! Hey!” Patton waves back, and his eyes go wide as he remembers the talk they had in Animal Sciences two days ago. “How’d the English final go?”

“Aced it!”

The warm feeling in Patton’s chest gets bigger. “Aw, kiddo! I knew you could!”

Eliot snorts and changes the topic, Patton doesn’t argue. Compliments are hard sometimes. “Getting coffee for Professor Aldridge again?”

“You bet!”

“Man, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re a suck up!”

Patton laughs as they leave with a friend, turning back to the counter to decide what to get. Logan leans over his shoulder, and goosebumps raise on the back of Patton’s neck. Logan being close to him is.. really nice.

“If they did know you any better, they’d know you are, in fact, a suckup.”

Patton gasps, and his face is red from Logan’s breath on his shoulder but he pretends it’s because of the accusation. He pushes Logan just a little, and almost pouts when he stays far away. “Am not! I just like doing nice things for people… and if it happens to make some professors more inclined to give me extensions more often… that’s pretty neat!”

“I’m fairly certain that’s the definition of a suck up.”

“Coffee, Lo?” Patton asks, smiling despite his red hot ears and cheeks.

Logan chuckles, and Patton wants to kiss him. “Buying me something to get out of a conversation? That’s a bribe. Which is a crime in some states.”

“I guess that makes me a criminal,” Patton starts, raising an eyebrow at Logan who is looking increasingly distressed, “criminally-“

“Black coffee if you don’t mind,” Logan interrupts.

Patton giggles and pulls out his wallet, paying for both their drinks and the Professors.

“I could pay for them this time, Patton.”

“You could!” Patton agrees, but makes no move to let him. “Don’t worry about it. I dragged you here anyway!”

“On the contrary. You didn’t drag me anywhere.”

Smile softening, Patton doesn’t know if he wants to cry because he’s happy, or because he’s lovesick. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

Outside the coffee shop once again, Patton walks slowly with both his cups, not wanting Logan and his morning walk to end. He blows on his hot coco and side eyes Logan. “Are you… nervous about leaving school?”

Are you nervous about leaving me? Is what he wants to ask.

Patton watches as Logan takes a sip of his coffee, wincing at how hot it is. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m nervous,” Patton blurts, not being able to stand the quiet any longer. “After this it’s just us against the world, you know? The future we’ve been preparing for since preschool is finally here and… I’m not ready at all.”

Logan looks at Patton with wide eyes and a frown, and Patton fidgets where he walks. “You aren’t ready? Are you alright?”

Patton shuffles his feet for a few steps, widening his smile to hide his anxiety, “Of course I’m alright! Just a little apprehensive is all.”

“Patton..” Logan slows and lightly bumps his hip into Patton, “you can talk to me.”

“I know I can!” Patton wiggles his eyebrows, desperately trying to get back the happy mood, “What? Have I been speaking gibberish?”

“Ah. Humor to cope. Why am I not surprised.”

“Well aren’t you feisty today!”

“It must be due to the-“

“Like a cat.”

“-lack of sleep last night.”

“Because cats are feisty.”

Logan adjusts his glasses with a sigh. “Yes. I understood, I merely refrained from commenting on the unnecessary joke.”

“Jokes are never unnecessary!” Patton protests, and he so hopes Logan will launch into a sciencey explanation about jokes that will take up the rest of their time.

No such luck.

“If you don’t wish to tell me what’s troubling you, you don’t have to,” Logan says quietly.

Patton stalls, he doesn’t want Logan to think he doesn’t like him! It’s the opposite of that, that's the problem. “It’s not that! I trust you Lo!” He bites his lip and then shrugs. “I’m just in a funk! I’ll be back to normal me any minute!”

“Patton-“

Turning towards his own class, Patton waves, walking quickly backwards, “I’ll see you at lunch!”

Logan sighs and gives a small wave, “Have a satisfactory day Patton, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Don’t forget how incredible you are!” Patton calls out the routine end to all their conversations since that night under the tree when Logan cried for the first time.

“I’m nothing incredible, Patton. I’m just broken.”

“Well I think you’re incredible, doesn’t that count for something?”

Patton shakes off the chills he gets and speed walks to his classroom.

He doesn’t look back.

“Mr. Hart!” Professor Aldridge says calmly, watching as Patton walks through the door. She tilts her head, “I didn’t take you for a two cup kinda guy?”

“Oh!” Patton hands her the untouched cup. “That’s for you.”

Professor Aldridge shakes her head fondly. “Thank you, Mr. Hart. That’s very kind.” She stares at him in the way she always does, like her eyes are burning holes in his forehead and reading all his secrets. “Are you alright?”

Patton nods a little insistently, “I’m great! Just tired.”

Aldridge gives him an unimpressed stare and then sighs. “I’m always here if you need it, Patton.”

“I know.” Patton tries for a smile, but it comes out as more of a half shrug and a tight line of a mouth.

Patting his hand, Aldridge nods. “I know the end of school can be hard, and very overwhelming. I’ve been where you are. Hell, I am where you are. Every time a new class graduates I lose just a little bit of me. Especially when one of those students is like you.”

Patton starts to cry.

Aldridge doesn’t stop him, she just sits there with her hand over his and nods. “I met my wife in college, did you know that?”

The shock almost makes Patton stop crying. Professor Aldridge is gay? “You- you did?”

“I did.” Aldridge pulls back to lift a picture frame of her desk and pass it to him. It’s an old picture, Professor Aldridge must have been his age. There’s a girl standing next to her in a leather jacket and a mini skirt, looking like she could kill you in a second and coo over kittens the next.

Patton looks back up at Aldridge, who’s gray hair and crows feet next to her eyes are the only reason she looks her sixty years of age.

“Marrying someone of the same sex was illegal back then, so we didn’t have much hope. We let each other go,” Professor Aldridge looks sad for a few seconds, then she smiles. “We finally found each other again, and both of us cried when our marriage was legalized. We’ve been together since.”

Patton stares at her, and his heart beats in his ears. “Do you.. think it was fate?”

“Oh no,” Aldridge says with a laugh, she takes the picture again, setting it down carefully. “I’m a science professor, I don’t believe in fate… but I do believe that if you really love someone, you’ll always find your way back to them.”

Trying not to cry again, Patton laughs wetly. “You should write a book.”

“There aren’t any books that can tell you what love is,” Aldridge replies, and Patton has the distinct notion that she isn’t talking about him.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“As always, I’m here,” she winks at him, knocking her cup against his before he heads to his seat.

He’s on the front row, like most of his classes, because glasses are great but he’s still blind, and because it’s louder in the front, the chatter of students and laughs and groans drown out whatever Patton doesn’t want to think about.

This time though, it’s not loud enough.

“if you really love someone, you’ll always find your way back to them”

He has time.

[codevassie]

a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | On Ao3

CV:  You know when you're smelling candles and you smell so many candles that you can't tell which ones smell good or bad anymore? Let's just say I don't know what this chapter is. There's a lot of words. And a lot of important things happen in it. And I've gone a bit insane trying to make it. Hope you enjoy <3

CW: Kidnapping, Guilt, Historical Discussions of Prejudice, Mentions of Death, Unreality, Weapons

@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When Remus was little, nothing but a scoundrel on the streets, orphan, alone but his brother and a hyper-defiant attitude, he never used to dream.

Each morning, Roman would wake and recount a world better than their present–where a wealthy family came to town and adopted them; where they grew up and ran a bakery together, with all the bread and cookies they'd ever desire; where Remus didn't have to hide his magic; where Roman didn't get ganged up on in alleys.

Where they had… more than this.

Dreams kept Roman going, and, in a way, it kept Remus going too, hearing his brother tell all these magnificent stories–all while Roman wasn't even awake to imagine them. A lot of them didn't even make sense, but those were Remus' favorites. He loved hearing the impossible ones–ones where you walk out the door of your house and you fall into the river, or dive out the window and fly into the sky.

Remus never got any of his own, or if he did, he never remembered–until he lived in the caves, at least.

His first week waking in his new “home” was plagued by nightmares. Virgil told him it had to do with the magic running freely through the caves. Out there in the towns, among the regular people, magic was obsolete, dried out like a desert. In the caves it was everywhere. Where before Remus’ head was dry, it could weave worlds upon worlds with a bit of magic.

Dee thought something similar. He said Remus had been repressing his magic in order to hide it. However, now that he was in the caves, it was still difficult to access. The magic was blocked up like a dam, and that caused his psyche to go into turmoil.

The witch, on the other hand, thought they might be visions. That hadn't gone over well.

They never were visions–not that they could make out. Not once did Remus dream of anything that had once or would be true. So in the present day, as Remus went to sleep on the fifth night Roman had been gone, he didn't worry too much when he realized he'd walked into a nightmare.

That, really, should have been what tipped him off. Remus never had lucid dreams, and while he couldn't control a thing in this one, his mind knew well enough this wasn't his reality.

Remus walked along a corridor in the castle, one that he didn't recognize very well. In his hands he held a long sleeve of parchment, marked all over in different types of ink and at least five different hand-writings. Gripping the edges of the paper, he noticed his fingers were bedecked in rings with heavy jewels and, on the thumb, a large crest. His hands were wide and aged, and paler than usual. His shoulders were heavier, but his mind felt lighter. Remus wasn't Remus in this dream.

Strange. He still knew he was Remus, but that’s not what his voice or body understood.

The man–whoever Remus was–sighed and rolled up the parchment restlessly. He bopped the paper to the side of his leg, looking about the hallway and to a room a couple paces off. The closer he drew, the easier his shoulders relaxed. No sound came from the room, and that nurtured something content in the man’s chest.

Until, that is, he rounded the corner and through the doorway.

It was a nursery, from what Remus could tell. An ornate crib stood at the center of one wall, a carousel of horses hanging like wind chimes above. The room was dark, lit only by the blue light of the night, shining in easily from the wide open windows. The rug was soft and plush, fit for a baby to crawl safely, and there was a shelf of toys and books in the corner.

Something felt wrong. Remus didn’t know what it was, but going by his sudden gasp, the man did.

He rushed into the room, going to the cradle first. It lay empty. His heart dropped, abandoned down a well like a draw bucket without a string. There was a noise behind him, and he spun.

There, closer to the bookshelf, was a bundle of hair and fabric. When she looked up, the king bolted over, heart again in his chest, but pounding, hammering a painful dent into his ribcage.

“Yolanda? My love,” he said, kneeling by her side and taking her into his arms. “What is the matter? Where is Janus?”

Yolanda? Remus wondered, tilting his head in thought. The head in his dream remained unmoved. Janus?

The names seemed familiar, but Remus couldn’t remember- He was so tired of not remembering.

“She took-” the woman panted, barely able to get her words out before a coughing fit seized her. The man helped her to sit up, eased her into a position to aide her air passage. The man said nothing, kept an appearance of calm and reassurance, but he was scared to death. Remus could feel it.

The woman was crying. She was sobbing as she tried to get her voice to work, grasping at her throat. “Easy,” the man said softly. “Easy, Landa.” But she couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the man had to ask. “Please. Where is our boy?”

The woman, Yolanda, breathed once, body shaking fiercely. “He’s gone,” she whispered, the sound of a broken woman. Remus didn’t know what was happening, but his own heart stopped. Something unthinkable had happened here.

“Guards! Guards!” the man turned his head to yell out the door, raising minutely away in the moment.

But the woman was already shaking her head. “It won’t help. She took him hours ago. I couldn’t- I couldn’t move-”

The man placed a hand to her shoulder again. There were no sounds of rattling armor. The castle was silent.

This should have never happened. Where was everyone?

“Where? We must know which way to send the men. I will go with them – I have to go with them,” the man rambled. The woman clutched his arm, beckoned him to look at her. She wept, but her eyes were fierce, commanding.

“You must find him,” she said.

Remus felt the man’s eyebrows furrow. “I will.”

“She will pay for this,” she said, voice shaking in barely restrained anger. “She took my baby.”

“Where did she go?” the ringed man asked.

The woman’s eyes vacantly moved across the room to the blowing curtains at the balcony window. The man followed her gaze, frowning.

“She scaled the tower,” he said, voice terrified. His son… this kidnapper had put him in so much danger already.

“No,” the woman said. “She appeared. And then… disappeared.”

The man looked back, expression puzzled. Before he could ask, however, her gaze met his, eyes dark and disheveled hair barely concealing her fiery look.

“She had magic.”

Suddenly, the room went dark. Remus felt his body jolt, and he blinked, head whipping around, back and forth, back and forth. Black spots danced before his eyes as they grew accustomed to the pitch black room around him.

He was no longer in the man’s body. He had woken up. But he was no longer in his room either.

Remus was in the nursery from his dream. It was dustier. The curtains were drawn, and looked to have been that way for a long time. But it was unmistakable. Virtually nothing had changed in the room. And now that he was awake, he understood where he was.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, shutting his eyes.

There was still so much he didn’t understand.

-/-

If they’d thought the library was difficult, then Logan’s house was a whole other challenge. The place was a library in itself.

Roman had been thumbing through volume after volume all night, trying to pinpoint something that might point to Virgil or this ‘Dee’ guy. They were looking for anything at this point, and that made the search even more difficult. If only they’d had something a bit more specific, something to go off of.

He was planted at the coffee table, hunched over and trying not to think about the crick that was forming along his spine. He flipped a page, squinting to understand what it was saying through the fog in his brain and the dim candlelight.

Earlier, Patton had cast a light to illuminate the room a bit better, but after hours of tireless research, it had gone out. Patton had gone home a while ago, hinting pretty strongly that he expected Roman to follow. Roman hadn’t, and that meant he had no Patton to recast it.

Roman vaguely heard someone walk into the room. In his periphery he saw a figure lower itself to the floor across the table. “My prince,” it said in an even voice. Roman blinked up at the man, clearing his vision of letters and misshapen words he could no longer understand.

“Oh, hey Logan,” he said, giving a tired smile. He’d never seen the man out of a tie. He was in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, eyes soft and still behind his glasses. It was funny seeing him so calm after the stress he’d been under earlier.

“Have you found anything?” Logan asked kindly. Odd, Roman rarely heard emotion in the man’s voice. Logan didn’t seem like the type to slow down his thought process enough to implement it.

But Roman just shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to figure out what he meant,” he said. They’d come to Logan’s house assuming he’d know the exact book Virgil had meant. Turned out Logan was just as clueless as they were.

Actually, more so. Logan hadn’t even known Virgil was gone.

Logan knocked his glasses askew in an attempt to rub his eyes, giving a small sigh. Roman noticed there was still tension in his shoulders–the same tension that had grown there after they’d explained everything.

“Hey,” Roman spoke up, too tired to put himself under any kind of filter. Earlier he’d left all of this up to Patton, afraid to screw it up. Comforting was more in Patton’s capabilities anyway. Now Roman just couldn’t keep himself back. “I know you’re worried about Virgil, but you should get some rest.”

Logan adjusted his glasses, putting them back in place as he scrutinized Roman. In a moment Roman was wriggling in place, regretting his decision to be open, but then Logan let out a breath that somewhat resembled a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Funny,” he said. “I came out here to tell you the same thing.”

Roman stared for a second then cracked a smile. “That is funny,” he said, too tired to say anything clever.

“Roman,” Logan said, voice a bit more somber. Roman looked back to him and took note of his frown. His hand hovered over the book in front of him protectively. “We all want to help him, but we can’t if we exhaust ourselves.”

“I’m not exhausting myself,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I work nights all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not healthy,” Logan said. “Your body needs rest to function properly.”

Roman looked back down at the book. “I’ll rest when we’ve gotten Virgil back,” Roman muttered, trying not to come off too irked. Logan was just trying to help.

“I know this is likely not something you want to hear,” Logan put a hand over the page Roman was trying to make out, “But we may not get Virgil back for some time. Things like this take time.”

“Then I’ll work night and day to make it happen,” Roman said, head snapping up with a scowl. His blood was boiling for some reason–the same as it had been when he’d talked to Patton in the library.

“Neglecting yourself will not bring Virgil back any faster,” Logan said, his own voice tighter now too. Unlike Patton, he would match Roman in intensity rather than try to soothe it. “In fact,” Logan carried on, “It would rather slow it down.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman said, heart speeding up at the thought. He couldn’t rest. Not when Virgil needed help. The more he tried, the faster it would help–it had to.

“Then tell me, are you actually absorbing anything you’ve been reading for the past hour?” Logan asked.

Roman pulled the book back from him, holding it close to his chest. “Yeah, of course!” he said, voice defensive.

“What is it you’re reading then?” Logan asked. Roman stopped, thinking for a moment. “I’ve read all these books, Roman. I know what that one is about too. So tell me; what is it about?”

“Give me a moment!” Roman argued, trying to grasp something, anything that he remembered. Was this the one on the northern regions or the fiction story about wolves? Roman had lost track.

“Roman,” Logan said, drawing his attention back. Logan sighed, something too close to pity crossing his features for Roman’s comfort. He shifted, clutching the volume tighter and looked on almost in fear as Logan opened his mouth. “Did you notice the inscription at the front of that one?”

Roman furrowed his brow, pulling the book away from his chest. No, no he hadn’t noticed an inscription. Setting it back down on the table, he flipped to the front, keeping a hand on his page to not lose his place. On the title page, he found it.

Logan,

I don’t know if you remember, but this was the first book you lent me. That copy was a library book, so I thought you might like your own. I know you own the library and all, but I hope you like it.

Virgil

Roman was frozen, eyes going again and again over the words. The letters were in small, cramped script, but he could tell it was carefully written. He hovered over Virgil’s name with the pad of his index finger, holding his breath. A part of him felt it would flake apart just at his touch.

“Virgil gave you this,” he said at last, glancing up to Logan’s face. There was sorrow there if you could look between the lines. He had sobered up from his exhaustion, placing a mask of emotionlessness on, but Roman could see it like a reflection. “Do you think this is it? Is this the book?”

To Roman’s disappointment, Logan shook his head. “I doubt it. He could have simply gone to the one in the library. It would be a lot easier than borrowing this one from me.”

“What if there’s something hidden in this one specifically?” Roman asked, desperate at this point. He felt so close, yet Logan didn’t look convinced at all. Could nothing be easy? Couldn’t Roman just do this one thing right?

“If there is, then I doubt you’d find it as tired as you are. It would have been very cleverly hidden considering I’ve reread that particular volume many times throughout the years.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is it that good?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said. Something soft flashed across his face as he gazed at the volume Roman held so possessively. “It’s mostly for sentimentality’s sake, I suppose.”

Roman looked again at the book, at the inscription. “Oh,” he said, understanding.

“Virgil is like family, you see,” Logan said. “I’ve known him for years, so when I accept that I need rest in order to help him, it is not me giving up on him. I am not standing by while he is back there. I am simply doing what is in my power to get him back. As long as I am healthy, I will be at my full power to figure out a solution to get him back. Do you understand?”

Logan said this like it was a challenge, like he was daring Roman to argue with him on this, and Roman realized that he had given Logan the wrong idea completely.

“Of course!” he said, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I needed to do this. Of course you’re helping Virgil. Of course you deserve rest.”

Logan folded his hands on the table, leaned forward to look Roman dead in the eyes. “Then why not you, Roman?”

Roman’s heart rate picked up. He leaned back, eyes darting around as he suddenly wanted nothing more than to avoid eye contact. “I just need to keep going. It’s different.”

“Why is it different?” Logan asked. “Why do you need to keep going? Why do you need to push yourself and hurt yourself to try to help Virgil?”

Roman frowned, eyes going back to Logan. “I’m not hurting myself.”

“You are,” Logan said. Roman’s hands turned into fists, but not from anger. From confusion. From something a little too close to vulnerability.

His voice went lower. Roman’s eyes bored into the table. “It’s just different.”

“Different how?”

His hand drifted above the inscription, but he didn’t touch it. Roman couldn’t bring himself to. He was unworthy.

“I’m the reason,” he said. He was greeted with silence, but he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look Logan in the eye. Roman and Patton had already told Logan the full story. He knew it was Roman’s fault this had all happened, but Logan hadn’t actually said anything to the prince about it yet. Patton had forgiven him, but Patton had always been too nice for his own good. Logan surely wouldn’t be so forgiving. “Why should I get to rest when every second he’s there, anything that witch is doing to him, it’s all my fault?”

“You… feel responsible,” Logan said, as if it was only now that it had occurred to him.

“Of course I feel responsible. I made that deal,” he said.

“The deal that she pretty much forced you to make,” Logan said. “That deal?”

“I still made the deal , Logan,” Roman said, imploring the man to understand. Logan was smart. He should get this. “I knew someone would suffer for it. I knew someone I would come to care for would suffer for it.”

Logan squinted at him, one moment confused and another looking older beyond his years. He seemed both weary and wary as he examined Roman, and the prince shifted in place at the attention.

“What?” he finally asked.

“How do you shoulder the weight of a country while so prone to guilt on things out of your control?”

“I’m sorry ?” Roman asked, aghast.

Logan shook his head, resting it on his hands where he’d propped them up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I just mean, you must have had to make tough decisions before. Nothing is cut and dry in politics.”

“I-” Roman’s eyes shifted around again, refusing to make contact as he came up with an answer. “I mean, yeah . Doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for those either.”

“You’re responsible for the well-being of your nation, but all decisions have unforeseeable outcomes. Surely you cannot carry guilt for each and every one.”

Roman frowned, unsure if he should be taking offense. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you saying I don’t care about my people?”

But Logan shook his head. “That is simply not in question here. You can care for your people while maintaining a healthy understanding for things that are in and out of your control.”

“But those decisions were in my control,” Roman said.

“And how are you to predict every repercussion?” Logan asked. “The best strategist in the world couldn’t predict every outcome. While decisions are in your control, repercussions often are not."

"So what? Am I just supposed to throw the hat in? Eh, didn't realize my actions would have consequences so I might as well just ignore it."

"No, Roman." Roman stopped when Logan's voice came out firm, curt. "Of course you try to fix it, but you do not punish yourself either. You let yourself eat. You let yourself sleep. You forgive yourself for a bad or wrong decision, or you recognize that a witch manipulated you into making it . That decision wasn't even your own, Roman! Yes, in the end you made it, but you had a figurative sword to your throat!"

For a moment all Roman could do was stare. He had never seen Logan talk so passionately before. He'd never seen so many emotions on the man. He was kind of in awe.

Then Logan took in a deep breath. He straightened himself, but the tension in his voice did not fade. "The only one here to blame is that witch. She took Virgil. She hurt him enough that when he ran away he wouldn't leave Patton's house for two months out of fear she'd find him and cast layers of wards for years following. She took your brother, and from what you've told me, hurt him beyond imagine. She took that other boy who has been with her this whole time, and I do not want to think of the pain she must have inflicted on him. You are not at fault for any of this. She is."

"I- I-" Roman stuttered, not quite sure what he wanted to say. What he could say.

He still felt terrible. He still felt a crushing guilt inside, ready to tear in with its claws and teeth any time he was ready to think too hard on it. But everything Logan said made sense. There was nothing Roman could say to refute it.

So all he could say was, "...okay."

Logan looked him deep in the eyes, and Roman felt seen like he'd never been seen before. Not by people who had seen him in the streets, everything he was and everything he owned laid before them. Not in front of the millions in their kingdom on his coronation day, feeling inadequate but ready–ready to take on this duty, ready to serve his people.

Logan looked at him now, and Roman knew he could see every thought. He knew Roman still hurt. He knew Roman couldn't quite shake it all off, and Logan knew that Roman believed him too.

It was the witch's fault. Roman believed that. But there was a tiny part of his mind that wouldn't stop insisting it was his fault too.

But Roman also couldn't find flaw in this logic. Logan could see that too.

Logan nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Bed then?"

Roman blinked, startled by the sudden shift in attitude and priority. He looked back to the book, to the inscription.

"It will still be here tomorrow," Logan reminded him. "And you'll be literate enough to read it too."

Roman threw him a scowl. "I'm literate!"

"Not at this time of night," Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had gone back to that emotionless facade, but now that Roman had seen more emotion from Logan than ever before, he could pick up on more now. Logan was joking, a mirth hidden in his eyes.

Roman cracked a smile. "Fine. I concede."

"Good. The guest bedroom is this way," Logan waved to the hallway that branched off from the living room. Roman blinked.

"I can go back to Patton's," he offered.

Logan just rolled his eyes. "It's late, Roman. Take the bed."

"Okay," he said and got up. They walked together, and he stopped at the door Logan gestured to. He stood at it for a moment, watching as Logan continued on down the hall. As the man reached for the handle for the next door down, Roman called, "Um, thank you."

Logan looked up, then nodded. "Goodnight, my prince."

When Logan closed the door behind him, Roman was left alone in the hall, realizing Logan, who had never called him by his name at the park construction site, had used it their entire conversation.

"Huh," he said before turning to his own room.

He was faced again with the realization that these years of isolation had cost him some potentially great friends.

Roman hoped he could amend that.

-/-

Remus looked around when he awoke in his dream. It felt a lot more familiar than the last one. In this one he felt like himself. But not himself himself. A different self.

This self wasn't from too long ago, but it was still definitely a different Remus. He felt a whole lot more awake. Funny, as he was actually asleep right now.

"Wait wait wait," a familiar voice reached him from around the corner. "You said brother?"

Remus knew him. How come he knew him? Dang, not another memory. It was so close. So so close.

"Okay so-"

He felt his feet walk as if of their own accord. He turned the corner, and there they were. The purple one–what was his name?–and his brother. Remus always knew his brother. Roman.

"It is you," he said, but the words weren't his. They were the other Remus'. He said it, and dreaming Remus didn't know what it meant.

He remembered this vaguely, but it was all so fuzzy.

"Wait, do you know each other?"

" Remus ? What- How-"

Remus knew this one. It wasn't too long ago he'd seen this- lived this- what was it? What was happening?

"It's too late," other Remus mumbled, the words so familiar in his mouth. "It was a trap."

“A trap? What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?”

Remus heard the words, he heard the voices, but he couldn't focus on where they were coming from. Who was this? Remus knew this man.

“Get away?”  

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…”  

It wasn't Remus who had spoken, but he perked up at the name. He knew Dee. He remembered Dee.

“It’s too late,” he said instead, ignoring the wonderful name. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

Remus jolted awake. His head hit the floor and he was left staring at the ceiling.

He didn't recognize this ceiling.

Slowly, he sat up. He looked around, taking in shelves, books, a cart pushed into a corner.

What was he doing in a library?

-/-

When Roman blinked awake, the light leaking through the curtains was strong. He sat bolt upright, blinking away his disorientation and pulling the curtains back. Sure enough, the sun was high in the sky, almost midday already. With a strong intake of breath, Roman leapt out of bed and stumbled his way to the guest room door.

He limped out towards the living room, fighting to keep the emerging guilt at bay. He and Logan had just talked about that last night–could he not keep it together for two minutes? Roman shook his head, stopping in the hallway to recuperate before revealing his rumpled form.

There were low voices coming from the living room, a small laugh and the shuffle of papers. When he finally turned the corner, he caught sight of both Patton and Logan, already scouring over books pulled from Logan’s shelves.

Patton was the first to catch sight of him, and he smiled. “Roman! Good morning!”

“More like afternoon,” Roman said, approaching. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“We thought you could use the sleep,” Patton shrugged, picking up another volume and flipping through it. “Besides, I went to bed a whole lot earlier than you two. I figured I’d get a headstart.”

Roman turned to Logan, trying to keep the frown off his face. “How long have you been up then?”

Logan straightened, adjusting his glasses. “I work on a very strict circadian rhythm. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep more in any case.”

At this Roman did frown. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell when someone was keeping things from him. But he could let it go. Whatever time Logan got up–it wasn’t a big deal. Just more time he’d been spending looking for Virgil. A responsibility that should have rested with Roman.

Roman pushed that thought back. That wasn’t right; he had to remember that. He wasn’t responsible for this. Roman wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head.

He wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t.

But he was going to make this right.

“Okay,” he nodded, sitting down at the coffee table again, fingers digging into the carpet. “Well, I’m fully rested now. Let’s do this.”

“Want some breakfast, kiddo?” Patton asked, already standing up. “Logan and I already had coffee, but nothing else really. I think I might make eggs for everyone.”

Suddenly, Roman was torn. He looked at the books, could see the one from last night at the corner of the table, the one with the inscription, then he looked back. He bit his lip. “Can I help with breakfast, Pat?”

Patton laughed, and it wasn’t his normal polite chuckle. It was something amused. He found something Roman did funny.

“I can see how you’re eyeing up those books. No sweat; I’ve got this. You might want to change into something that’s not a day-old though,” Patton said. Roman looked down at himself. He’d been borrowing clothes from Patton for the past few days, but he wasn't at Patton’s anymore.

“Follow me, Roman,” Logan stood, placing the volume he’d been perusing to the side. “We can find something that will work from my things.”

The morning continued in this domestic sort of haze. At Patton’s house it had been cozy–warm and welcoming–yet there was something so different in Logan’s. Before Roman had always been busy, on his feet, trying to do what needed to be done always.

And that was how it had been at the palace too, hadn’t it? And before–in his old village, on the move to find Remus. Roman had never slowed down. He was always on the go, always looking for ways to do better.

Roman had… never had something like this.

Slow. Comfortable.

The house was warm. The living room was well-lived in–the shelves riddled in books, candles, pictures; the coffee table had a coffee ring seared into its wooden surface; there was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.

When Patton–lovely, lovely Patton–brought him coffee, it was in a mug labeled “#1 Architect.” The drink tasted slightly bitter–nothing like the palace’s coffee–but somehow, it was the best he’d ever had. So much so that Roman took a moment to simply revel in it, sit back on the couch and forget about the books, about everything else, and close his eyes to the taste.

He could hear singing in the kitchen. Patton had a lovely voice, and it was lower than he would have thought. There was another that joined it, however. He could barely hear it–wouldn’t have if he hadn’t taken this moment, just listened–but it was Logan’s. Through Patton’s slightly louder notes and the clings of utensils and bowls, Logan sang as well.

And throughout the day, that warmth never left. They flipped through books, but the tension from yesterday and all the days past had left. Patton said it was like a study group, but Roman didn’t really know anything about those. He’d started school when he’d arrived at the palace, and his tutoring was always one-on-one.

What he learned though, was that ‘study group’ was sitting around together, talking through different books, asking questions, joking to keep the air light and motivation up. It was passing around food, telling each other to take a break, leaning over to laugh at a funny picture or read over each others’ shoulders.

It wasn’t like that every day. Some days were somber, confronted with the low likelihood of finding what they needed, of finding anything. Some days Patton and Logan had to go to work, leaving Roman alone to his thoughts and pages. Some days Roman couldn’t move past his guilt, couldn’t think of anything but reading the night away because surely he had to be close. It had to be the next page, the next book.

They had to be close to the truth.

But who knew if the truth would help Virgil at all?

This was barely a lead, barely anything. It was a stray note Virgil had left on his desk that had loads of other incomprehensible items and a vague title, alluding something to his brother. They could find the book and not even know it was it. They could have past it already, dismissing it as nothing relevant. Or Virgil could have found a book he thought Dee might like, and it truly wasn’t anything at all to their search.

They could be going in circles. And they’d been searching for weeks.

Roman had scoured the pages of the book Virgil had given Logan to no avail. At night when they had all decided to retire until morning, he would bring the book to bed with him and read the story. He would try to see Virgil in it, try to pick out why Virgil had taken a liking to it in particular. Maybe it was sentimentality for him too, just like Logan.

He couldn’t tell. But Roman had to know.

One particular day, Roman picked up a book he had been dreading. It was a simple history text, dating back to the kingdom’s creation two centuries ago. It looked much like the ones the castle kept on hand–like the ones Roman had been forced to absorb in a week in his rapid tutoring. Reading two centuries worth of history in dense text had possibly been the worst part of his preparations to become prince–especially as he had still been learning to read at the time.

The thought made him dizzy. He frowned, looking up from the volume and realized his head was rushing, his vision spotting in places. He held to the couch and blinked. For a moment, he felt really sick–head light and stomach heavy and halfway between the floor and the toilet as his next destination.

Then it was gone.

Roman blinked again. No spots.

He frowned down at the book. “Maybe I have been overworking…” he mumbled.

He shook himself and sighed. No use resting now.

With a sigh Roman pulled it open, looking first to the table of contents. Perhaps he could start somewhere entertaining.

Two and a half hours later and Roman was ready to stab himself in each eye with a rusty fork. Logan and Patton walked in from work, looking weary, and he took the wonderful opportunity to take a break.

“You’re home!” he cheered. “Welcome back! And how was work?”

“Shelby is still trying to schedule a meeting with you through the castle,” Logan said, hanging up his bag.

Roman slowed as they approached him, sagging a bit where he sat. “Oh.”

“You really should check in with the palace soon, Ro,” Patton said casually. They’d had this conversation enough times where it wasn’t a big deal. Still, every time it made Roman feel like he was swallowing rocks.

“I will,” he promised, not for the first time. After we get Virgil back , his mind insisted, but he thought again of his brother, his people.

You’re letting down everyone.

“What are you reading?” Logan asked, walking closer to take a peek. Roman looked back at the book, feeling a tiny bit relieved to change the subject.

“This boring history book,” Roman lamented, sagging back into the sofa. “Do we even know Virgil borrowed this one? I can’t imagine anyone actually choosing to read it.”

Logan looked over the volume then nodded his head. “He definitely read that one. Actually, that was a more recent read. He was fascinated by its candor on the history of magic within the kingdom.”

“Magic?” Roman asked, brow furrowing. He hadn’t come across anything about magic.

“Yes. Where are you? Oh, you seem to have a couple more decades until it gets into that. You may want to skip ahead–this war is rather trifling,” Logan said, pointing to the page. Roman agreed. The war was really kind of stupid.

Roman leaned forward again, grabbing the book. He flipped forward, past the war–a three month endeavor–into reconstruction of the eastern lands and amendment of trade policies. He almost sighed again. Out of the fire and into another fire.

“Here.” Logan took the book and flipped forward himself, skipping a rather large chunk in the middle. Roman looked on, baffled and altogether so so grateful for this man. When Logan got where he wanted, he handed it back.

“This is where you will want to start. Magic wasn’t thought of as out of the ordinary until about fifty years ago. It became ostracized as a result of a dispute with Ilmita, whose population has a significantly higher proportion of sorcerers. Sorcerer eventually became synonymous with Ilmitian. Our people became more and more prejudiced against Ilmitians during the dispute, and being a sorcerer became rather taboo in our kingdom.”

“Taboo?” Roman asked, now intrigued. This was a part of their history he’d never learned about. He remembered the dispute with Ilmita, but none of that lesson had covered it relating to magic. “Magic is outlawed. I wouldn’t say that’s just taboo.”

Logan sat down next to him, flipping again through the pages of the book. “At first it was just taboo. Sorcerers were treated horribly in the kingdom. They couldn’t get jobs or housing. They were physically driven out of certain towns. Many chose to hide who they were even when it was legal.” When he came to rest on one page, he jabbed a finger at it as if to illustrate a point. Roman couldn’t make out what was so important about the page though. It was just another wall of text.

“Tensions heightened throughout the years, but it was here,” Logan pointed at the book again, a year, “Nineteen years ago when they banned all magic from the kingdom. After what happened to the prince, the unease in the kingdom finally came to a breaking point. The king and queen instated the new law: magic was illegal by penalty of death. Many fled to Ilmita. Many hid their powers. Many were sent to prison and executed.”

Roman sat still, eyes wide on the book before them. How had he never known any of this before? How could they have kept this from him? That was so awful. Those were their citizens–uprooted from their homes, forced to live as someone they weren’t, without a vital part of themselves. So many of his citizens, put to death for this.

“What happened to the prince?” Roman finally asked.

Everyone knew about the prince. He had only been a baby when he’d died. It was a tragedy that no one spoke of in the palace.

But Roman didn’t know anything about it. That baby was technically his adopted brother, and Roman knew nothing of him.

Logan flipped another page, and on this one they were faced with a portrait. It was the same one from the office Remus had taken him to that one time. Roman had barely gotten a good look at it.

“It is said that a sorcerer broke into the castle one night, went straight to the prince’s room,” Logan said. Something lodged in Roman’s throat suddenly. As curious as he was, he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. But then Logan said something Roman hadn’t been expecting at all. “The sorcerer fled with the prince, stole him. All the queen knew about the kidnapper is that they had magic.”

“Wait,” Roman stopped, looking away from the portrait to Logan. “What? You’re saying the baby was still alive?”

Logan furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course. The young prince was kidnapped.”

“I thought he’d died,” Roman blurted out. “You’re telling me he could be alive out there somewhere?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “Did they not tell you this? I assumed as the new prince…”

“No,” Roman said, shaking his head. He looked down at the picture. “They didn’t tell me any of this.”

As Logan’s finger moved away from the book, Roman caught sight of a caption below the portrait. He pulled the book closer to him, moving to read it.

“King Xavier, Queen Yolanda, and Prince Janus,” he read off. Roman knew those names. He said them practically daily–he had never called the king or queen “mother and father” or “mom and dad” or anything close to casual. They were the king and queen, and perhaps they were his parents, perhaps they had taken him in, treated him well, smiled warmly on him and spent holidays with him, but Roman had never taken to calling them anything else.

What stood out was the prince’s name, so rarely seen, even rarer spoken within the palace walls. The little baby, stolen in the night. His birthmark would make him obvious to anyone who saw him, even grown up.

Roman shook the thought from his head. His long lost… “brother” could wait.

“He was interested in the history of magic in this book,” Roman said. “Could this have to do with what Virgil was looking for?”

“I don’t know, Roman,” Logan said, sighing, His shoulders slumped minutely, but Roman could spot a change in his demeanor far better throughout the weeks they’d been working on this. “It could be. The facts of the matter are we don’t have enough information to go off of.”

Roman looked back to the portrait, dejected. He supposed Logan was right.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were close to something here though. Like they were barely missing it.

Prince Janus’ eyes were green, barely peeking up above the blanket he was swaddled in. He must have been old enough for his eye color to come in. How old was he when he’d been taken? What had the sorcerer done to him? What did they want with him?

Barely missing something…

Just then, however, Roman was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a knock. Both he and Logan looked up. Patton emerged from the kitchen to stare as well, them all frozen in place.

Roman was careful to keep his voice low as he asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”

In his periphery he saw Logan shake his head. He heard him swallow thickly before he responded, voice unsettled.

“No.”

-/-

When Remus awoke in yet another dream, he wasn’t in a foriegn body, nor was he in a different self. This time Remus felt unbound, invisible to the mortal eye, broken from his reality.

Remus was used to feeling apart from reality. He never quite got what was going on around him, and there was always something he was trying to remember, always something just out of reach. He never felt like he belonged. Not in the streets he’d grown up in. Not in the caves where they’d said he’d had a home. Not in this new place where the window was his only friend and his brother covered his beautiful green colors when they said hello.

In this dream Remus was no one else, but he also wasn’t himself. He was above it all. An all-seeing eye. He stretched out an arm and it passed through the table to his right. He swung his leg and it didn’t stir the air.

He couldn’t do anything – even now that he had control of his body in one of these dreams. It seemed a bit unfair.

But he’d always just been an observer here.

“You can put it over there,” a voice resounded throughout the room. At first, there was no one there. Remus scanned the small space once, twice, but on his third go something suddenly shifted. It was like another reality had flipped into this one – like the pages of a book. A figure now stood in the middle of the room, bent over one of the tables and straightening a stack of papers.

Remus knew him. He squinted, hard, trying to piece him into the right memory. The man turned to place the stack on one of the many shelves that surrounded the room, all piled high in papers and vouchers and binders. Along the opposite wall were tables with pens and paper and random assortments of books. There was an empty cart in the corner. It was cramped, but organized – like some sort of office space.

“Here?” another voice asked, hidden away towards the back of the room. The original man looked back, a small smile gracing his features as he did so.

The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, Ro.” He went back to his organization, and after a moment, the man who was hidden emerged. Remus perked up when he saw him, realizing he’d known that voice – realizing where he knew this other man too. He was there last time with him and Roman, in that library.

He still couldn’t put a name to him, but Remus knew him.

Roman walked to stand at the other side of the table, taking the other man in with a lopsided smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down, placing his head in his hands and continued looking, stars in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice dripping with fondness.

The other man looked, a blush immediately coloring his face when he saw Roman. His eyes jolted back down to the papers, and he coughed behind a hand. “Hey,” he replied, and Remus could hear it in his voice that he was trying to sound casual.

Roman blinked, probably picking up on the man’s tone too. He looked down, a deep red covering his face as well, and pulled over a pen to fidget with. Slowly, suddenly replicating the other’s voice, he tried for casual too. “How are you?”

The man bit his lip and quicked a glance back to Roman. As his eyes fell again on the papers, he pushed them aside and picked up a pile of vouchers, thumbing through and every now and again, flipping one in the stack. “Alright,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “You?”

“Doing good, doing good,” Roman said conversationally, nodding.

The man lifted his head, for a second looking as though he wanted to say something. His eyes raked over Roman, brow furrowing minutely, but in the next second it was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. “That’s good.”

Roman looked up, and, feeling his gaze, the other man did too. For a moment they just looked at one another, eyes saying more than Remus could follow. They both smiled, barely the tilt of lips, but warm, something more.

Remus felt like he was barging in on something that wasn’t for him.

And with that thought, the scene turned to black. As it faded away, Remus felt the familiar jolt that signaled he had woken up somewhere new.

With a sigh he sat up to face the strange office room. He clenched his fist and thought of his room.

When he felt the plush feel of a comforter beneath him, Remus fell back against the bed, not even giving the teleportation a second thought before he drifted back to sleep.

-/-

Roman’s thoughts were on the sword in the guest bedroom. Could he get there in time? Should he leave these two in the main room by themselves?

“I can’t tell who it is,” Patton whispered, barely moving aside the curtain at the window. Roman stood suddenly.

“Pat, get back,” he hissed. Patton dropped the curtain and backed away.

“Everyone, calm down,” Logan said, voice level, but still low. “It’s probably nothing. I will answer the door, but Roman,” Logan turned to him, “You have to stay out of sight. No one knows you’re here.”

“It could be dangerous,” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s arm when he moved away. “Who the heck would be visiting at this time of night?”

“It’s not that late,” Logan said. “It’s only ten. I’m sure whoever it is has a good reason for showing up a bit later.” He pulled his arm from Roman’s grip and moved again around the couch. Roman moved to try to stop him, but Logan was light on his feet, at the door in no time.

“Lo-” Roman hissed, trying in vain to stop him, but Logan was already reaching for the knob. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, finally doing as Logan asked and ducking behind the couch.

Please be a civilian. Please be a civilian. Please-

A noise escaped Patton. Roman’s feet felt filled with springs, ready to jump at a hair’s breadth. He could see Patton around the corner of the couch, but he didn’t look alarmed.

Just… confused.

“Roman, you can come out,” Logan said. Now Roman was confused too.

Slowly, he stood up, his eyes immediately on the door. Logan stepped back.

And there was no one there.

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 91 - The Recuperation of Broken Families

Gacen continued waiting for Lana and talks to Risha about family

Gacen sighed, explaining the wait to Sumalee had been a pain, she clearly was not a fan of uncertainty and had begun drilling Gacen for questions to confirm whether they were getting the help or not.

Still she’d understood eventually maybe Sumalee would’ve been better suited for this task she brought up a bunch of things Gacen hadn’t even thought to mention, he guessed that could come later though they needed the face before the logistics right?

Gacen let out a deep breath “well that was just as condescending as I expected” Risha let out a slight chuckle

Gacen walked back towards the bar he still had his drink to finish “Hey I know she’s a little intense she’s just devising a strategy and wants all the information possible I promise she appreciates it” Gacen shrugged he knew Risha was right but still

He walked up to the bar to see his drink empty and frowned “hey bartender where the heck’s my drink” the bartender turned around 

He apologised “sorry sir the Commander came in looking pretty upset I wasn’t gonna stop her she’s like my boss’ boss’ boss” Gacen grimaced well that was unfortunate he hoped the Commander wasn’t angry with his proposal, Lana had probably mentioned it to her.

He waved it off with the bartender he didn’t mind “get me another one to go and we’re square dude” he nodded and Gacen turned around “so get this Rish while we were chatting my drink got nicked by the Commander” there was an audible gasp from Risha it wasn’t that impressive though

Risha responded quickly “I thought you said she wasn’t there” the bartender passed him his drink, he decided to avoid any further drink theft he’d have it on the top balcony he saw it looked quiet.

He began to stroll out as he answered Risha “so did I, guess she just got back” he made his way over to the lifts he saw one just closing as he arrived and cursed, now he’d be here for ages the person inside could’ve held it.

He tapped his foot waiting for the other elevator as Risha responded “well did you see her?” Gacen frowned he didn’t care that much 

Gacen shook his head as he stepped into the elevator “nah Risha I didn’t don’t worry I’m not crying over a stolen drink the bartender fixed me a new one” he took a sip from the straw he’d been provided

Risha sighed “I’m not thinking about your drink you could’ve asked her about the proposal you clearly have some stuff in common if you both like that awful drink” Gacen had to admit someone liking the drink was rare but it was kinda a weak connection

Gacen shrugged “maybe, maybe I’ll see her later when I meet back up with Lana” the elevator arrived and he strolled out onto the balcony, it was quite nice, quiet and peaceful although up high it seemed like it’d been rebuilt once or twice judging by the clear repair marks. He sipped his drink quickly as he made his way around; he wasn’t letting it be stolen this time.

Gacen strolled out towards the edge, there was a large statue of someone he swore he’d seen before lots of armour, a mask, a hood and very built but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked out over the balcony at the world of Odessen, dense jungles all around it was a beautiful planet.

He smiled “you know this place is like a less humid and less hidden Gabredor” it had been a secret base once apparently so Gabredor was probably much more secure with the extra precautions

Risha laughed “yes well we can’t all have poisonous nebulas to hide our activities” Gacen nodded it had certainly given him the run around

Gacen leaned against the balcony “so what are we gonna do after all this stuff with Dubrillion Rish, I got time so thought I’d ask” Risha took a long moment before responding clearly it was a loaded question

She seemed excited in her response “well first thing to do is remove the absolute power the Monarchy has and establish some form of democracy” Gacen nodded he’d never really expected Risha to rule all powerfully

But he still would tease her about it “whaaat you don’t wanna an all powerful queen Rish” he could almost feel the eye roll from lightyears away

Risha laughed “first off I’m already a powerful queen and you know it, and I’ve already been head of a criminal organisation after we save Dubrillion I just wanna take it easy with you start maybe thinking about my family” Gacen swallowed he straw and choked on it for a few seconds

Family? Like Kids!? He hadn’t even thought of that “I uh what like our family” he could hear Risha laughing at his surprised reaction

She did respond eventually “well yeah I love you and well you’re plenty but don’t you want to start a family eventually” Gacen felt a little conflicted on the one hand he’d love to but he’d never done well with family

He stammered “I uh I guess it’s just my track record with family isn’t good Rish you know that story” he did want to just maybe not so soon when he was such a mess

Risha sighed “yeah I know Gacen but you never know hun things could change, I think you’d be a great dad” Gacen let out a weak smile

He sighed “I feel like the only way to go is up considering my father” Gacen shivered thinking about all the pain he’d caused by leaving, then again that’s just what Gacen had done too.

He took a big swig of his flask as Risha responded “not just yours mine ordered me to kill you so we’re even in the bad dads club, but you’re not like that Gacen trust me” Gacen shivered sure he wasn’t

Gacen finished his swig “I just well I don’t know if I’m ready Rish what with my family and my own problems” Risha had always known about his drinking but tried to help him tone it down, not as much as Ash had but still

Risha responded “well don’t worry then I don’t think I am yet either I’m talking in like 5-10 years Gacen” Gacen let out at sigh of relief

He smiled “oh ok well maybe I’ll be ready then” Risha seemed fine with that stepping away from the comm leaving Gacen with his thoughts

Good timing too it sounded like someone else had just arrived in the lift, he didn’t want to look like a crazy person talking about babies. He took a long deep breath, he’d not really thought about family as he said he didn’t have the best track record with family and keeping it, his dad left and he’d never got a reason leaving Gacen to look after everyone. Gacen frowned; he didn’t like thinking about all that man hadn’t been there for and what it’d caused, his mom died a year or two later and he was powerless to stop it.

Gacen wiped his eyes not expecting to get like this he just didn’t want to make those same mistakes with any new family, he’d lost the only family he had left for the same reasons. Could it happen again? And to his offspring that was even harder he wished he hadn’t run his sister had deserved better, he’d just been like his dad running and what if he did again  he didn’t want to be like that

Gacen took a deep breath, he did want to have kids one day but he had to make sure to not make the same irreversible mistakes as he did with Kyradia, Gacen held his neck he realised he was being watched out the corner of his eye. He frowned, had they been watching the whole of his little episode? He sighed without context he doubted it mattered but they were still standing there not moving as if waiting for him.

He frowned, he guessed maybe they were shy and were here to take him to Lana, he felt like he had to turn around or this would just get more awkward. He turned around to face them and gasped his stomach becoming tight and his breath shaky as he saw the figure, the red hair, tattoos and the shocked expression.

His sister Kyradia stood in front of him all grown up, mouth agape and clear tears in her eyes “G-Gacen?” Gacen just stood there in shock. What was she doing here? Had she been-? Gacen realised it all at once, the drink, the interest Risha had in the Commander, why he was sent here he felt like a moron. Kyradia’s breath was shaky as she suddenly pulled him into a tight hug and mumbled “I thought you were dead” Gacen was completely overwhelmed not quite sure if this was real. 

He was being hugged by his little sister and she was crying he put his arms around her and comforted her “I’m sorry Dee I thought you wouldn’t want to see me” Kyradia looked up at him tears welling up and shook her head Gacen let out a half smile maybe he was wrong all along maybe there was a chance…

https://open.spotify.com/track/2n0U2OG5d6TuW5mKx7YrC0?si=e_12UUeaSFui0npz0wMC6w

91/92 chapters it took to write this scene it's not over yet but it's begun and I hope you all love it :D