#self expression such as the expression of ones needs falls under here in my interpretation

[dargonpoop]

loving all this strike action while pluto is stuck in retrograde at the anaretic degree of capricorn sometimes it really is too uncanny

[literatureloverx]

i cant stop reading all your stuff on fedya UGH its so good im turning ill

anywhooo i know you said that he would like someone whos always more obedient to him and super gentle and very demure, but would fyodor make any exceptions? falling in love seems like one of the only things that he cant really plan out 100% so what do you think hed do if the person he liked ended up being the complete opposite? or maybe what are the dealbreakers for him?

I’m so glad to hear that (I’m giggling and kicking my feet) ♥️ you’re so sweet!!!

I have mixed your request into a full character analysis on Fyodor and potential darling explanation.

My reason for doing this is that Fyodor is such a deep and multifaceted character that I can’t just go from A to B. I need to explain things in detail so that it all makes sense in the end.

Dealbreaker headcanons are under the text, I hope you’re enjoying it, even though it isn’t exactly what you wanted, but it is incorporated into the post! ♥️

Fyodor’s character & darling analysis

Although I’m fully aware that being 100% objective is practically impossible, I’m obsessed with being as objective as possible. In my understanding of Fyodor’s character (without bias towards any particular personality type, therefore objective in my opinion), the way I wrote his darling made the most logical sense to me.

However, a darling must serve a purpose in order to be relevant. As we all know, Asagiri is not big on romance, which leaves much room for speculation about the type of darling each character would end up with. In my view, the only way for Fyodor to fall in love is through deep genuineness and love towards his true self. Perhaps even a love so immense that it overwhelms and frustrates him.

In my interpretation, it’s not really possible for him to fall in love with the exact opposite type of the ideal darling I depicted. Let me explain why I think that is:

The opposite type of ideal darling would likely be more extroverted, expressive, confident, brazen, and bold. The problem here is that Fyodor’s environment is filled with serenity and peacefulness. He plays the cello and spends time reading. He’d love a darling whose nature he can appreciate. If his darling has similar interests, he’d have the time he needs for himself and for executing his plans.

He is not someone who appreciates a bit of chaos, unlike Dazai, for example. Instead, he is uncomfortable with it. Obviously, his ultimate goal is to ensure harmony and peace for all humanity. His darling should match his mood and personality, making him feel comfortable and loved. There are certainly characters who’d love a TRUE opposite personality darling, but I don’t believe Fyodor to be one of them. He is too old and too dominant a character to like that.

To understand why he wouldn’t fall for just any type of darling, we need to look at the biological anthropology of romantic love: This is a brain system, like the fear or anger system, which can be triggered instantly. The aspects that need to be fulfilled are:

1. The person (in this case, Fyodor) must be ready for it. Dr. Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist, calls it a “Love Map.” This “Love Map” is an unconscious and conscious list (which I would say, in Fyodor’s case, is more unconscious) of what one looks for in a romantic partner.

2. When the person is ready to fall in love and meets the darling, and the darling fits within the “Love Map,” even a small positive interaction can trigger the brain circuitry, leading to romantic love.

It is more of a biological process than a truly loving and accepting one, as those criteria come into play later, in what is called “Attachment,” the other brain system.

Considering these facts, I carefully created a darling that I think, based on Fyodor’s personality and Asagiri’s explanations, would fit into his potential “Love Map.”

Let’s look at what Asagiri said about Fyodor: When asked what Fyodor would like about his darling, Asagiri said “someone with a good complexion.”

This underlines the outer beauty of his potential lover, as I depicted in my “ideal type” headcanons.

In the BSD guidebooks, BSD characters’ ideal types were listed. For Fyodor, it says “Loves all humanity equally.”

This suggests he has no interest in love at all. He takes a position above human beings, as he is somehow an immortal, dehumanized being.

He has lived for so long and never truly connected because he’s never living in the moment to form those connections. He thinks far ahead and concludes that even if he had a meaningful connection, it wouldn’t last. So there is no point in seeking it out.

He is far superior to anyone anyway. It’s easier for him to be alone. But does he truly like it this way? We don’t know. I imagine it to be draining and very dehumanizing. It must be difficult, even for him.

He wants to save humanity and cleanse them of all their sins. He loves humanity from afar without being an active part of it. Why?

In my interpretation, because it is all he can do. He is not like them. He is so different. He is such a deep character that I’d guess he is afraid of potential feelings, as his love would be as deep as his character. This would hurt once he loses the object of his affection.

Then there is the interview of Asagiri about white day (in western culture Valentines Day). It was an interview where it was discussed what certain characters would buy their darlings on this special day. Asagiri’s answer for Fyodor was: “Probably a whole country.”

This depicts perfectly what a generous but almost uncharacteristically illogical of a romantic partner Fyodor could be. Gifting his darling an entire country? This is insane, but shows how deep his love would be, if he ever loved someone. This underlines my points of him being afraid of emotional vulnerability.

In conclusion, his main drive to do all the things he does is to save and do good. That makes him more of an anti-hero rather than a villain.

He is morally grey. He does horrible things, but for the greater good—not for himself or a mere ideal, but for all humanity.

He is a genius, and his mind was gifted to him by God. How could he not use it for the creations of God?

Fyodor also has an artistic side, as he canonically plays the cello. Art is rarely expressed extrovertedly, even if it depicts violent or passionate deliveries and interpretations. You won’t see art in a disco, bar, or amusement park.

You will see art in museums, theaters, operas, and soulful performances. Someone who doesn’t enjoy those things won’t understand Fyodor’s mentality and won’t be able to challenge him mentally, which I believe to be a huge dealbreaker.

We only see Fyodor in quiet and peaceful places. He is mostly alone. Plus, we know he is very old. He’s been alone for ages. A bubbly darling would pierce through this comfort.

I can imagine him liking it initially because it is amusing, but I can clearly see him choosing a bubbly introverted woman over a bubbly bold woman anytime.

He doesn’t like boldness in women, I imagine, because he himself is very kind, even though his intentions mostly aren’t towards certain individuals.

His way of speaking is very polite, and he has exceptional manners. His darling would need to match that energy because Fyodor sometimes views people as “beneath him,” as petty human beings who can’t control themselves and are manipulated into things they don’t want.

I quote: “Thinking is a crime. Breathing is a crime. Now he has been freed from all of that.”

Another quote: “People honestly, simply, wrongly assume ‘I thought so myself.’ The trust that there is value in the wiretap and the clock he discovered himself, he did not think his thoughts were being manipulated.”

Fyodor doesn’t appear to dislike confident people in general, as he didn’t show any personal negative feelings toward a capable and self-assured individual like Ace. However, he does tend to belittle them in a more detached or ‘objective’ way.

Regarding kindness: Someone who is not polite and kind (in this case, able to control themselves in tough situations because remaining kind and polite in such situations is very difficult) is someone who can’t control themselves at all. This is how I imagine his way of thinking.

In conclusion, his darling needs to be someone who matches his otherworldly nature by matching his energy in general, challenging him mentally, but also grounding him in his own humanity by being loving, understanding, and affectionate.

Dealbreaker headcanons

Fyodor craves stimulating conversations. A partner who can’t match his intellectual prowess would leave him feeling unfulfilled and bored.

He has a deep appreciation for beauty and art. A partner indifferent to the finer things in life would clash with his cultivated tastes.

Fyodor values control and composure. A partner prone to emotional outbursts would disrupt his serene world.

Silence is sacred to him. A partner who can’t appreciate quiet moments would jar his need for peace and reflection.

Fyodor navigates the grey areas of morality. A partner who sees only black and white would struggle to understand his complex nature.

Fyodor yearns for depth. A partner who engages only in trivial talk would fail to captivate his mind.

Grace and elegance appeal to Fyodor. A partner who is physically expressive would be a jarring presence in his refined life.

Fyodor's worldview is tinged with realism. A partner who is naively optimistic would clash with his perspective on life.

He cherishes tranquility. A partner who is loud and boisterous would disrupt his peaceful environment.

Fyodor meticulously plans his every move. A partner who is spontaneous and carefree would be a source of constant frustration.

Strategic thinking is his forte. A partner who acts without thinking would threaten his carefully laid plans.

Fyodor treasures his alone time. A partner who constantly demands his attention and / or his time would suffocate his need for personal space.

If this kind of partner were indeed present in his life, they would eventually grow apart. Fyodor would be aware that this would happen someday because they wouldn't have much in common as partners, leaving only their shared love to hold them together.

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 8 Part 3

Welcome back! Let's finish up volume 8. We got some real juicy content, so let's get started.

Yes, I am using this in every post from now on. Why wouldn't I? It's perfect.

I mean, you saw his tall-man form. Was that the face of a happily married man? Yes.

So much to talk about here. First, who is the person at the top? Dandan is the only former party member not shown, but he seemed to be positively inclined to Laios.

Second, does the quaver indicate an active relationship? Honestly, it does not feel out of character for Laios to think he and Shuro have something deep. Shame it never goes well in any universe.

Also, I wonder how Chilchuck would classify his relationships if he included them here.

What's the story there? I'd guess the parents set up an arranged marriage or something, but you both left when you were pretty young. Please don't tell me Asivia actually managed to trick you into something.

There is so much to glean from this title page, but this bit intrigues me. Where is the royal grave? They aren't talking about the graveyard with the dryads, are they? Surely the graveyard in the castle town is for nobility, and the royalty interred somewhere within the castle? Granted, I don't know much about graveyards. Is this supposed to foreshadow post-canon events? Or is this just a joke about Senshi giving him the ol' birds and bees.

Also, Chilchuck's strongest relationship is with Laios, and I find that heartwarming.

:( She isn't lying. She has eaten rats. Back when she was a slave, she would eat anything she could catch.

Well, I think you're a good boy Laios.

See what I mean about them having a respectful relationship? As soon as Chilchuck expresses he isn't comfortable, Laios jumps in to do it instead.

Gluttons and Dragons!

If you were curious why Chilshi is so popular, here you go. The one piece of canon evidence.

Haha, get it? Cause she's gay? Bisexual actually, but that still falls under pride.

We went with Infidelity for the seventh sin, cause we really didn't want to watch Laios lust over the bicorn. Also, looks like someone else needs a lesson on stamens and pistols.

If good and evil are defined dubiously, then how the hell is that defined?

When your friend is being vague, so you out all of their secrets through the medium of interpretive self-insert fanfiction where you roleplay as their estranged wife.

Ha-HA! You fools thought he was a deadbeat dad, but all this stuff went down AFTER they left the nest! Also, oddly enough, the anime changed his confession in the griffon episode to say 'kids', so this joke won't hit as hard.

Plus, they're extremely merchandisable.

Laios may be a troll, but Chilchuck is the one trolling him.

Oh hey, here they are. I guess their first appearance isn't them dead in a nightmare. That's nice.

And that's it for volume 8! Join me next time as we look at Volume 9, which oddly is the only volume with six chapters, but they are some of my favorites, so oh boy!

[thetreehousechronicles]

Hogarth Pennywhistle Gilligan, Jr./Numbuh Two

Here are some of my quick headcanons about Hoagie, based on his canon character, with a little extra focus on how his traits—like his humor, intelligence, and emotional awareness—could shape his personality and struggles. He’s a fun-loving genius, but he also has moments of self-doubt, overthinking, and feeling overlooked. These are just my interpretations, so feel free to take them with a grain of salt—after all, headcanons are all about fun ideas and personal takes!

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD): Hoagie takes criticism harder than he admits. A simple joke at his expense can stick with him for days, and he’ll overanalyze it, wondering if people secretly dislike him. He’s great at laughing things off in the moment but struggles with self-doubt in private.

Mild Anxiety & Overthinking: While Hoagie seems relaxed, his brain never stops running. He replays conversations, wondering if he said the wrong thing. He sometimes struggles with decision-making because he doesn’t want to let anyone down.

Compulsive Jokester: Humor is his safety net. If things get too serious or tense, he has to make a joke, even if it’s not the right time. It’s how he copes with stress and tries to keep everyone happy.

Hands-On Learner: Hoagie is brilliant with mechanics, but traditional schoolwork isn’t his strong suit. He gets bored with long lectures and struggles with abstract math unless he can apply it to an invention.

Soft Masculinity: He’s affectionate, expressive, and doesn’t mind showing emotions. While he’s confident, he occasionally worries about being seen as "too soft" compared to other guys, especially when people expect him to act tough.

People-Pleaser Tendencies: Hoagie hates the idea of disappointing anyone, which sometimes leads him to put others’ needs above his own. If he feels like someone is upset with him, he’ll go out of his way to make it right.

Emotional Anchor of the Group: He picks up on his friends’ moods more than they realize. If someone is upset, he’ll find little ways to check in, whether through jokes, distractions, or just being present.

Sleeps with Background Noise: He can’t sleep in total silence. He either has a fan running, listens to a late-night radio show, or even falls asleep to the sound of a small, humming gadget he’s working on.

Hyperfocus Mode: If he’s working on an invention, he loses track of time completely. He’ll forget to eat, ignore people talking to him, and won’t stop until someone physically pulls him away.

Loves to Fix Things (Literally & Emotionally): If something’s broken—whether it’s a gadget or a friendship—Hoagie has to fix it. He hates leaving things unresolved.

Genuinely Loves Being a Big Brother: He adores Tommy, even when he gets on his nerves. Hoagie is patient with him and super protective. If anyone messed with Tommy, they’d regret it.

Secretly Romantic: He remembers the little things—inside jokes, random details from conversations, and favorite snacks. He’ll never admit it, but he actually loves sappy moments.

Sings While He Works: Whether he’s fixing something or cooking, Hoagie always hums or sings under his breath. His voice isn’t bad, but he doesn’t think of himself as a singer—he just enjoys making noise.

Struggles with Feeling Overlooked: Since he’s the jokester, people don’t always take him seriously. He knows he’s smart, but he sometimes feels like his intelligence isn’t valued as much.

Tactile Comfort-Seeker: Hoagie finds comfort in physical sensations, whether it’s hugging his friends, wearing soft clothes, or fiddling with a small gadget in his hands. If he’s stressed, he might absentmindedly roll a screwdriver between his fingers or tap his foot to a rhythm.

Hidden Fear of Losing His Friends: Despite his goofy, lighthearted exterior, Hoagie secretly fears losing his friends. He’s always afraid that one day, they’ll grow up, move on, or that something will tear their team apart. He’s not the type to show it, but deep down, he’s terrified of being left behind or forgotten. This fear sometimes drives him to make over-the-top efforts to keep everyone happy and keep the team together, even if it means sacrificing his own needs.

[mirimangarecs]

“for better or for worse” - eunren & noh hueda

a noblewoman from a humble country house realizes that her entire life is a pre-written book, and that an imminent arranged marriage between a ducal heir and her little sister will lead to her tragic death. she sabotages the engagement in order to save her sister’s life, but ends up married to him instead. they’re both snarky, stubborn, and refuse to fall in love…… unless…………

the couple: these two are my favourite historical romance couple, hands down. they are such incredible shitheads to each other but the bickering always feels like a real, equal give-and-take based on strong personalities. they are quick-witted, hilarious, outgoing, and extremely active participants in their own lives. watching their relationship grow and change slowly is my joy. they’re made for each other

the plot: i adore how realistic and grounded the story and setting are. there’s no magic, no empire-shaking conflicts; just a relatively unassuming marriage between aristocrats and navigating the social and interpersonal challenges that come with it. the story as a whole is well-written and has a fantastic commitment to the victorian style without ever being stuffy. i would kill to be able to read the novel

the art: phenomenal. 12/10. i wish the artist had more work available. it’s crisp, bright, unique, easy on the eyes, and completely refreshing. the panels are neatly organized and fly by like watching a movie. the physical action pops off the screen and the judiciously applied detail panels are gorgeous. i want to eat this art.

also, the character designs: the big fluffy bangs, strong eyebrows, small cute lips, fangs, and boisterous chibi expressions make the characters so incredibly charming and expressive. i’m getting a lot of classic shoujo inspiration and i love it

concerns and criticisms: honestly almost none, it’s virtually flawless, but the ones i do have relate entirely to the ending. like, the final ~5 chapters. which is a matter of taste!! only big big spoilers from here:

the sin of overexplaining:

- we didn’t NEED to have the entire soul-swapping situation explicitly narrated to us, especially after the previous ~3 chapters all but said so. i think it would’ve been more poignant left unsaid with all the clues given to interpret. dillon learned the information in-universe and the audience was tastefully excluded, only for that extremely delicate narrative device to be tossed out the window

it was adeline’s soul all along!:

- this really cheeses me because we just spent so much time with dillon As Dillon. cedric fell in love with her because of who she was, and if who she was was just adeline’s soul in a trenchcoat, then what happens to the moral of the story being positive change, personal agency, and choosing to love someone?

- sure, the “we as souls are so entangled we’ll find each other no matter who we are on the outside” is poetic and certainly has appeal and WAS hinted at, but it just fell so flat for me after dillon spent the entire manhwa agonizing over not being adeline, believing she didn’t deserve cedric because she wasn’t adeline, that she would have to leave him when he meets adeline, and going on such a tumultuous, laborious journey of self-acceptance where she comes to terms with her past life and finally being loved as herself……. only to find out she was adeline all along. she worked so hard to gain her confidence and then it’s just oops! all adeline. idk man

- the way that it leads you to think it’s a traditional “normal modern isekai into a novel” trope and then pulls the rug out from under you is pretty clever

IT’S STILL A 13/10 MUST READ TOP 5 MANHWA 🎉🎉🪅🌟✨ okay bye

[polar-jake778]

The ending of my short story.

The title is self explanatory, but I will exasperate its expressive nature below.

Snowing flits of fear, flowing rivers of the overseer, people cowering behind the warmth of a beer and memories made only here. You saw the charity in the walk, hares running in the ankle high snow, blackbirds watching from afar, and elderly piercing you with judgement from the comfort of their home. And yet, you continued to walk the heavy snow filled landscape. Alone, Unwavering, grateful and strong. You didn't have to, but you did. Some would say the comfort of the flakes falling upon our cheeks is similar to a mother grasping our innocent childish face, reflecting on how much of a thief time really is. You did not need to look her in the eyes as you began to lose sense of yourself, but you did. You fought from sun up till sun down, from the loss of your guide to the rekindling of your trust in nature. And as death itself, I must cherish your fortitude for you did well. You did all that you could, and no matter how much people will say you failed, you had succumbed to nothing but the same as them. Only difference is the smile upon your face and the ember within your heart being enough to light the world a new sentiment of love, care and forward bravery. Nobody will ever know who you were. But they will get to know you as you live and breathe in each and every tree. For you will be at your rightful mothers side, stronger, more confident and more free than any mortal ever could have been. You knew you lived a lonely life. But you made the most of it. You found comfort in your discomfort. And made the most of what nature brought unto you. For the life you lived, no matter how harsh, lonely or thieving of breath and mind it may be, you made it. You found home. For that, be proud, be glad, and do not settle for your new life has only just begun. They say history is written by the victor, for now, it is written by the survivor of all torment, loss and dissatisfaction. You are the librarian of the barred, you are the guidance for the lost, the crutch to the weak and the warmth to the cold. You, dear Pendler, are our shining colour. Our lone Wanderer.

-Those who Wander, Polar_Jake78

I have been writing a short story since the beginning of this year. I debated on whether I should release my Sci-fi fantansy novels but those are currently under repair. And will be under such maintenance for years to come. A series of books built upon 480k words, which was made within the declination of my controlled self; that of course would hold too many personal innuendos. So, repairs must be done. Think of it like the construction of a chapel. Instead of saying nothing about what is being done in the background, I thought it would be nice to express that I am indeed making a book. One of which is heavily remarked by those of whom have read the rough copy as a "philosophical walk through guilt, anxiety, oddity and abnormality". This summary may sound overwhelming and stereotypical. Perhaps inferred that this work is but an articulation of a subconscious plague. But rest assured you, this story is but a walk through nature, life, memory and a message that persists upon forward bravery through thick and thin. This of course will be no easy read. The first intention behind creating this was to create an exercise for those of limited visual imagination. Therefore, there is a lot to visualize and interpret. And last but not least, this story is where I depict my understanding of oblivion. A subject that I have mentioned before on this blog. If you happen to be fascinated by my interpretation, this story in its entirety will be perfect for you. Nonetheless, this is the ending of my short story(don't question why I am releasing the end and not the start. Enjoy)

Sneaky polar bear picture

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Listen to me when I say I feel so incredibly blessed to have found this post because it's so hard to find people to scream about astrology with who are genuinely good at it, and OP IS GENUINELY GOOD AT IT, THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE SO FAR!!!

I just wanted to add a couple of little things I like to consider going through the placements, and you can take them or leave them - these are just my interpretations expanding upon what's already there. I'm gonna jump around a little out of order just as I notice things, so pls bear with me.

I do wish we could see the full list of aspects because we could go on for days and I'm way too impatient to decipher them all just with the chart, but it's okay, there's still a lot of great information here.

So the 10H Aries Sun is so fitting to me. Along with everything said before, the 10H being Capricorn's house brings that serious cardinal energy, emphasizing the necessity to be in leadership, but more specifically to be in control. Dude loses his mind when control slips away from him, just like we see when he's in the presence of Neil, during the sauna scene, and when Max lies to him or goes against his instructions. 10H also corresponds with being work/career driven, so no matter what he does, he's going to stand out and be the best at it - Aries only enhances that fact with his competitiveness and earning attention/standing out through efforts to be the best or stay on top. We also see this in school as soon as he arrives (just like OP said) when he has to surpass Steve in everything they do while making a spectacle of it.

I also see that he has a 10H/4H interception. It's juuuust barely noticeable, but it's there. Now, part of my understanding of the houses is that they are categorically broken up to allow signs to govern those areas of life in the way of the hard-line choices we make that shape our lives in those specific categories. So, when we have an interception where one house swallows up a sign and spans at least partially over two more signs, that can make clear decisions or expression of energy in a certain category difficult because it's being pushed and influenced by more than one sign. That being said, seeing that 10H/4H interception makes so much sense to me. He's got that need for control and recognition in his 10H Aries Sun, but he has a hard time knowing where it's appropriate to channel and direct that energy, resulting in friction in relationships, egomania, and a hot temper because the more things you try to control and dominate in your life, inevitably the more things will end up slipping out of your grasp, which means catastrophic stress and emotional dysregulation.

Mars at 0 degrees? Oh, boy. A planet at 0 degrees makes the expression of that energy more vibrant and observable, but it also means that the energy isn't well contained or directed. He's explosive, he's sexually expressive, and he'll fucking fight you. On top of that, natal Mars in retrograde can also tell us where someone is repressing some expression of the sign it falls under, turning that energy inward, often in a self destructive way, and it's often a result of some sort of abuse endured in early life. Retrograde Mars at 0 degrees in the 5H means he needs a hug imo. And I know his Mars is technically in Scorpio, but something to keep in mind - that 0 degrees, 24 minutes placement is so close to a cusp that we'll probably see this placement bleeding into some of the Libra expression in his chart. I'm not really a cusp advocate, but in these 0 degree instances, especially with the interception, I'm gonna go ahead and interpret it like that. Anyway - 5H is Leo's house (he's dramatic, theatrical, loves being the center of attention), it being under Scorpio (depth, intensity, introspection, magnetism), the retrograde (he drinks often, smokes constantly, he parties, he fights - all signs of repressed emotions or skewed self expression in the realm of being able to connect deeply with himself or process his trauma) all sum up the expression of this mess perfectly. The Libra influence that pushes in because of that interception/cusp placement tells us that interpersonal, one-on-one relationships and connection are going to be a challenge for him.

Also - just something I've noticed, and other astrologers seem to agree with, is that inner planet 5H or Leo placements tend to give someone an attachment to or obsession with their hair. They always want to draw attention to their hairstyle. This is obviously a thing for him. He is peacocking, and I'm not complaining.

I feel like I'm being super long winded, and I'm so sorry, so I'm just going to rapid fire the last few things, and I hope it makes sense.

He has a couple of heavy placements at critical degrees (Mars at 0, Moon at 29) and that basically gives him poor impulse control in those areas and creates a sense of urgency working through anything. Dude does not have time or patience for emotions...or anything else, really.

Moon in Scorpio in the 5H. My mother has a Scorpio Moon. Tbh they terrify me because they are so good at reading people. It doesn't necessarily give them great abilities to manage or decipher their own emotions, but it gives the ability to understand and observe emotions in general and work with them to their advantage, almost like speaking/understanding a hidden language. This is clear in the way that he can manipulate others using their own feelings against them when he wants to, whether that's for good or for bad.

This ties into that Pisces Mercury (high fives OP in merc dominant solidarity) Mercury in Pisces in the 9H (Sag house, luck, expansion, spiritual connection, etc.). Pisces Mercs tend to get a bad rap for being dreamy, head in the clouds, not making much sense, but the truth is, especially with the focus of a fire sign house, they are mostly just mentally active, imaginative heads full of scenarios. They are playing out conversations in their minds (dreamy/zoned out) all of the time and trying to find the best flow (water merc). They can talk anyone in or out of anything, because Pisces is also an expert at emotional connection, just in different areas like dreams, desires, and ideas. So of course he can smooth talk anyone into anything.

That 1H Jupiter? He's lucky. Opportunities just kinda show up for him. He has the ability to expand his horizons and attract what he wants just by simply existing.

Cancer AC? He's Moon-ruled, baby. Everything you see him do, every choice, every action, is a result of his emotional processing, or lack thereof, a result of his want to influence someone else's emotions, or a result of him internalizing emotions. It's all about the feelings.

Taurus Venus? Delicious placement. Sensual. Luxurious, even. Venus ruled by Venus = expert physical connection. In the 11H? The aloofness/big picture thinking of that Aquarius house makes him super stubborn and picky with long-term partners. He'll hit and quit without a second thought until he finds exactly what he's looking for, and that person is in for a true, tender, methodical thrill curated to their every desire by means of analytical and sensual connection.

Last one - Neptune in retrograde in 5H in Scorpio - fucking ouch, dude. I like to use Neptune as a point to predict levels of avoidance or self medication. Neptune tells us about someone's inspiration, subconscious, dreams, and my personal favorite - illusion. This retrograde kind of fucks him up. In a concrete life, illusion is often held up by the individual in terms of things like obsession in order to avoid emotional processing. Think workaholics, addiction, limerence. And Scorpio just gives more of a depth and intensity to all of this. We see him smoking constantly and drinking a LOT, and he's only 18. That's going nowhere good.

I like to look at Ceres, Pallas, Juno, and Vesta just out of curiosity for natal charts, so I might plug those in and see what's up. 👀

Anyway, if you read all of my rambling, I love you so much. And thank you so so much OP for drawing this up and giving an analytical, deep, and thoughtful interpretation, you are amazing!!!!!

Billy Hargrove astrology chart analysis

Though I could be wrong about the time, the aspects are pretty much the closest I’m gonna get (Unless somehow Dacre or the Duffers have released the information of Billy’s birth time and I just don’t know. I punched in 'March 29, 1967 11:06 AM San Diego USA' my fellow astrology baddies do what you will with this information Either way the main planets SHOULD stay the same but his houses might be different BUT we’re proceeding with what we have!).

Now, mind you I haven't done this in a while, I'm SUPERRR outta practice so to my fellow astrology baddies if I miss anything I'm so sorry 😭.

Alr lets get into it, same as the readings I did for Dallas and Darry I'm gonna go by planet and house and basically explain what it all means.

Sun in Aries (in 10th house) - okay so this is so interesting because even prior to me calculating his chart, I always knew Billy was some sort of fire sign, I mean, LOOK AT HIM??? Like HE'S a fiery little cracker (hahaha cracker... I'm sorry im jk I love u B).

But anyways the sun in 10th house is really interesting, I found a post on here that really explained in depth that aspect and how it affects the natal person (Post here) Basically, people with this placement crave recognition, they stand out with confidence and charisma that often draws attention towards them without fail (we see this the second he arrives at Hawkins, he draws attention towards himself immediately). They naturally gravitate toward leadership roles, even if they didn't ask for it (everyone gravitated towards him and put him on the pedestal of being the "King" and dethroning Steve from the social hierarchy). Their drive for validation stems from fragile self-esteem, leading to feelings of underappreciation despite their efforts. Failures can be deeply personal, like they take failure personally and it affects them greatly, but their ambition and resilience pushes them to rise again, embracing challenges as part of the path to success (started working full time the second he graduated so he could work towards leaving his abusive father).

But back to his sun though, Aries is so interesting because that's so accurate???? Like he's intense, he's passionate. He's very straight forward and will say what he has to say with his chest. People tend to follow him around where he goes, Aries are leaders. They can be spontaneous and impulsive. Stubborn but also a bit reckless. These people are your typical "act before think" people, but like who doesn't love a little chaos 🤪. They're ruled under Mars so this sign is all about action and getting shit done. They'll talk their shit and rock your shit, so messing with them isn't really a good idea. But if an Aries likes you they can be a lot of fun. They're very energetic and active people. You'll be anything but bored with them.

now onto his cutesy little moon

scorpio moons are have my heart because they're so sensitive and emotional, that often it's overwhelming even for them let alone an outside person.

People with Scorpio moons often have traumatic childhoods especially his being in 5th house, so probably exposed to big dramatic fights, or the conflict or circumstances were very grand and outrageous (bro kinda witnessed his mom get beaten by Neil and in turn gets beat himself now that he's older). At the same time these are very strong and enduring individuals. Because they tend to always think about the worst possible scenario, have a very cynical and distrusting view on the world. But at the same time, let's not forget, they are water signs, so that sensitivity will always be there, deep down this sign is scared of being alone. There will always be a part of them that will crave intimacy, like true, deep, raw (lol) intimacy. However because of this deep desire, these people can also often be a little.... delulu per say. Like obviously once you've lost a scorpio moons respect they will immediately cut you out like literally, they will treat you like your dead. But Scorpio being the sister sign of Taurus and being a fixed sign, it would take a lot for a scorpio moon to leave like they will put up with A LOT, which is why they often can get taken advantage of in relationships (:/// ). So yea scorpio moons need to be protected and wrapped up in a blanket with some hot coco and be kissed on the forehead.

Moving onto his Mercury (smiles in mercurian dominant myself)

I find this so interesting because on one hand pisces mercurials can be really wise and intelligent (being the last and oldest of the zodiac), these people can have an "old soul" type of mentality so I can totally see them being into topics like philosophy, spirituality, creative arts, anything to really boost their imagination. his 9th house boosts this even more since 9th falls under sagittarius which is all about philosophy and teaching. Because of this, often people with this placement are really good writers. (so I totally agree with the head cannon of Billy secretly writing poetry, and being good at playing games like dnd).

This placement often gets mislabeled as "dumb" or "ditsy" but they're not stupid they just process information slower than most people.

These people are also really good liars. Like they're some manipulative lil bitches (we saw how he lied to mrs. wheeler that he was worried about Max when he was actually raging mad.) They'll lie about almost anything. Sometimes they do it to keep peace around people and avoid conflict and to get people to leave them alone. But yea this placement certainly has a silver tongue innit, helps them get away with stuff but it also means they're really good at rizzing people with their words; speaking of...

our boy over here has a Taurus Venus. like first of all, this comes with so many pluses because Venus is right where it belongs. Taurus is ruled by Venus so this planet is right in its home sign. So my boy is a romantic lil bachelor 😜. Now his mars kind of makes him a fuckboy (most scorpio and sagittarius mars' are but the difference is is that sags often can't tell the difference between love and lust so they just pursue the person anyway whereas scorpio mars' are just horny fucks with strong game) BUT once he finds someone he wants to be in a relationship with, ouuuu girl he's such a gem.

Taurus Venus's value things like stability, security and comfort. He will very much pamper you. He'd give you the best he humanly possibly could. Taurus's are all about luxury and savouring the physical pleasures of life. He WILL be super affectionate, gifting you things, always touching you right, buying you or cooking you your favourite foods. Taurus's like routine so he will memorize your schedules and routines, coffee orders and all those small things. Although Billy would typically be impatient, he'd take his time pursuing you. Especially with his Scorpio Mars, he'd come in strong and steady .I don't wanna say like a predator stalking his prey cause that's more Scorpio Venus but bro definitely wouldn't back down easy. He won't mind playing the long game if he thinks you're worth it. The main thing here with this placement is their ACTIONS say a lot about their feelings towards their s/o. His Pisces Mercury will soothe you with sweet words, but his Taurus Venus will show you with his generosity and sensualness. He definitely knows how to make his girl happy and will stay loyal for a long time if he's certain about her.

Billy has so many aspects that indicate strong sex appeal and attractiveness, like it's written all over his chart lmfaoo his Venus trines his Pluto, His Venus also sextiles his ascendant.

His eros also trines his mars so he has a very passionate and intense drive, especially in the bedroom. No matter what you are to him, sex with him will always be intense. There's nothing soft about the way he engages in intimacy.

Billy has a cancer rising, for those of you that don't know your rising is in charge of your looks and people's first impressions of you. So cancer risings often have rounder faces, softer features and big eyes (I mean look at him bro, he's so baby girl). They also have curvier bodies (have you seen this man's thighs) shorter limbs too. Cancer rules over the chest so cancer risings can have large chests or big boobs ( he certainly has boobs). Also cancer risings are very pursued after, almost as much as scorpio risings but the difference is that Scorpios are very intimidating so often people don't wanna get past the sexualness of it. But with cancers, people simp over them emotionally too because cancer is considered as the "divine feminine" or "mother" in astrology, so basically people wanna wife them up as well as fuck them (literally his entire fandom). But yeah, anyway, Billy is a pretty boy we all know this, even his chart does 😭.

Alright now more about his mars-

Its in the 4th house, which is also another indication of his abusive childhood :/

His is in Scorpio and yes he's a kinky little shit and a great lover in the bedroom, however that's not all that Mars represents in a natal chart. It also represents how a person takes action to something. How they pursue and how they behave and manage their more aggressive and angry side. On one hand, Billy has the potential to be very good at achieving what he wants in life. He's capable of having a really strong mental fortress as scorpio is a very driven and determined sign. Tactical and calculated but also very loyal people. However at the same time, it makes them lowkey control freaks. They're the type of people to always want the last word in an argument and to have control over everything and everyone in almost every situation (though it does make them strategic leaders at the same time, it's kind of annoying). But yeah these people stand on business they will fuck your shit up if necessary because this planet is also in it's home sign, but Scorpio is also ruled by Pluto so it's the darker one of the mars ruled signs. So their anger can be very explosive and dangerous (we saw how he beat Steve to a bloody pulp), so don't piss them off, it takes a lot for them to loose their cool but once they've lost it, it's gone and not coming back.

Last thing I'll talk about is potential career placements he has because we never got to see him thrive and flourish in life because the duffers hate to give us nice things so I'll just tell you what it could've been with his chart

10 house/ MC in Pisces

So this is so cute because this means that he could actually be successful with a writing career, as this placement flourishes in creative careers. So these people are often musicians, actors, writers. They can also be philosophers, and teachers/mentors of some kind (he taught the kids at the Hawkins community pool how to swim). He'd be such an influencer 😝 I can totally see him being a model for Calvin Klein because he's literally built like a model (this is so possible with his 11th house in Taurus) As well as Leo in his second house, he'd live a very lavish lifestyle if financially stable and would really thrive in a position where he shines in his own spotlight.

Anywayssss that's everything for now, if there's anything else in his chart you guys want me to talk about don't be afraid to inbox me.

I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this <3

[ysphcpb]

Your thoughts on this? https://www.tumblr.com/waitmyturtles/711772662946463744/turtles-catches-up-with-old-gmmtv-sotus-edition

I'm not sure what was your expectation with this ask, but shortly put, I don't agree with most of the ideas and analysis in this review. Going into details might turn this into my own SOTUS review, so I'll only elaborate some main points in the 'readmore' section.

I think it makes sense that op interpretes the characters and the series so differently from how I do, because preferences and interpretation are supposed to be personal and subjective.

I would like to talk about this part, however.

"did GMMTV cast [Krist] because, maybe, he was having trouble getting other projects that would have required, say, acting? And GMMTV was like, well, this guy’s under contract, let’s throw him a bone with this experimental show we’re doing, and see how it goes?"

I don't know if this was meant to be a joke or not? but it is not true nonetheless. SOTUS casting, workshop and early filming took place before the series was picked up by gmmtv. Krist & Singto, freelancers at the time, went through 2 casting rounds of 400 people before they were finally cast as main leads. More details can be found in this post by P'Lit (director of SOTUS), where he shared his journey starting from being offered the job to the end of season 1, as well as his thoughts on some of the actors, including Krist.

+++

So to elaborate, here are some of my thoughts:

1) While I agree that there weren't many options at the time SOTUS came out, and the series does need a more polished script to be more appropriate for today's ideologies, I do not think limited choice was the only reason it achieved that big of a success. As can be easily checked in the comment section of SOTUS/SOTUS S/Our Skyy Arthit-Kongpob, alongside old fans coming back for rewatch there are still new viewers in this era discovering the series and loving it. This means that this type of series with these types of characters and dynamics can also adhere to many people's preferences, both in 2016 and till this day.

2) As I've said, it is a matter of subjective interpretation. Where they see Krist's bad acting, lack of eye-contact/reactivity and chemistry with his partner, I see Arthit's shyness, insecurity, fear of change and attention, and his effort to physically and vocally express affection out of his love for Kong. In my opinion, Krist did a great job with this character (as both a headhazer and Arthit's normal self), and the fact that Kongpob wholeheartedly loves him for who he is and respects his boundaries is one of the things I really like about this series.

In my view, SOTUS also does not just centre around a love story, but rather focuses on 2 equally big themes: the hazing system (for the first part), and the relationship of Kongpob & Arthit (the later part). I think the slow-burn direction fits well with these two themes, in that their relationship has more chance to progress after the hazing period has ended for freshmen, and hazers won't need to keep up their serious and unapproachable image.

3) I agree that there was a change in power dynamics, but not in the way discussed in this analysis.

"the issue that I bring up about power dynamics. Krust as Arthit was going to do something in this show that was rare at that moment: Arthit was going to move from a socially majority position to a minority position by falling in love with Kongpob. (...) in the Asian collectivist perspective -- you, as a uke, respond empathically, and maybe even try to meet your seme where your seme is at."

I personally don't like the implication that being shyer, less assertive to overtly show affection, and taking more time to navigate feelings, can make someone become the "minority position" in a relationship, regardless of sexual/romantic orientation, how collectivistic the culture is, how much the individual is affected by their culture, (and yes, regardless of whether the character was deemed as the "wife" in the novel/series or not). From how I see it, at the start, Arthit really was the one with more power, being a 2-year-older seniour and a headhazer that could literally give orders to Kongpob (and other freshmen). But as their relationship grows, there is actually more balance in how they mediate differences, take care of each other (more clearly shown in SOTUS S), and that they still regularly use honorifics with each other (even though Arthit is older and not socially required to).

That said, I think Arthit never stopped behaving and seeing himself as the older seniour, just as how Kongpob never stopped behaving and seeing himself as the younger juniour, which makes sense in a culture with age hierarchy like Thailand and is not necessarily a bad thing. Arthit is always the one who experiences things first (being a freshman, hazing, internship, graduating, having a job) and can give Kongpob advice when he asks for it. Arthit, as the older person, also feels more responsible and worries more about the outcome of their relationship and how it might affect Kongpob's future, which actually led to many conflicts in the series. This is consistent in the sequels as well.

4) I don't think the "I don't like men, I only like P'Arthit" line is problematic in the particular context of SOTUS. The line makes sense to me, expecially when accompanied by what comes next: "It's not the same. (...) If it's not P'Arthit, I won't like." Throughout the whole series, Kongpob was indeed never shown being interested in anyone (men or women), except for Arthit, whose kindness and cuteness impressed him. And from how I understand Kongpob as a character, I don't think he'd feel the need to say anything but the truth, especially to one of his close friends. In my view, while Kongpob is canonically not gay, he could easily be a representation for demiromantic or demisexual people.

Note: I have not watched most of the other series op mentioned in the post and can't comment on their reference to these shows. I also don't actively search for bls to watch, so I'm not that much of an expert in this category of series.

[circulars-reasoning]

In-Sys Relationships: Ideas

Hello all! Circular here! I want to do a much larger post about in-sys relationships and how they're beneficial, but I thought I could share today a comment I posted on Reddit recently.

Someone asked for sources on in-sys dating. I decided to dig into it (which I'm paying for now, RIP my free time) and find some really nice sources! Sadly, there really don't appear to be solid studies on the benefits - unless we count the sheer amount of systems who have expressed how beneficial dating in-system has been for them.

I ended up finding three good sources, however, that related to in-sys dating in my eyes. I wanted to go into them here!

Long post under the cut :) Most of this will simply be copy-pasted from the reddit post, tbh!

Disorganized Attachment, Development of Dissociated Self States, and a Relational Approach to Treatment

This one discusses the close connection between disorganized attachments in childhood and the development of dissociative disorders, and further posits that a therapy model involving a relationship approach might be the best method for helping dissociative disorders. "The therapist can serve as a relational bridge between dissociated self states*, allowing the patient to internalize a working model of the therapeutic relationship." (*Wherein "self states" stands for, in this case, alters). I really like this source, as it discusses the idea that "Attachment, trauma and dissociation are all related issues in the treatment of survivors of neglect, double-bind relationships, and abuse." It clearly explains how disorganized attachment leads to dissociation, and further, alter splits. Where this begins to apply to in-sys relationships is where it begins to discuss the integration of self-states. The goal in therapy is to integrate alters, which means a lowering of dissociative barriers. "Dissociated self states incorporate incompatible internal working models, which are based on desperate, opposing attempts to protect the self from attack or abandonment... the patient cannot focus on the discrepancy between internal working models, and a cognitive interpretation will likely fall on deaf ears." Essentially, if you push for the more logical cognitive integration with a patient, it can lead to more dissociative barriers raising due to the patient being pushed into a corner. In-sys relationships would, therefore, result form those dissociated self states having compatible internal working models. Alters, finding a balance, and in turn, becoming closer together. This would likely happen after dissociative barriers were lower, and as a way to integrate personality states. Finding love for ones self when clearing away those cognitive barriers.

Dissociation, shame, complex PTSD, child maltreatment and intimate relationship self-concept in dissociative disorder, chronic PTSD and mixed psychiatric groups

Not gonna quote this one as much, don't worry. It discusses guilt and shame in disorders, and remarks how guilt/shame complexes are MUCH more prominent in dissociative disorders than in trauma/stress disorders. It describes how "dissociation is both an intrapsychic (way of relating to self) and interpersonal (way of relating to others)." AKA, the self-states we see in DID are not only there to isolate parts to handle trauma, but a way to isolate parts of oneself to relate to yourself; with disorganized attachment, it becomes more likely for dissociation to fragment the self into pieces who need to learn how to relate to each other in order to heal. (And well. Learn to relate to each other, most people find love or at least found-family in those they live with forever and compromise with). Dissociation is correlated strongly with a fear of relationships, so this study sought to see just HOW strongly the symptoms affected those with relationship issues. Unsurprisingly, dissociative disorders showed the most shame/guilt activation, more severe relationship anxiety, and issues with relationship intimacy. While this doesn't discuss the benefits of in-system relationships, I think it really explains strongly WHY they happen. Those with dissociative disorders struggle more than even other traumatized peers with relationships and being with others. Therefore, I don't think it's too shocking that a group of traumatized individuals who experience multiple self-states (personified in their heads vividly, with distinct personalities and traits, and seemingly stuck with these alters forever) to turn inward in their search for acceptance.

Stories of Survivors With Dissociative Identity Disorder: A Qualitative Investigation of Symptoms, Traumatic Experiences, and Relationships

Last official research, though I will say that this "study" is closer to observations from systems and researchers alike. This study calls into question the fact that most research on DID comes from patients who are currently hospitalized and/or in crisis, which is not representative of the full population of pwDID. "The purpose of this study was to obtain descriptive perspectives of survivors with DID, who are not currently hospitalized, and examine their relational experiences through the lens of a DID diagnosis (i.e., relationship to self and others)." The study goes on to explain what the participants expressed via their data gathering, including some very valuable data on symptom onsets, awareness of the disorder, abuse histories - it's really interesting! It explains a lot about the symptoms I commonly see discussed online, like over-sexuality (common in CSA victims) and Identity Discrepancies (Hello, all those LGBT+ alters). I include this one because, as noted here, alters are all part of one traumatized self. We often look at DID as a debilitating disorder due to that trauma, but those interviewed here were just normal (yes, traumatized, but not debilitated) systems. They remark on experiences with society's expectations for them, how misinformation has hurt them. With the isolation systems face daily, both due to their trauma and due to the way society looks at DID already, it's no wonder systems turn inward for comfort and love.

I only had about 2 hours to really dig into these, so I'm certain that I missed parts or could've found better sources along the way. I really hope there is more research into this. I've heard countless systems discuss how healthy it is, how therapists encouraged it due to the "love of the traumatized self" - and that disorganized attachment article really hones into the idea of loving the traumatized self. I think all three articles in conjunction really shows how much of a need there is for self-love in DID.

[house-of-laminations]

Eldritch Demonic/Cosmic Divine

A list of hcs I have for what it means to be an Avatar, Demon, or Angel at the grandest scale - starting with general/shared and going into specifics for each character under the cut. A lore dump, heavily influencing my From Afar series!

cw: references to addiction/addictive substances in Asmo's section. Nothing explicit, but it does have a brief discussion about how his sin presents itself in humans through addiction.

General

An 'Avatar' is the interface that provides you agency in a world that you are intrinsically incompatible with. It is the representation of a being in a recognizable form that fits itself into a given world. Many believe that the Avatars of Sin are named as such because they are the vessels in which the Seven Sins exist amongst humanity, the divine, and the demonic. This is assumption is wrong.

The sins existed before the Fall - arguably what caused it in the first place, besides love. What didn't exist was the idea of Fallen. Too distinct and willful to be divine, too of god to be godless. The Demon King, by creating these Avatars, allowed the brothers to exist - as more than demon, less than angel, above and below humanity. He provided the brothers with a shape, and they filled it with their entire beings - torn edges and all.

This means the Avatars are the ultimate expressions of Self.

"Human form" and "Demon form" are arbitrary distinctions - kind of like gender - nothing more than preferences of physicality. Demons can choose between either, a combination thereof, or not at all. A demon's physical form is created from their power and their sense of self. (read more about my thoughts on 'true forms' here!)

Demons know enough about humans to know how to twist their desires and corrupt their hearts, but they don’t know enough about humans to be able to have a clear and healthy relationship. They’re very good at getting out of you what you want but they have trouble talking about their own needs. It’s very likely that they don’t even realize they have some of those deeper, emotional needs.

Angels dress slutty Like That because the idea of nudity, and thus of chastity and promiscuity, just doesn’t exist. Clothes are more for adornment, expressions of self. Their humanoid forms are already restrictive - why continue to entrap themselves further?

The distinction between Angel and Demon is really arbitrary, and not based on any kind of physical characteristic. To be an angel is to keep yourself to a very specific worldview and epistemology - one that puts the collective above an individual, even if that individual is one of their own. This worldview is very rigid, and doesn't allow for differences in ideologies. It is is inherited from their interpretations of their father from a time Before the fall, and it's discipline and restraint, the choice not to do something - an expression of Free Will.

Demons are made of the same Cosmic Stuff as angels. The difference is that they have been so far removed from that original worldview, that was originally designed to keep their power and their influence on the weak contained. In some ways they have less free will than angels as they're much more beholden to their whims and desires - extremely easily influenced, especially by outside forces like human consciousness. The Avatars are an example of this - so beholden to their own drives and identities, even to the point of self-destruction.

Lucifer

When their Father said "Let there be light" he spoke Lucifer into existence.

He remembers a time in which it was only him, a few brothers (not those who Fell with him), and their father. A time before Time. Perception and Being back then were not as they are understood now. There was no need for eyes, for hands, for wings or faces. He existed only as himself, an identity created in a void. Perhaps that's why he best embodies Pride. It was all he had once.

Lucifer still is light, but the way it manifests is not illumination or potential. It is in the nodes, where light of identical frequencies meet and are cancelled out until they can separate again. Lucifer is that tension between tradition and revolution. It is not unthinkable that he would shine again in rebellion. Pride would allow him nothing less.

Mammon

Mammon, even as an angel, had a curiosity that couldn't be sated. Material wealth or ownership wasn't a thing in his earliest days but he had a hole inside him that couldn't be filled. It was an anomaly in his creation - a deliberate one. Their Father was still experimenting with what makes a good angel, after all.

Talking with his siblings, spending time around them, asking questions, absorbing their wisdom and their love was the only way that drive was sated. It's no wonder the younger angel would latch onto Lucifer given the opportunity. Lucifer was light and love and there was an abundance to him that could easily sooth and consume Mammon's ragged edges.

Michael didn't understand how this creature, so different and yet so similar to all the others who came before couldn't just adapt the same way they all did. He cut off Mammon from his siblings, making that hole a gaping wound. When Mammon fell, that wound never healed and the light and love of his brothers was not the same. So he grasps at money and objects and power to staunch that flow. It never works.

Leviathan

Leviathan's creation was absolutely ordinary, for all that the formation of cosmic entities could be ordinary. He was not important or first like Lucifer, nor was he an anomaly like Mammon. He was like an over-correction: Mammon was too inward-focusing, and so Leviathan was the opposite - only able to ever see and appreciate the strengths of others. He was quite good at building up the people around him, and as an Angel, he never really needed that attention for himself. Or so he thought.

This hampered his ability to care for and love himself, but also, when it comes to physicality, he has no idea where he begins and ends. That is why he is Leviathan - he spans entire worlds and has so much at his grasp and yet fails to see it.

As a demon he gained the ability to be self-reflective, though not in a constructive way. Now all he can see is the holes and the failings in himself, and can only compare them to others and not his strengths - numerous as they are. He still sees the strengths and the weaknesses of others and that's what makes him an effective strategist and a terrifyingly competent admiral.

Satan

(stick with me here)

Lucifer was the First. And no one gets it right on the first try. Not even their father. When Lucifer was created, their father didn't let go - not completely. They were connected by their anger, by their sense of justice. Lucifer was righteous, and god rained his fury down from the heavens. When Lucifer decided to forsake his father for his sister, he tore off the wings that marked him as Favorite. And in doing so, he tore that connection.

But that energy had to go somewhere.

Thus, Satan was born. Or rather, became his own distinct entity, separate from both Lucifer and their Father. The effect of this was a much more mellow, forgiving Father, and a Lucifer who would much rather directly confront a slight than let it fester.

Satan is reliant upon Lucifer, but Lucifer's very existence warrants the presence of Satan. It is something the elder is very aware of, though Satan himself is adamant that he can be independent. He doesn't really believe this though, and that shows in the way his violence and hate festers within himself.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is addiction. The need to numb the pain, to feel good, and find any way to do it. Sex, drugs, and alcohol, yes, but also sugar, caffeine, cosmetic surgeries, and more recently: online attention. When both he and Lucifer have their claws in a human it is very hard for that human to come back.

He is hedonism in demon form. It's not just sex, it's pleasure and indulgence.

Even when he was an angel, able to focus his reach inward rather than outward, Asmo would habitually make decisions that ultimately lead to his own satisfaction. Whether it be an interest in self-adornment or the shirking of duties that were more demanding. Asmo as a demon is one of the worst things that could have happened to humanity.

Beelzebub & Belphegor (& Lilith)

Mass production at the cosmic level was bound to have some repercussions.

In Beelzebub it was more positive: a return to basics, an appreciation for the simple fundamentals of what it means to exist. To be alive, and to appreciate what it takes to continue to function. However, in falling, Beelzebub lost the ability to control and limit himself, to say no, to stop.

In Belphegor it was more negative: the knowledge that the attention was not on himself as an individual, that the love and care of their Father was directed elsewhere. He was never going to be a very good angel, because that knowledge infected him from the start and drove him to take interest not in what is right but what is interesting. As a demon, utterly beholden to that idea, Belphegor does not consider the time or attention of others to be worthwhile.

(and in Lilith it was a combination of both: an appreciation of life but a selfish drive towards her own fulfillment. A pragmatism that doesn't care for what is right but instead what is best.)

Diavolo

When demons have 'children', these children have to be manifested from some kind of cosmic energy - energy cannot be destroyed or created, only transformed. This could come from an angel or demon who was killed or has simply stopped manifesting entirely. It could come from a particularly turbulent time in human history - all the negative energy absorbed from higher beings once again being expelled through horrifying acts.

Diavolo is powerful, born in a time of unrest, but also at a junction in which there was plenty of potential energy just waiting to be taken. He never knew the rules and restraint of Angels, and yet he's the first 'born' demon to even come close. He is not restrained (humans and demons and even angels are drawn to him, this font of potential and selfish fulfillment), and yet... he has restraint. This is what makes Diavolo truly powerful.

Return to Masterlist | All Obey Me Headcanons

[ratsalad]

there are, in total, 3 references to autumn in impera, which i thought was oddly forward and probably significant:

hunter’s moon, which is an autumnal full moon

“when the summer dies” from darkness at the heart of my love

the “autumnal reaper” from respite on the spitalfields

hunter’s moon is very likely a song about someone coming after sister imperator’s life (see “under a headstone, sister, i’m dying to see you, my friend” and the chanting before the bridge - and tbh the fact that it’s on impera at all, despite it primarily being a song TF wrote for halloween kills).

since both hunter’s moon and the “autumnal reaper” refer to killers, and considering that on the tracklist, respite comes after HM (which is literally about a character looking to kill during an autumnal full moon), it’s hard not to think of this “autumnal reaper” as the same one from HM - someone who’s after sister.

a lot of people here have already touched on the fact that respite on the spitalfields is about the end of either sister’s or copia’s rule - the song uses the same motif as the intro to the album, hinting at the cyclical nature of empires.

this can seem a bit like a reach, but it’s what made me feel certain enough to post this at all: autumn is just another word for fall. and a significant half of this album is about the fall of empires. if respite is about the same killer, then it might very well be a song about sister’s demise and the subsequent collapse of her reign over the clergy through copia.

for some reason i gravitated towards sister as the narrator in this song - the “shadow” to copia’s “light,” reassuring him that even though they’re breaking away, they’ll do it together. this also holds up with the whole wizard of oz bit, which i feel is from a different narrator - the curtain finally lifts and everyone sees sister has been pulling the strings, not copia, who’s, well, a humbug.

as for darkness at the heart of my love - the way i see it, the clergy (or sister) has been enjoying a “summer” of prosperity, but it “dies” when her jig is up, it “[severs] ties,” leading me to believe this song is about copia realizing that sister was his mother all along.

on the whole the song seems to be about sister’s love for copia never being... whole. she does love him, but in a self-serving way. why hide that she’s his mother otherwise? why have the other papas killed, presumably without his knowledge? correction: forgot copia was the one holding terzo’s severed head lol. she will/has “put him through the darkness at the heart of [her] love”; perhaps this song is about copia realizing this.

despite all this, she’s with him always. love is all he needs.

some other miscellaneous interpretations of lyrics beneath the cut:

“now paint a pair of eyes and let's watch as it dries” - this is the line that has baffled me from impera most, but i’m settling for the idea that this is about copia’s facepaint. considering the expression “watching paint dry,” i’m interpreting this as “yeah, i’m your mom, now put on that face paint as usual and let’s do nothing about the fact that i hid something this important from you” - which is in line with her putting him through the darkness at the heart of her love for him.

are there tears messing up the paint around copia’s eyes? is “let’s watch as it dries” sister’s way of telling him his sadness is inconsequential? who knows

“tell me who you wanna be and i will set you free” - i wonder if copia ever expressed to sister that he wanted to be papa

feels like a reach, but “did no one hear the distant thunder?” from respite on the spitalfields gave me such intense “how could this have happened? how didn’t we see this coming?” vibes - the question everyone asks themselves when something good comes to an end. a irrelvant but good example is “end of an empire” by turisas, about the fall of byzantium: “how did this happen? how could this happen? how could the empire fall?”

“one day he will come back from the bowels of hell” - WHO???? terzo? nihil? whomever decided to kill sister? ANSWERS TF NOW

[binniesthighs]

he lives in my lap | reader x changbin

➛ Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin 

➛ Recommended listening: she lives in my lap, outkast

➛ Genre: pwp (smut), fluffy tones, 18+ 

➛ Word count: 3.9k 

✨ Summary/Request Here ✨

Anon: sub!changbin nipple play drabble👁👁

i’m such a sucker for sub bin smh

a/n: thank you for requesting sweet anon! any day, any time i will write sub!changbin! this was such a pleasure to write n’ i hope that ya like it! <3

{see below for nsfw tags!} 

NSFW: dom!reader, sub!changbin, tsundere!bin, slightlybratty!bin, established relationship, use of petnames, body worship (calm tf down ro, we know you love binnies’ bod), *plz pretend to be surprised here too* thigh kink, power dynamics, LOADS of nipple play (m receiving), praising & mild degradation, handjob, lil pet of petplay (bunny), v soft aftercare 

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you caught him sulking, bundled up in his chair with his legs crossed and his eyes dried. its the times like this when you don’t need him to tell you what’s going through his mind. he huffs and spins around just to get a moment to break his stare at the screen. he rubs at his temples where his headache surges, but he’ll never stop to ask for help or to express how tired he really is. 

“what are you working on?” you simply ask as you cross the way behind him and squeeze his shoulders. 

he sighs, and answers, “work.” 

it’s barely an answer, but knowing him, prodding wouldn’t do much else. 

“its getting late,” you pause, contemplating to next part of your phrase, “could you come to bed? i’d....love to have you with me...if you can.” 

his fingers stop their typing, and he pulls off a single padded headphone to listen to you. 

“you know that i’ve got a deadline. can’t.” 

“wouldn’t you like to--” 

“--can’t you just live one night without it?” he barks, swiveling in his seat to face you. 

his eyes, the whites of them pink and his under-eyes bagged, tell you that you can’t take exactly what he means to heart, but still, it doesn’t hurt much less. 

“bin--i just want you to take care of yourself and not overwork. you know that you need your rest to make everything work out right. right?” 

your boyfriend sighs and composes himself, then puts his headphones back on. 

“deadlines are deadlines.” changbin simply replies. “in a couple days it’ll be over.” 

the sound of his clicking at his mouse fills the room back up, and this close you can hear the faint buzz of his music on the other side of his headphones. its as if he wants to create some kind of shell between you and him; he pulls his hood up and balls himself up in his big black hoodie. 

with him, your patience overcomes anything. 

“bin--” you reach for his arm to rub in calming little circles with your thumb, “you’re worrying me.” 

the exhaustion in his voice causes it to crack, “i’m fine.” 

it doesn’t take him much to go up in arms when you pull off his headphones to hold his puffy face in your hands. earnestly you hold his eyes with yours. 

“you’ve worked so much already today. please, come to bed, i know you won’t admit it to yourself, but it’ll be okay if you sleep for just a little while....or, relax at least...” 

changbin huffs out again in his same little annoyed nature. you knew the ins and outs of him well: your words might have gone in one ear and left out the other, but they still would jumble him up on their way out.

“i said that i’m fine,” your boyfriend repeats, “you’re worrying over nothing.” 

it isn’t easy to admit defeat in the moment, but that’s all it is: a moment. he allows you the pause to plant a tiny kiss on his forehead before focusing back on his work. the truth is, you really did want him to join. the bed was always warmer with two anyway. these days, it was even a little hard to fall asleep with him. 

“well,” you throw your hands on your hips, “i’ll just be back here...if you need anything. i can warm up your side for you, kay?” 

for a moment, his fingers stop their clicking, wavering. “okay.” 

he likes it when you wear his shirts and other little things like that. he even thinks that its cute when you steal his socks and they bunch up a little. after living together your clothes have started to all smell the same, but knowing that it’s his has always been enough for you. 

at first, you promise yourself that you’ll stay up as long as he does, but not even you can stay up that late. he turns the lights off for you, leaving only his desk lamp and the blue screen of his desktop. silently you promise him that you’ll stay up as long as you can manage...

“--oh. sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up...” 

your blurry eyesight makes out the time that’s ticked past two hours since you last remember checking. 

“its okay,” your sleepy self returns. you’ve fallen asleep on his side of the bed which you promised to warm up, but he won’t ask you to give it up when you’re half awake. 

“i’ve decided to sleep in late tomorrow.” he hums while reaching for his phone light to turn it off. “you’re right.” 

“i know that i’m right.” 

even in the dark you can feel his little joking smirk. the mattress makes springy sounds under the weight of your two bodies, and somehow your hands find their way into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. there’s nothing like feeling his presence beside you--its a kind of irreplaceable reassurance that you’ve only ever felt in him. 

he’s close enough to feel his tiny breaths in the space between you, and how it tickles your upper lip. sleepy kisses float from your lips to his which he happy returns by pressing into you closer and melding your body with his. you make a point to kiss him slowly and with every ounce of intent that you are able to pour from yourself to him. 

your love unties himself for you just as he does whenever he feels your thumb trace under his jaw slowly or as you hold his face in your hands, tilting him to deepen your exploration of his mouth. you can feel him get looser and looser after being so tightly bound. your hands work at his knots with swift fingers that interweave with his hair, then find their way to traipse up the hem of his clothes. 

he mutters a little sound that could be translated into many pleasurable things, but you don’t need to think too hard to interpret it. 

“binnie...” you coo, gently rolling him to his back to lean over him with your upper body, “you’re doing so well. i can tell how hard that you’re working...there’s no need to hide.” 

he nods, allowing you to paint his cheeks with more little kisses that fall down to his neck, then travel back up to his ear where you nibble softly. in your own mind, its your favorite place to show him your love: he shivers feeling your breath quiver in his ear, then exhales out after feeling the small pull at his skin. 

higher under his shirt your hands tip-toe, then trance the curves of his sides and finally reach the spot where he is most sensitive...your boyfriend gifts you the gorgeous sound of his uncontrollable little whimpers once he feels the pads of your fingers graze over one of his hardened nipples. 

“oh?” you taunt, “already so sensitive?” 

changbin attempts a scoff that comes out airy on his lips, “i mean, yeah...when you do that.” 

your index circles his bud, causing and even more delightful symphony of shaking breaths to exit. 

“...but its so late...” you remind him. its halfway between a genuine reminder and somewhat of a challenge. there’s nothing more that you would want, but the clock tells you otherwise. 

your room is nearly devoid of light save for the way that the crescent moon peeks through the slits of the shades. the silver light illuminates his face in stripes, one of them directly over his eyes which makes them sparkle with the same iridescent shine of stars. 

“do you think that i care?” changbin shies a bit into the puffy pillow that cradles his head. 

from your position above him you can see the way that he pleads wordlessly, and how he just knows that he’s irresistible to you. his gaze softens to shift in that cute little pout. he too knows how to untie you, how to make you fall into him so deeply that you can’t see anything but him. he knows exactly what to say, how to wet his his cushy lip so it glistens just a little when he parts his mouth for you to crave even more than you already do. 

“do you want me to say please?” he adds. 

fuck, he really does know you well. 

your knuckles rub along the fuzzy underside of his sweater, scribbling more circles around his nipples that hardens them painfully even though you’re barely touching him. 

“that is my favorite word,” 

his tone is airy, barely audible when he asks as politely as he can, “please, can you use me how you want?” 

you tut, bowing low over his lips to only let them hover over his own. your lie of a kiss just barely makes contact with him. he whines from the promise of your taste, even wiggling his hips in his agony knowing that he won’t get what he wants quickly. 

“hm, i didn’t really hear you that time...” slowly your hands begin to pull the fabric of is shirt over his head. “say it again for me?” 

“please...?” your boyfriend desperately repeats. 

“and you’ll be a good boy for me? you’ll do what i say?” 

“yes...yes. everything that you say.” 

his hoodie ruffles up his cute dark locks that sprawl all over his face and even cover his eyes. for a moment you think of how his hair had gotten longer than you had noticed. you sweep it aside, holding his eyes while your hand swipes up and down his chest just between his pectorals. 

“and you’ll tell me when you want me to stop?” 

finally you grant him the kiss he’s been waiting for which he drinks up greedily, moaning carefully over your lips. 

“mmhm.” 

you nearly startle him after forgetting to move slowly, finding your own eagerness taking hold of you. changbin’s eyes gleam seeing you on top of him and both of your legs straddling his sides. you slither farther down his body to align yourself correctly, then pause finding your place. 

after, he then startles you by letting out a sudden cry in response to his beloved sensation. both of your hands are busied pinching and tweaking directly at his pink nipples that turn redder from your touch. you toy with the hardened buds while his eyelids flutter--he can’t figure out if he wants to close his eyes to feel it all, or watch you. he decides upon the latter and tries his best focus on your hands spread on his chest. 

its a wondrous indulgence of yours as you watch the way that his muscles fill up your hands and even how his skin pops between your fingers when you squeeze. “my bun,” you sigh in admiration, “i just can’t handle you...” 

your head spins when he echoes, “neither can i...”

it seems fair for you to take off your top too, so you do. your hands survey farther up his chest, then course down his arms which you tuck to rest on each side of his head. 

“you know how it goes.”

he doesn’t even need the reminder. 

“fuck, you’re gonna take all the time you want now, aren’t you?” 

your boyfriend regains a bit of his composure to snark with that little unfair smirk of his. 

“would you rather me not do this for you at all...bun?” 

he rolls his eyes, impatient and annoyed for barely a second. he’s quieted the moment that he feels your lips float over his skin. you can feel the way that his breaths are thrown out from his lungs once you press even harder. his hips squirm and he turns into a puddle of half-choked winces that turn high pitched and needy the closer that you get to the sensitive areas of his chest. your tongue twists around it, only teasing at first and never allowing him to feel the full heat of your mouth. your left hand swipes up his side and settles right over his other bud which you toy with between your index and middle finger. you pull, then delight in the way that you can even feel his moans start deep from his core then come ripping out carelessly. 

at last you grant him the wet of your mouth when you tense your lips to pull too. you know that he likes it when you use your teeth too, but you never start with the most exciting part. 

his arms twitch like they usually do where they lay on both sides of his head. your boyfriend interlocks his fingers behind his head to pull and hold them there until his knuckles turn white. he would touch you, but you don’t like getting that distracted. you don’t need it anyway to heighten the way that unraveling him already pools heat between your legs and sends you grinding over his midsection. 

you use a combination of gentle kisses contrasted with the pull of your fingers and eventually the bite of your teeth to get him properly gasping out as if he cannot breathe. your name finds its way twisted into some of his moans too; it sounds so perfect, so right said that way: airy, wavering, shaking after he bites it into his lip too. 

you stop to admire him, now using your thumbs to tease at the way his reddened nipples now look painfully aroused and even glimmer with the sheen of your saliva upon them. changbin is flushed out all across his cheeks and even over his nose bridge. the rouge spreads down to his neck where the veins there quiver with each of his senseless gasps for air. he jerks from the careful feeling of the pad of your thumb compared to how viciously you had tugged at him before. you grind down your hips into his hard-on between your legs and into your own heat which craves him just as much. 

“good?” 

he nods, and chuckles out after reveling under your view. 

you free his hands from their place behind his head, then you immediately find yourself wrapped up so tightly in his arms that you let out a tiny squeak. his thick arms that stretch with the strings of muscles always remind you that the power you have over him, he holds over you just the same. he brings your lips back to his to kiss thanks into your mouth that’s become raw from your musings. 

“i’m not done yet.” you sneer directly into him. 

“i had a feeling.” 

your love knows how to sit and look pretty for you. how to keep his hands to himself and wait just enough for you to make a proper mess of him. even though you don’t see it, he’s infatuated watching you twist over him to the bed table and pick up the cup of water that holds partially melted ice. the sound of the cubes chime against the glass and burns your hand with the cold once you choose the largest of the lot. 

changbin looks at you fearful at first still consumed by your heat which lingers all over his body. you test out the sensation by spreading out your opposite hand first which is wet from the condensation from the glass. 

“ah!” he winces out. 

“too cold?” 

“n-no...” somethings shift in the way that he holds your gaze and the ice quickly melting in your hand. “i-i want it...” 

“you sure?” 

“please don’t make me wait again...” 

the cold from the cube starts to make your fingertips turn numb, but its of no conscious to you when he holds every bit of your attention while you wait for his visceral response. 

he yelps, nearly almost screaming from the mixture of cold and hot that swirls around his body. he grinds his teeth into a groan next to steady himself feeling the tenderness of his nipples next to the freezing cold. you can’t help but stifle a greedy laugh at how downright confused he seems at the two sensations of arousal and biting pain that made him feel even more lightheaded. 

you love the sight of the whites of his eyes when he reaches a kind of euphoria that only you can give him. 

“oooooh god.” he laughs along with you at how preposterously unreal it feels. the little smile that anchors on his mouth is unbelievably cute, and you can’t help but want to feel it on your own. 

you trace circles around and around his buds until they harden just as they had done under your tongue. he shivers too; either from the cold, or from the overload of his senses--it travels from the tip of his head, through his hips and down to his toes. 

“aw, my bun likes this...doesn’t he?” 

“mmm.” 

the ice only lasts a few moments on his chest and between your fingers. after, his chest is left shimmering from the new substance that looks like liquid crystal all over him and where it drips down to the comforter in droplets. 

you shift your attention lower down his stomach where you stop right above his bellybutton to let both of your hands hook under his sweats. you look up for approval, which he eagerly gives with the hastily phrase repeated, “do it, do it.” 

his clothes it the floor in a puddle, and your boyfriend is left bare for you to take in. you indulge in every single part of him that you’ve explored time and time again, but each time it feels renewed. your hands eat up his thighs with covetous squeezes until the crescent-moon shape of your nails decorates him nearly everywhere. they slide up higher, finding the place where his curved and rosy cock bobs waiting for your touch. 

“poor bunny....does it ache when i don’t touch your cute little cock?” you trace a finger up his shaft which causes his body to violently jerk in response. the truth of the matter is, he’s anything but little. 

even when your words turn venomous back on him, he still drinks it up as if it is nectar. 

a wicked chuckle passes by your lips remembering what he had said to you a couple hours before. “can’t you just live one night without it?” 

“n-no--” he stammers, “i-i’m sorry that i said--” 

you silence him with a finger to his lips. “sit up.” 

he does so, trying to gauge what you’re planning to do next. the mystery of it all enthralls him to the point of working his cock up with pearly pre-cum that drips down his length. changbin waits as you reposition yourself behind him, just so he sits flush against your torso and between your legs. 

at first, you trial you hands up and down his thighs to create a show for him. your fingertips tickle him gently where his leg hair grows thin and soft. you then move to massage into his inner thighs and the more intimate erogenous areas there that you claw at. 

“hm. maybe i’ll let you get what you want if you say--” 

your boyfriend’s hands bury themselves into the sheets to grab at anything to provide balance. “--please! please...i’ll say it however many times it takes...” 

you tsk, then nibble into the peachy cartilage of his earlobe. “mm, that’s enough. i’m feeling generous...” 

you wet a stripe of your saliva up your palm and guide it to his length where you give him one good squeeze that is more than enough to send his toes curling. he whimpers out feeling the lack of contact afterward, realizing that one squeeze was all that you were planning. instead, shift your motions toward his tip and his seeping slit. the tip of your index draws rings around it which elicits agonizingly gruff growls from his throat that you’ve only ever heard a couple times before. 

“please, please, please....” he chants. 

you do love the way it sounds. 

his moans become even louder once he feels the tension from your grasp where it returns to his shaft and pumps. in a way, the whole image is just perfect for the both of you: as you peer over his shoulder you can’t even but help feel turned on by the sight of your own hand and how it twists around the throbbing veins that imprint his cock. with your non-dominant hand you continue traversing the squishy and fleshy bits of his thigh. 

your boyfriend laughs out his growing self-indulgence while you work your hand up and down, then experiment with testing him with the ways that you can squeeze harder then softer. changbin throws his head back into your shoulder lazily once he starts to feel his senses slow and intensify the closer that he gets to his release. he shudders against you too, and tightens his body too as he edges himself even closer.

after the distraction that you’ve crafted tugging him up and down and how the twist of your wrist feels like heaven, he jumps still feeling your free hand find its way back up his chest one last time roll his nipple between your fingers. the combination of the two sends him spilling right over the edge and overflowing with a rambling of curses and half-attempted moans coupled with the release of his seed cascading down the back of your hand. 

nearly all of your boyfriend’s weight falls upon you and you giggle trying to deal with your previously cold and stubborn lover reduced to nearly nothing but a limp and euphoric mess in your arms. 

“you okay?” you ask him, peppering tiny kisses into his neck. 

“give me...a minute.” he laughs out too. “i’m just...really...exhausted. but--in a really, really good way.” 

“time to get some rest then?” 

changbin nods, and gives you back as many kisses he can with his neck titled at this somewhat awkward angle. 

“stay right here, hm?” 

you cradle him back to slide out from behind him and work at cleaning yourself off, and them him--he loves obliging if it means that he gets to be pampered with clean clothes and your little massage to his shoulders to get his tensed body relax even more. the blankets get exchanged for new ones and you find him telling you not to put your shirt back on. 

changbin flushes, explaining, “i just like being close like this with you. everyday. any day. i can’t live without it either.” 

you can’t exactly tell who is “holding” who, but it all just feels so peaceful and intimate you almost forgot that you were supposed to be sleeping until the day breaks behind your boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“thank you,” changbin sighs, “thank you for taking care of me.” 

“now start taking care of yourself.” you tease, “don’t overwork yourself, got it?” 

your boyfriend sleepily hums, and tows you right back into his chest. “don’t worry, i have a feeling that i’ll be sleeping in pretty late.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

1. 

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

 The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

 Well, that’s not true.

 Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

 Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

 So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

 …or so he thought.

 In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

 Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

 But Roman…

 Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

 The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

 Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

 “Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

 “Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

 “Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

 He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

 “…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

 “Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

 “That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

 “Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

 “Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

 Roman just laughs and leaves.

 “Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

 “Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

 “Language.”

 “—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

 “Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

 Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

 “Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

 “I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

 “He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

 No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

 The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

  They hate you, they never want to see you again.

  Everything is your fault.

  Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

  They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

  Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

  They’ve never wanted you.

 And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

 The actor.

 Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

 “Janus?”

 Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

 “I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”

 Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

 “Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

 “Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

 Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

 “…so?”

 He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

 Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

 “Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

 The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

 Janus does.

 Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

 He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

 His head bows.

 Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

  Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

  Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

  Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

  Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

  You don’t deserve anything.

 Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

 His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

 He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

 “You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

 Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

 “And you deserve to know that.”

 Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

 2. 

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

 Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

 Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

 Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

 When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

 The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

 Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

 Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

 No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

 They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

 Well, almost never alone.

 The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

  They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

  You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

  And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

 Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

 Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

 But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

 Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

 Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

 A noise.

 Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

  Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

  You hurt Janus on purpose.

  You never stop hurting Janus.

  You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

 Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

 “The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

 Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

 “I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

 He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

 He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

 3. 

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

 “Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

 “Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

 “He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

 Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

 “I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

 “See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

 “Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

 “Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

 “I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

 “Fine.”

 Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

 “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

 Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

 “What?”

 “’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

 “O-oh.”

 “He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

 Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

 Good.

 The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

 Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

 As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

 This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

 He’s so cold.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

 “Something wrong, Deceit?”

 “He has a name,” Virgil growls.

 “Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

 “Why’re you over there?”

 He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

 Instead, Roman smiles.

 “You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

 Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

 Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

 “Goodness.”

 Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

 “Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this is all wrong.

 “Why did you want him to leave?”

 Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

 “Harder how?”

 “We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

 “It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

 Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

 Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

  Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

  They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

  Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

 Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

 He makes up his mind.

 He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

 “Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

 Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

 Janus freezes.

 Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

 He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

 “Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

 He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

 “On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

 And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

 4. 

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

 But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

 Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

 Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

 He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

 Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

 …oh.

 Oh, no.

 Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

 He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

 He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

 He checks over the wound on his chest.

 He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

 The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

 More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

 He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

 The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

 The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

 None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

 Roman jolts.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

 Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

  Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

 Janus freezes.

  Should’ve let them hit you more.

  Got off too easy.

  It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

 “No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

  Shouldn’t have come back.

  Shouldn’t be a burden.

  At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

 “You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

 As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

 Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

  Who protects the protector?

 “I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

 5. 

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

 Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

 Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

 Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

 Roman is the Ego.

 What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

 Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

 The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

 Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

 Here’s what they don’t tell you.

 The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

 It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

 They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

 So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

 So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

 So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

 So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

 So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

 As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

 Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

 It’s definitely where it should be.

 The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

 His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

 When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

 “What would you like me to do?”

 “Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

 “Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

 “Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

 “Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

 Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

 “He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

 “Have I…not been doing that?”

 “It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

 Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

 “Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

 Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

 “What would you like me to apologize for?”

 Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

 “Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

 “No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

 “Virgil—“

 “No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

 Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

 Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

 “Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

 “Great. Bye, Thomas.”

 “Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

 “I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

 “Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

 Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

 After a moment, Roman moves.

 “…you want me to apologize?”

 Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

 Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

 He looks directly at Thomas.

 “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

 Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

 “I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

 Thomas’s eyes go wide.

 “I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

 Janus’s arms drop in shock.

 “I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

 Thomas stifles a noise.

 “I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

 Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

 “And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

 “R-Roman—“

 Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

 “I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

 Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

 “You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

 “Fucking watch me!”

 “No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

 “Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

 “We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

 Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

 “Remus.”

 Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

 “It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

 “Life isn’t fair.”

 “I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

 “But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

 “Roman, they love you!”

 Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

 “Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

 He spreads his hands.

 “Here we are.”

 “Let me go, Jan.”

 “If I do, will you stay?”

 “Fine.”

 Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

 Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

 “What—what just happened?”

 “The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

 “So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

 “No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

 He stands up, eyes blazing.

 “I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

 Thomas goes pale. “What?”

 “Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

 “It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

 “What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

 “You can let me kill the others.”

 “No, Remus.”

 “Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

 Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

 Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

  Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

 “Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

 Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

 Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

 Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

  Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

 He aches.

 Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

 So he has to wait.

 Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

 Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

 But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

 “Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

 He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

 “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

 Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

 “Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

 He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

 “Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

 Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

 And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 Roman melts.

 “Oh, sweetie…”

 Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

 He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

 “I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

 He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

 “I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

 He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

 “But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

 +1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

 His room definitely has curtains.

 Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

 Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

 He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

 Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

 He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

 He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

 So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

 Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

 But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

 “Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

 “Mmno.”

 “You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

 He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

 “That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

 “Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

 The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

 “If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

 Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

 Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

 “Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

 This time?

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 Janus swallows. “How long—“

 “You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

 “You were supposed to be asleep.”

 “You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

 Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

 “We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

 And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

 “Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

 “Mm.”

 But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

 “Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

 He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

 “Can I help?”

 Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

 “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

 He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

 “Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

 Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

 ...maybe he is going to have to do this.

 “I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

 He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

 “They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

 Roman whimpers.

 “You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

 He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

 “And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

 Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

 “Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

 The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

 “I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

 “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

 His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

 “Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

 Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

 “I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

 Roman’s mouth stills.

 “If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

 “You...you do?”

 “I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

 Roman collapses.

 Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

 It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

 He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

 He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

 Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

 “No, sweetie. Come on...”

 He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

 “What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

 Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

 “Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

  But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

 Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

 “It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

 “I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

 “I know.”

 Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

 “Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

 “I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

 “I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

 He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

 “I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

 Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

 Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

 “What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

 Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

 “You want them to watch.”

 “They should, shouldn’t they?”

 Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

 “What do you think?”

 Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

 He glances up at Janus.

 “Did you?”

 Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

 With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

 Thomas takes a deep breath.

 “...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

 “Right now?”

 “Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

 “...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

 “Then yeah. Right now.”

 “Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

 Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

 “You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

 Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

 “Thank you.”

 Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

 “Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

 “We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

 Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

 “Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

 “It is about yesterday.”

 “Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?”  Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

 “Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

 “No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

 “What the fuck?”

 “Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

 “Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

 “How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

 “…not much, why?”

 In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

 Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

  “…you want me to apologize?”

 Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

 Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

 He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

 Thomas looks up at Janus.

 “Can you still hear them?”

 “The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

 “What does that mean?”

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

 Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

 “Quite.”

 “We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

 “We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

 “Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

 “But there has to be something!”

 “Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow.

 “…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

 He hunches his shoulders.

 “Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

 “Bonk.”

 They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

 “Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

 Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

 “Yes.”

 “Huh.”

 “That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

 “It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

 “Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

 Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

 “…can we go hug Roman now?”

 “I wanna do that.”

 “If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

 “We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

 “And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

 “We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

 Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

 Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

 They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

 “Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

 Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

 “I—um—“

 “I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

 “I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

 “Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

 Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

 “Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

 “No.”

 He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

 “No.”

 The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

 “I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

 He pauses, then leans closer.

 “They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

  They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

 Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

 “They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

 “W-what?”

 In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

 “Can we let them in, sweetie?”

 “They’re here?”

 “Right outside.”

 “They want—they want to—“

 Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

 Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

 “Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

 “I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

 Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

 “Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

 “Mis—miss—missed me?”

 “Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

 Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

 “Bonk?”

 Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

 “Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

 “We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

 “But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

 “Re!”

 “Hey, Ro-Bro.”

 “Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

 Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

 For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

 They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

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[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

fine line - a close reading

gonna cry bc i’m at the end, gonna cry bc it’s fine line.

(x x x)

want to give the same disclaimer as with lights up: this song is so layered, so multi-faceted, that i could never hope to give an exhaustive analysis. due to its vagueness and openness for interpretation, i assume that everyone, just like me, has their own ideas about it and has attached importance to it in ways that no one else’s words can or should alter. this song means the world to me for reasons that aren’t necessarily in this post, and that’s how it is with art that touches us deeply. i’ve tried my best to pull it apart, lay it bare, spread it open, if you will, so it’s almost as free as it can be for you all to form your own opinion on it. in the synthesis i will make my own conclusions, but feel free to ignore that if yours are totally different. i’m just one set of brain and heart taking in fine line and projecting whatever i think is right onto it. alright, let’s go

fine line, track 12

sung in falsetto

live version at the form: first verse not sung in falsetto - after first chorus goes into falsetto - like “thinking of her” has summoned her

live version at the form: first verse not sung in falsetto - after first chorus goes into falsetto - like “thinking of her” has summoned her

Put a price on emotion

pouring emotions into the art you create: how much is genuine / how much do you show - line between being authentic to your audience and giving away too much, wanting to keep things to yourself and not feeling truthful with what you’ve written

exploits of the industry: lay your soul bare - or the exact opposite, some pretend emotion - to score that hit

I'm looking for something to buy

cynical. emotions aren’t genuine, right? where can i go buy some?

～ lights up themes. fake life, industry, being a sell-out

You've got my devotion

But man, I can hate you sometimes

“you” = career, music, Harry Styles™. devoted to the craft, to the job, all the ups and downs of it, despite the hardships it brings 

“man” is deliberate: can be seen as an offhand interjection, like “man, that’s rough”, but nothing is casually placed in this song. “man” is: The Man, the heads in the industry, the people pulling the strings. The man in Harry, the man he’s been in the media all these years, the part he’s played/had to play, the man that’s in him

⟶ “hate you”: hate for industry shit, self-hate created by having to play pretend (～ only angel analysis, the persona of the Bukowski womaniser)

“sometimes” - it’s not fucked up all the time

“you” could also be a lover, but the sudden “hate” there then would be for that person, which is absent in any other song about them, doesn’t make any sense

I don't want to fight you

And I don't want to sleep in the dirt

like there’s a choice to me made, but he doesn’t want to make it: either I fight this “you” or I sleep in the dirt

“you” as the industry: if he doesn’t fight them, he might end up being a beggar, lose all his self-worth bc he gave in to everything they asked/told him to do

“you” as himself: fight your instincts, part of who you are/the persona. if he doesn’t fight to figure himself out, though, he fears he’ll also lose

“sleep in the dirt” as a sense of rejection, as well

We'll get the drinks in

So I'll get to thinking of her

drinks to cope - falling, only angel, from the dining table - or to be braver and confront emotions better - tbsl

who is “we”? who is “her”?

narrative of “you” as “lover” further disproven: if “I” and the lover get together over drinks and “I” starts thinking of “her”?

⟷ “her” could be the lover, but then who is “you”? the industry? some other person, besides that lover, harry is devoted to? multiple lovers, all of a sudden? no.

⟶ “I” and “you” are all harry, that get to thinking of “her” because she is in daydreams with him. the narrative that harry is fighting a part of him, the persona he has (had) to play bc of industry limits, makes most sense. that persona is within him now, and part of his work, but all of him, “we”, is begging to come into the light - of which she is a huge part

We'll be a fine line

balancing act. let everything coexist but pay attention that those lines don’t get crossed the wrong way. what we are, what i am, is a fine line between what makes us go under and what lets us thrive

we will be: determination to fulfil this prophecy, statement of fact “we always will be”

“we’ll be a fine line”: other way of interpreting it is that on both sides of that line is what entails “we”, all that is harry. what merges on that fine line is where it’s just right, when harry is fully himself in every way

“fine line” can also be an echo of criticism, bigotry, in the style of: it’s a fine line between being simply flamboyant and queer, between dressing like that and people thinking you’re a transvestite or summat (cause we wouldn’t want that, now, would we) - “we’ll be a fine line” could be owning all of it. putting himself in the middle of all those messy lines, as someone queer without a category

Test of my patience

patience with himself - kindness to self - took a long time to figure shit out and it was a challenge

waiting for change: industry and its allowances/openness

There's things that we'll never know

my favorite line

“we” = harry / harry and company / us in general, all of us listening 

～ tpwk “i don’t need all the answers”: deep sense of acceptance

peace to be found in accepting this!!

You sunshine, you temptress

“sunshine” - as in all the love songs (blue skies, sunflowers, summer days…): lover - possible that there are multiple “you”s in this song?

sunshine could ofc also be directed at the temptress, still

female “temptress” - “i’ll get to thinking of her” - she - it’s tempting for harry to think of her all the time, to lose himself in the “her” in him

other interpretation for “temptress”: woman he knows with negative influence in his life - resemblance to woman “you flower, you feast”, so echo of Bukowski ～ only angel, kiwi (my sunshine, my love, who is involved with this temptress…)

My hand’s at risk, I fold

⟷ tpwk “dropping into the deep end”

not showing his cards just yet / forfeits

anxious to show all of him, to take the chance, with all the risks and consequences involved

Crisp trepidation

I’ll try to shake this soon

nervousness, anxiety - about (not) taking (enough) chances, (not) laying himself bare (release of the album that reveals much more than before)

“crisp” fresh, this feeling is unfamiliar - change is coming “soon”

sense of agency: I can get rid of this feeling by my own volition and make these changes - hesitant, insecure: “try”

wants to be braver. he’s not going back, but still needs to calmly coax himself further and further into the light, out into the open (“we’ll be alright”)

Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

(can anyone else hear “spread thin” like a whisper under “spreading”? or am i imagining things.)

“you” is back - the only way of knowing “you” is to spread them open - the physical

to spread someone open - very literal, don’t need to paint the picture, or to lay bare, to lay it all out 

⟶ “you” as himself - the only way of knowing who i am is by doing this: writing this album, performing these songs, letting others listen in and form their own interpretations, let this world grow where i’m laid bare and OPEN and exist as this person who has issues, who is angry, who doesn’t know who he is a lot of the time, but is still so happy to be here - let it spread and let it all circle back to me so i can grow deeper into myself

We'll be a fine line

We'll be alright

“we” = h & self, h & lover, h & fans

collectiveness from tpwk

(notes on a piano sounding like drops, like he’s emerged from the water and dripping dry)

SYNTHESIS

Everything about this song is plural. Personal pronouns are all over the place. I, you, her, we. The sound is incredibly layered, with Harry’s own voice echoing through its verses like he’s singing to himself in an empty cave. Meanings can be attached to every word like it’s a wax tablet used too many times. What Harry has said in interviews for once holds pretty true to the actual meaning, in my opinion. 

“It felt like it described to me the process of making it and how the album felt in terms of the different kinds of songs on it.” (Capital FM)

This can mean a lot of things, and I think it means all of the things, of course. It means Fine Line is a summary of all of his emotions he visited on the album, of the things he’s laid bare. And it means that the actual process was also described, as one that can be frustrating and challenging, with added industry shit. 

Harry has expressed straightforward gratefulness to his label for "leaving (him) alone” while making the album and that speaks volumes. This time, he had the chance to make his art without the constant interference of a label, which meant he could weave in criticism as well. “Put a price on emotion” is first and foremost a critique on the industry. It’s the first line of the song, setting the tone for the interpretation of this song is about the risks I took while making this album. It involves criticism on an industry that creates such an atmosphere that only a certain type of music and artist breaks through or can be successful, that limits people in their personal expression. Convinces them that it’s better that way. That it’s better to hide who they love because the general public won’t accept them. That it’s better to create a song about a fake emotion than be honest. Harry loves writing songs and being on stage, but it’s taken a while for him to be fully comfortable there as a solo artist and bloom into the person that could make Fine Line. He loves his career, but it’s also limited his freedom in ways beyond our comprehension, and it’s exploited him to the point where he didn’t know who he was, in ways that have clearly taken a toll on his mental wellbeing. To a point where he finishes this album reassuring himself, most of all, that everything will be alright.

That process of making Fine Line obviously includes Harry confronting emotions he hadn’t before. He has stated that he experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows while making it. There are things he hates, he was fighting but doesn’t want to (anymore), uncertainties he was trying to figure out but had to accept he couldn’t, risks he still doesn’t know he can take without shaking. At the centre of it all is this sense of “knowing you.” The different personal pronouns in the song paint a fractured picture, which is ultimately deliberate. That the “you” Harry is devoted to and can hate sometimes doesn’t line up with “her,” that the end focus does seem to be this “you” that is mentioned in the same breath as “man” and “temptress,” forming the “we” together with “I”. 

After having songs like Lights Up, She, Falling and even TPWK, one of the central themes on the album has undoubtedly been self-discovery, in all its pain and glory. There are no female pronouns on the album besides, obviously, in She, and then here, in Fine Line. She is about a man living with a woman “just in his head”, who “sleeps in his bed while he plays pretend.” It is very clearly a trans narrative, the story of someone struggling to put into words what they’re experiencing in terms of gender. To a point that they fantasise about running away. Fine Line brings the ideas of knowing what it all means, which Lights Up kicks off (“do you know who you are?”), Falling deepens (“what am I now?”) and Treat People With Kindness turns on its head (“I don’t need all the answers”), together. Harry is still doubtful, and the questions asked earlier in the album haven’t disappeared, but he has accepted that “some things we’ll never know.” His aim, however, is still “knowing you.” 

To have Fine Line, as the summary of these emotions of self-growth and self-discovery, echo that one female pronoun, speaks volumes. It is a direct reference to She, to that story about gender. “Her” in this song refers to “she (who) lives in daydreams with (him).” The one who still only fully comes out when they’ve had a drink. The one he’s still working to include in who he is, as he tries to figure out who he is, all of it. The song where he sings in falsetto, just like on Fine Line. Of which he sang the first verse an octave lower live at the forum, switching between those voices, those perspectives. That’s also why “you” in this song is also Harry to me. We get this fractured sense of self, this “I” and “you” conversing over a drink, this “you” Harry is devoted to and wants to figure out. “You” and “I” form “we” and all of them are Harry. The lines are blurry on purpose, there is no way to figure out where “you” ends and “I” begins. 

“You sunshine, you temptress” is the most enigmatic line in that respect, and to me blurs those lines even more between the pronouns. “You” is suddenly also identified by a female noun. And no this isn’t about some kind of love triangle. “Sunshine” aligns with all the odes to his lover in the rest of the album. So what does that mean? That there are multiple “you”s in this song, meaning that Harry is addressing both his lover and a temptress? So “her” he’ll get to thinking of, the only other female pronoun used in the song, is identified as a temptress, but tempting to do what? To take risks? And no I won’t forget the “man, I can hate you sometimes,” where "man” is not a casual interjection but an identifier of “you.” 

Or is it an echo of “the light” from Golden’s “bring me back to the light” and Light’s Up’s “step into the light”? So that the “sunshine” symbolises being in the clear, being out of the darkness running through his heart, the darkness caused by not knowing who you are. “You sunshine,” you beacon of light. “You temptress,” risk-taker and source of anxiety. You, one I need to spread open to figure out, to know about, source of happiness and despair, one I’m devoted to but also hate. You, man, you, temptress. You there, in the mirror looking back at me. 

All of you, and myself included, we’ll be a fine line. And we’ll be alright.

This song is about all of that. The self in art, the self on its own, the other, the journey, the chances, the fears, the passion. Hope. Reassurance. Confidence. And, most importantly, that everything will be alright in the end.

x

read all my lyric analyses here

[thisissirius]

for @gracieli and the ladies of the discord *chef’s kiss*

i’ve only known you to keep your word buck/eddie, buck, eddie, chris, hurt/comfort, a little frottage, buck being lonely and eddie seeing and helping

Buck barely has time to sit down and attempt to handle the silence in his apartment when a key jams into the lock of his front door and it swings open.

Eddie comes into the apartment, two bags in hand, and beer in the other. “Get the door?”

Buck stares.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

When Eddie’s shut the door, Buck finds his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing food,” Eddie says, and Buck hears the duh even if he doesn’t say it. “Not that I’m cooking it. You are.” He flashes a smile.

Buck snorts, moving past his confusion and grabbing for the beer. “Maybe I wanna watch you fail.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s your apartment. Also possibly your funeral.”

Saluting Eddie with his bottle, he goes to the cutlery drawer and grabs a bottle opener. “Why are you really here?”

There’s a long, drawn out silence where Eddie just stares at him. Buck feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny in ways he hasn’t before. It seems like ever since they came back from Texas, Eddie’s been—Buck doesn’t know how to explain it.

“Chris is at a sleepover,” Eddie says eventually. He makes a face. “You know how I feel about that.”

Buck does. Eddie’s only ever antsy and weird when Chris isn’t around. “Such a drama king,” he says.

“Whatever. We cooking or what?”

“Fine,” Buck says with a sigh, hip checking Eddie out of the way, ducking away from the elbow Eddie aims at his side. “Don’t beat up the person who’s saving you from food poisoning, Diaz.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, but he starts emptying out the bags. Spaghetti. He’s so transparent but Buck hides his smile by taking a pull of beer. Buck’s spaghetti is Christopher’s favourite and Buck’s got no doubts Eddie’s brought enough ingredients for extra portions. Something like happiness blossoms in Buck’s chest and he covers it with a knowing smirk.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” Eddie grouses. “You try telling Chris we had spaghetti and didn’t save him any.”

“No thanks,” Buck says immediately. “I do not court death.”

It makes Eddie laugh, which is Buck’s aim, after all, and he grins his way through the meal prep. _______

Later, stomach full and the happiness a comfortable constant, Buck is stretched out on the couch, another bottle of beer resting against his hip, one arm tucked under his head. He is super conscious of one of his legs resting over Eddie’s lap, Eddie’s fingers circling his ankle.

“I don’t understand why they don’t just talk to each other.”

Eddie gives him a look. “It’s a movie, Buck.”

“So?” Buck watches as neither of the characters communicate. Again. “How hard is it to talk about your feelings?”

There’s a pointed silence.

“Whatever,” Buck grouses. “We have notable trauma, they don’t.”

“Noticeable trauma,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow.

Buck kicks him with the leg that isn’t held hostage. “Be nice, Eddie, or you can go home.”

“You wouldn’t kick me out,” Eddie says with certainty.

Falling quiet, Buck turns back to the movie, but he’s not really watching it. Eddie’s not wrong. He wouldn’t kick Eddie out. Ever. Even in their worst moments, the only thing he wanted was for Eddie to come back, for them to be them again.

The movie finishes and Buck blinks. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. He removes his hands from Buck’s ankle. Buck can still feel the phantom heat of his fingers. “Come on, time for bed.”

Buck frowns. “I was comfortable.”

“And we can be comfortable upstairs,” Eddie says, once again with the duh unspoken. “Up, Buckley, let’s go.”

Buck feels a little adrift as they walk up to his bedroom. Honestly, he’s been feeling that way most of the night and he doesn’t know how to make sense of what he’s feeling. Leaning against the balcony railing, he watches Eddie root through his drawers, grabbing sleep clothes. “Eddie—“

“Wash up,” Eddie tells him, tossing over the clothes.

Though the fight is on the tip of his tongue, Buck keeps it to himself. He realises he doesn’t want to argue and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror. The silence that usually crowds him in the evenings he’s alone is absent and there’s comfort in Eddie being a yell away. He relaxes, washing up and getting changed.

When he comes out, Eddie moves past him, a hand brushing his hip and Buck shivers. The touch feels deliberate and Buck’s thrown back over the last couple of hours. Everything Eddie’s done is just what Buck needs. It overwhelms him and he sits on the edge of the bed, not sure what happens next. Will Eddie get blankets and go downstairs? Worse, will he want to share a bed? What if he wants to talk—

“Buck,” Eddie says gently, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder making him jump. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Buck says, smiling softly. “Sorry.”

Eddie’s hand squeezes before it falls to his side. “Get in the bed.”

“Are you—”

“Come on,” Eddie says, and it could easily be an order, but for the tone. Buck doesn’t like being pushed around and it shows that Eddie knows that; he’s careful, gentle, and Buck nods, climbing into bed.

Buck rolls over, watches Eddie as he shuts off the light and charges his phone. Buck panics for a moment, before seeing his own on the nightstand. His heart picks up a beat, twop, and he’s holding his breath. Maybe if he doesn’t move this won’t stop being a dream. It still feels like one when Eddie reaches out, fingers sliding through the hair that’s soft against Buck’s forehead. “Sleep, Buck.”

Buck doesn’t know if he can.

“You save me from my nightmares,” Eddie says, with a self-deprecating smile.

I’ll save you from yours.

Buck closes his eyes and breathes out.

Buck’s not quite sure what to make of it..

_______

The next morning, Eddie burns breakfast (of course), abandons it (of course), and bundles himself and Buck in the truck to get breakfast—and to pick up Chris.

“Bucky!” Chris pokes his head into the car and grins.

Buck will never not love hanging out with Chris and he leans over the seat to give Chris a high five. “Sleepover okay?”

“Jamie’s got a hamster,” Chris starts.

“No,” Eddie says immediately, buckling his seatbelt.

Chris looks at Buck. Buck looks at Eddie.

“No,” Eddie says again.

Buck smiles at Chris and turns back around. They’ve got this.

_______

Two very full shifts later and Buck is sitting in the locker room, staring at his duffle. He doesn’t know if he’s got the energy to pack the rest of his shit in there and move, let alone drive home. His body aches, bruises starting to blossom from the fall he’d taken on a previous call, and he hisses as he stands.

The prospect of going home alone, tending to his hurts and sleeping in that bed all alone—Buck’s breath hitches and he closes his eyes, forehead pressed to the lockers.

There’s a rap on the glass and Buck whirls around, ready to put up the front, make out he’s okay, and deflates when he sees Eddie. Neither of them says anything for a moment, and then Eddie’s moving into the room, wordlessly packing the rest of Buck’s stuff into his bag. Buck doesn’t know where he gets his energy from. “Eddie.”

“You look like you’re gonna fall over,” Eddie says, frowning.

“Sorry,” Buck starts.

“Why?” Eddie looks up at him, surprised.

Buck sits on the bench again, cradling his ribs. They’re not broken, says Hen and Chim both, but they still hurt like a bitch. “Give me a minute and I’ll be good to go. You should go ome to Chris.”

“That’s not happening,” Eddie says. “I mean alone,” he amends, interpreting Buck’s expression correctly. “You’re coming with me.”

“Eddie—”

“Don’t argue with me.” Eddie straightens up, Buck’s bag on one shoulder, his on the other. “You alright to move?”

Buck nods, gives himself a minute to breathe in and out slowly, then pushes himself to his feet. He winces when his ribs twinge. “You can drop me off, it’s fine.”

Eddie stops them, hand on Buck’s arm. His thumb is resting against Buck’s pulse point and Buck wonders, a touch hysterically, if he can feel it racing. “You’re coming home with me,” he says again, gentler this time. “You’re always allowed to ask me for help.”

Breath catching in his throat, Buck doesn’t know how to answer that. Eddie swipes his thumb once across the skin of Buck’s wrist then lets go.

“I’ll tell Chris not to jump on you,” Eddie tells him as they head out of the station. “He’s still banned from video games, so you’ll have to entertain him some other way.”

“It’s not like we haven’t had to before,” Buck says, falling into the banter with ease. “At least this time it’s a deserved punishment and not his dad being a technophobe.”

Eddie glares at him over the top of the truck. “Hildy was watching me! She sees it all!”

Buck laughs, wincing as he slides into the passenger set, but the pain is worth it. Eddie helps with the seatbelt, which would be humiliating if Buck wasn’t used to this. “Does Chris know I’m coming?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, putting the truck in reverse. “Carla would kill me for one. Secondly, I’d hate to ruin the surprise.”

Eddie’s smile is fond and Buck can’t help but match it, relaxing back against the seat. He can’t wait to walk through that door and let Chris fill all the spaces that have grown in him since the last time. It always feels like coming home. Buck closes his eyes, pushes down the feeling. Chris isn’t his and he should remember that.

“You still with me?”

Buck opens his eyes, head turning to look at Eddie. Eddie spares him a glance, then looks back at the road. “I’m not gonna be good company,” he tries again. If he brings Chris and Eddie down with his mood, he’ll never forgive himself.

“You think I was after the well?” Eddie huffs out a laugh. “Please, Buck, we’ll ply you with painkillers, Chris can talk your ear off about whatever it is you two get excited about, then we’ll go to sleep. It’s not that hard.”

“I could have done that at home.”

“Yes,” Eddie allows, Buck fascinated with how soft his touch when the steering wheel slides through his fingers. Why is everything about Eddie so gentle? “But I’d rather you be somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”

The words signal exasperation, but the tone is fond, the smile on Eddie’s face soft. Buck so often feels like a burden but Eddie’s acting like he isn’t. That this is something he wants to do, help Buck and make him—

“Fuck.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, sounding worried. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Buck bites out, swiping at his face with the hand not pressed to his ribs. “Please keep driving.”

Eddie does, thankfully, and Buck grits his teeth against the urge to keep crying. “I’m sorry.”

It’s Buck’s turn to be confused. “Why?”

“If you’re crying because someone wants to take care of you, I’ve been a shitty best friend.”

_______

The words are still rattling around Buck’s head when it comes time for bed.

Chris is already tucked in, having dragged a story from both Buck and Eddie, and Eddie’s been putting stuff away in the kitchen, talking in low tones to Buck through the door. Buck’s been half paying attention, his mind still on the conversation in the car.

When Eddie steps back into the room, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, he gives Buck a smile. “Ready for bed?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Toss some blankets, yeah?”

“As if,” Eddie says without hesitation. “No way are you taking the couch with those ribs.”

“Eddie,” Buck says. Eddie pauses at whatever he hears in Buck’s tone. Buck’s not sure how he sounds, barely knows how he feels. “What you said in the truck—”

There’s no judgement, no embarrassment. “Yeah?”

Buck opens his mouth, closes it. “You haven’t been a shitty best friend.”

“I have,” Eddie presses. Then, with a sigh, “sometimes.”

“So have I.” Buck groans as he rights himself, grateful when Eddie holds out a hand and takes most of his weight to help him stand. “I don’t know how to accept it. Someone taking care of me.”

Eddie nods. Buck doesn’t know how he always gets it, how he knows Buck so well when Buck barely knows what’s happening inside of his own head. Eddie’s hands are on his hips and he tugs a little, careful so that Buck doesn’t stumble, and drags him into a hug. Buck lets out a shaky breath, turns his face into Eddie’s neck. The angle would be awkward but for his stoop and he lets himself take the comfort Eddie’s offering.

“I know,” Eddie says quietly, a kiss ghosting over Buck’s temple. “You will.”

_______

Over the following two days, Buck’s body mends and he’s able to move without wanting to punch himself in the face. He spends the time dicking around on his phone—having a photo off with Marjan about which one of them is more internet famous—and letting Chris talk him into playing almost his entire catalogue of video games.

Eddie’s a silent presence in the background. He disappears for work, leaving Carla in charge, and she spends most of the time feeding Buck, berating him for not looking after himself, and throwing him knowing looks. Buck doesn’t know what she’s getting at. When Eddie comes home, he manages to put together a good dinner (Buck finds the takeout containers in the trash), settle down with them in front of the TV and throw an arm over Buck’s shoulders, squeeze against him even when there’s space, and on the second night, when they’re an hour into the movie, Buck can feel Eddie’s fingers playing with his hair.

It startles him, but he does his best not to react. Relaxing back against Eddie’s arm, he catches the small quirk of a smile playing at Eddie’s mouth and complains about something in the movie. Chris interjects, Buck only tangentially paying attention, because Eddie’s fingers are scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Gross,” Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. Buck can agree; there’s way too much blood for a movie Chris can watch, but he doesn’t answer. He can feel himself relaxing further, embarrassed when he pushes into Eddie’s fingers. Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. Except then, on the next pass, he scratches a little lighter. The sensation has Buck shivering and he swallows down the noise in his throat.

Reaching over, he rests a hand on Eddie’s leg and squeezes. Eddie looks at him, picking up on Buck’s silent cues, and nods. He keeps his hand in Buck’s hair, but contends himself with running his fingers through it instead of scratching. Buck breathes out, shaky, but doesn’t tense up again.

“Work tomorrow,” Eddie says, his voice pitched low. Chris is still watching the movie, working his way through a packet of candy Buck’s surprised Eddie let him have.

Buck nods. “Can’t wait. I feel like I’ve put on five pounds in two days.”

“Now who’s dramatic.” Eddie shakes his head. “Not that you’re wrong; Carla’s cooking does have that effect. So good.”

“Anyone’s would be,” Buck says, smirking, “compared to yours.”

Eddie glares, but he huffs, looking back at the TV. “Rude.”

“Not wrong,” Buck says lightly, sing-song, watching Chris out of the corner of his eye. Either Chris is doing a very good job of pointedly ignoring them (something he’s practised at), or they’re managing to keep their tone low. When Eddie doesn’t reply, he pouts. “I’m injured.”

“You were,” Eddie corrects, but he’s smiling. “All the rope rescues for you tomorrow.”

Buck pauses. “You’re not going to fight me for them?”

Looking nonchalant, Eddie shrugs. “Consider it a gift to you.”

You’re my gift.

The words get trapped somewhere in Buck’s throat. He can’t stop staring at Eddie. It almost feels like a relief when the movie finishes, and Eddie starts making noises about sleeping. Again, Buck finds himself being tugged in the direction of Eddie’s bed, even when the couch will suffice, but it feels not unlike the tsunami; Buck drowning, being pulled in different directions, but this time Eddie’s there; a guide, an anchor, when Buck feels most adrift.

_______

Days pass into weeks.

Buck’s in his truck, on the way back to his apartment, and he’s startled by the wrongness of it. He can’t remember the last time he spent the night in his own home. Turning into the parking lot, he sits behind the wheel, knuckles white as he grips it, staring at the window of his apartment.

Not that he wants to hang around Eddie like dead weight. He’d dashed out of the locker room, a yell over his shoulder that he was late to pick up Chris. Not that buck expects them to hang out after work or anything, but ever since—well, since Texas, Eddie’s not been far.

Angry at himself, he grabs his duffel from the back seat and heads into the apartment building, fighting the lead weight settling in his stomach. It’s his fucking home! Just because Eddie doesn’t mind him hanging out with him and Chris, Buck needs to get a grip. He’s not part of their family and he needs to stop. Maybe go out, find someone to—

His phone rings shrilly through his thoughts and he grabs it, answering it with a harsh, “What?”

A pause. “Where are you?”

“At my apartment,” Buck snaps. “You remember? That place I live.”

Eddie’s quiet on the other end of the phone and Buck grips the edge of the counter, closing his eyes, opening his mouth to apologise. Eddie talks first, his tone soft. “I remember.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck blurts out. He presses his hand to his eyes. “I think the shift must have got to me. “

“You sure you’re alright?”

No. Buck nods. “Yeah.”

A hum. Eddie’s voice is still quiet when he says, “alright. See you tomorrow.”

When the dial tone rings in his ear, Buck lets the phone slide out of his hands, hitting the counter and sliding away from him. Buck swallows once, twice, feels the burn of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t realise he’s slid down to the floor until he feels the cold beneath his butt, his head falling back to rest against the island. Time slides away from him and he breathes slowly, trying to focus on the here and now, even if it’s the last place he wants to be.

“Buck?”

Buck’s breathing sounds too loud.

“Head up, Buck, come on.”

Eddie, Buck’s brain helpfully supplies. He blinks, stares up into Eddie’s face.

“There you are,” Eddie says, voice soft. “You with me?”

“Eddie?” Buck says, his voice scratchy.

Eddie nods, his arms on Buck’s. He tugs gently, helping Buck up off the floor. Buck lets himself be led, unsurprised when Eddie pushes him down onto the couch. There’s a glass of water on the coffee table, a blanket against the arm.

Buck stares, wonders if there’s an echo when he says, “Eddie,” again.

“I’m here,” Eddie says, and Buck’s sure this isn’t real, that he’s gone mad. “Not mad,” Eddie says, “just lonely.”

The word catches in Buck’s ribcage, feels like a knife. “I don’t like being alone.”

Eddie sits next to him on the couch, turning sideways, knee pressed to Buck’s thigh. “I know.”

“I hate it,” Buck continues, staring around the room, at the cold whiteness of everything. He’s tried to make it a home, put stuff up, kept some of the drawings Chris does for him, photos hung on the walls. It doesn’t feel like anything. Not the way Eddie’s does when he walks through the door. The smell, the sounds, the comfort of Chris laughing, of Eddie grousing about something.

Buck’s chest feels tight.

“Buck,” Eddie says, his tone hard. “Look at me.”

Buck does.

“That’s it.” Eddie’s tone shifts back into soft and he reaches over, pulls Buck closer to him. Buck tenses up but Eddie doesn’t let go. He keeps talking, the words washing over Buck like a balm. “You never ask for help. I know I don’t either. We’ve both got—what did you call it, notable trauma?”

It’s funny, but Buck doesn’t laugh. He starts to relax, hand fisting in Eddie’s shirt.

“You’re lonely,” Eddie says, not that Buck needs the reminder. “But you’re not alone.”

Buck clenches his eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath.

“You hear me?” Eddie says again, burying his face in Buck’s hair. They shift around a little until it’s comfortable, Buck pressed against Eddie, the two of them stretched out on Buck’s couch.

“Chris,” Buck says, panicked. If Eddie’s here then who’s got Chris?

“He’s with Hen and Karen.” Eddie’s fingers are on the back of Buck’s neck, grounding him. “He’s safe.”

Okay. Chris is safe. Buck’s not alone.

“Eddie,” he says, hating himself for this weakness but unable to keep from saying, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Eddie sucks in a breath, lets it out. He sounds wrecked. “I know. You’re not, I promise.”

Buck shakes his head. “I am. When you go home. When everyone—I’m alone. Abby left and Ali and I’m alone.” The word spill out of him, water running over him, drowning him, holding him fast. “My parents left me alone. Maddie. You.” Eddie’s breath hitches. “Why doesn’t anyone stay?”

Arms tightening, Eddie drags him up, mouth pressed to his forehead, breath hot against Buck’s face. “Not anymore, you understand me?”

Buck wants to believe it. Eddie’s been here, all this time, taking care of Buck. Dr. Copeland says he can accept it for what it is; Eddie caring. Buck wants to, but he doesn’t know how.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, watching him carefully.

“What is?”

“That you don’t believe me.” Eddie says it so matter of fact and though Buck wants to deny it, he can’t make himself say it. Eddie’s thumb rubs over his cheek. Is Buck crying again? “I’ll show you.”

Buck doesn’t know what that means. “How?”

“If you don’t wanna be alone,” Eddie starts, cuts himself off. There’s pink on his cheeks, determination in his expression. “My bed is cold without you.”

“Mine is too big,” Buck blurts out.

“Alright,” Eddie says, even though Buck doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. He curls into Eddie, emotionally wrung out, not sure where they go from here. Have they solved anything? Buck’s still going to be in this cold apartment and Eddie might want him around sometimes, but all the time? Buck doesn’t know if Eddie likes him enough to—

Fingers scratch against his scalp.

Buck lets out a soft noise.

“I wasn’t sure,” Eddie says, words drifting softly into Buck’s ear where Eddie’s lips are pressed. “But you asked me to stop.”

“I didn’t know,” Buck says, shaky, groaning when Eddie’s nails scrape down the nape of his neck. He gets a hand between Eddie’s back and the couch, curls his fingers into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. A henley. Yellow. Fuck, he looks so good.

Eddie whispers, “I know,” and adjusts his hips, slides further back and oh. Buck rocks his hips up, a little out of it because this is Eddie, and they’re on his couch, and he’s, he’s chasing— “That’s it.”

There’s a counterpoint; Eddie’s fingers in his hair, against his scalp, and his hips, the thick curve of his dick pressed to Buck’s.

“Eddie,” he manages to get out.

“You can have it,” Eddie grits out, dropping his free hand to Buck’s ass and dragging him up. Buck punches out a groan, body quivering as he his orgasm starts to build, pleasure pulsing at the base of his spine. Eddie’s breathing in his ear, there’s the rustle of fabric, and Buck can smell the fading scent of Eddie’s cologne.

“Please,” Buck bites out.

“Take it,” Eddie says, biting at the curve of Buck’s jaw. “You can have whatever want.”

Buck sobs out Eddie’s name as he grinds his hips down, lost in the sensations of Eddie’s hands, his voice, the pleasure cresting up and over, drowning out everything but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

_______

“You with me?”

Buck hums, craking open an eye. They’re still on the couch, his pants feel gross, but Eddie’s stroking a hand down his back so Buck can deal.

“Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck says.

Eddie shifts a little, extricating himself enough to grab the water bottle. Buck makes a disgruntled noise, but can’t deny he’s thirsty. When Eddie’s satisfied he’s drunk enough, they settle back, Eddie’s hand drfiting through his hair. “Move in with me.”

Buck’s body tenses. “Eddie—”

“I’m asking,” Eddie says, and when Buck pulls back, he can see the apprehension on Eddie’s face. “Not telling. And no,” he adds, “it’s not pity.”

“I can get over it.”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He gestures for Buck to lie back down and after a momentary hesitation, Buck does, sinking against the lines of Eddie’s body. He’s lulled into comfort by the press of Eddie’s hands against his back and neck, the steady rhythm of Eddie’s chest rising and falling.

“Part of me thinks I’ll never be over Shannon,” Eddie says. Buck hardly dares breathe. “I’ve always thought I wasn’t good enough,” Eddie continues, burying his face in Buck’s hair. “And yet every time I look up, there you are. Still here.”

The words take a moment to resonate; Buck’s broken and splintered, but Eddie is too. Maybe their damaged parts match up, maybe they don’t. Somehow, they fit together anyway, and Eddie’s been here. He’s still here, Chris safe with friends because Buck needs him.

“I’ve never been a priority,” Buck rasps out.

“Yes you have,” Eddie says with a certainty that makes Buck wants to hold on and never let go. “You and Chris? You have to know you’re everything.”

Buck tightens his grip on Eddie. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Eddie huffs a breath. “I know. Neither do I, sometimes, but I’m not letting you go, Buck.”

“Promise?”

Gentle pressure on Buck’s chin tilts his head up and he stares into Eddie’s eyes and Buck’s breath catches in his throat at the expression on Eddie’s face. “You have every part of me that doesn’t belong to Chris.”

When Eddie kisses him, Buck lets himself fall.

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

A Lesson In Touch [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Touch Summary: You want nothing more to say your feelings for Din out loud, but words don't come to you or Din easy... Maybe you can express your love in another way. Warnings: A little bit of angst and description of injury, but that's about it Request: N/A

A/N: This is the third and final instalment of "a lesson in" series! ((unless i get inspired to write another part)) Let me know if you have any requests for Din in general!!

A/N 2: Here is a list of people that said they wanted to be tagged for this fic! Hope you like it

@elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey @the-fae-child @zoleea-exultant @captainwanderlust78​ @ihavemyownissuess​

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Tradition PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Touch

Din hadn't quite mastered the art of subtlety when it came to you. He was very thankful for his beskar, specifically his helmet, otherwise he was sure you would've noticed his outright staring. In no way was he trying to make you feel uncomfortable or offend you, but he just felt mesmerised by you in a way that no other being in the galaxy had. Well, apart from his little green son. But, this... This was something different.

        You were something different.

        Ever since you had bought that necklace, the way he felt about you had only intensified. It was scaring him in ways he didn't even want to confront. Thoughts of a relationship, of a family with you began to stir within him. It wasn't realistic- definitely just a day dream. Kriff, he hadn't even been in a romantic relationship before: how was he ever going to treat you right? Sure, he'd dabbled in a few flings here and there... Some he was less than proud of. Although he'd never broken his Creed, he had certainly bent the rules a handful of times; in his defence, he was young, and stupid... And, touch starved. In truth: he probably still was.

        It had been a long while since anyone had touched him with any other intent than to kill him. He was used to the roughness of touch that came with combat: the way his fists hit another, and he was in turn hit, but your soft lingering touches were enough to distract him for the whole day.

        He began to crave them: any excuse to be close to you.

        If only the Mandalorian knew that he wasn't being as subtle as he thought. Even with the helmet disguising his eyes, you could feel his vision on you. At first, you felt self conscious under his gaze. You interpreted it as him glaring at you: maybe you had done something wrong with the kid? Or maybe you had offended him, and he just wasn't saying anything? But, slowly, you got better at reading his body language. It was tough at first, as Din revealed very little personal information about himself. Coupled this with the fact he was usually clad head to toe in beskar armour, you made slow progress. However, over time, you began to pick up on little cues. Soft, small hints that he wasn't glaring... He was looking at you: you'd caught him staring.  

        You were going to confront him about it, initially; maybe even make a light joke of it. You had quickly gone off of that idea. Soon, you decided you liked the Mandalorians eyes on you; you even let yourself believe that he might only have eyes for you.

        And soon, just as he craved you, you wanted more than just his eyes on you.

~~~

The universe had a fucking funny way of answering your inner desires. When you said, you had wanted to feel him, feel his skin on your own, when you had said you wanted to feel his touch, this wasn't what you meant. Kriff. This was getting bad. Din was bleeding badly.

        What had initially meant to be a pretty simple bounty had turned into a rather difficult one. The location Din was sent initially was inaccurate, and then when he arrived at the actual, correct location, it was a trap. His target had friends, and it soon became an ambush. The Mandalorian was still capable of taking them down, but they put up a pretty good fight, and before knocking out all of them, one had managed to stab Din in his side.

        Which lead you to now.

        Din was in your arms. He had stumbled into the Razor Crest, clutching his side with one arm and dragging the quarry with the other. You'd almost lost control in that moment, but you knew you had to stay calm for him. You rushed up to him, and quickly aided him in throwing the bounty into carbonite. Then, you made quick work of laying him down on your make shift medical bench, and asking him where the pain was coming from. Your eyes were wide with panic: he could probably tell. You were terrible at hiding emotions when it came to him, and you'd never exactly done this before. Sure, you'd patched yourself up more times than you can count: but someone else? Someone you cared about? Now that was something else entirely.

        "Din," you cooed gently, trying not to make his pain worse, "I'm going to need to remove some of your armour. Is that okay? Is... Is that breaking your Creed?"

        "I- No," Din huffed out, trying to be kind to you despite his situation.

        "Okay, good... Good... I need you to lay as still as you can okay. I'm just going to..."

        You don't know why you start narrating what you're doing. Maybe you thought it would put him at ease if he knew what was going on. Maybe it was making things worse.

        Gently, you peeled away his armour from his torso, and observed the large cut down his side. You pressed your hand against him, and Din winced in pain. Your hand retracted quickly, and you ran to the first aid kit kept in the Crest. You opened the bag, and began searching around for the bacta patch and disinfectant that you needed. Your heart was beating really quickly, and you could feel Din's pulse getting weaker. His breathing shallowed. You steadied your shaking hands as you brought the disinfectant up to his wound.

        "Din," you murmur, "Are you still with me? Din... I'm sorry this is going to hurt."

        You saw his head nod slowly, and you began cleaning the wound as carefully as you can. He winced in pain and his hand shot up; he grabbed out to you, and his hand was wrapped around your upper arm before you knew what was happening. Despite the situation, his touch (even through his glove) surprised you. Your heart rate began to increase, and your face felt hot.

        "I'm nearly done now," you promise him, "I'm just putting on the bacta patch and then you can rest."

        "T-Thank you, cyar'ika," Din replied, his grip on your arm faltering before letting go.

        You took his hand and squeezed it gently. Din was weak now but at least his wound has been tended to and he wasn't losing anymore blood. It was only now that the worst of it was over, that you took note of the blood across the ship. This would be one hell of a clean up. First, you washed your hands, and then you gently removed the remainders of Din's armour, save his helmet (of course). You unbuttoned his tunic and swapped it out for one that wasn't covered in blood- and one that didn't have a large hole in it. You like to think that he'd appreciate it.

        With the ship finally cleaned, and Din safe, you crawled into your cot beside the child. Your eyes felt heavy as you held the child close to you: you took one last look at your Mandalorian, before finally falling asleep.

~~~

Din Djarin woke up startled. His hand went to his side, at first, and then across his chest, before ending up resting on his helmet. His eyes scanned the room before settling upon you. His eyes softened; in your arms lay his little womp rat. He was safe, and so were you. Din sighed, relieved that you were both still okay.

        His eyes cast down to the pile of armour beside him: you must've removed it after he'd passed out. He recognised that he was now wearing a new black shirt, and that his old, bloodied one was nowhere to be found. His mind didn't have time to wonder where you'd put it, as the sound of him moving off of the make shift medical bench had caused you to begin to awaken. Your eye sight was blurry for a second, before focusing in on Din. He was up.

        He was up!

        "Din! You're awake!" you exclaim, shaking off any sleepy feeling that still remained.

        "Are you alright?" Din asks, stepping towards you.

        "Am I alright?" you repeat back to him, now also finding your feet, "You get stabbed, come home bloody to me -barely standing I might add- and you ask me if I'm okay?"

        Din shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

        "Never mind me: how are you feeling?"

        "I'm... I'm okay. Better now, thanks to you," Din reassured, reaching over to take the child from you now that he had woken up from his nap.

        "Well, I have been told I have an excellent bed side manor," you tease.

        "Oh yeah?" Din plays along.

        "Really! If it wasn't for this whole bounty hunting gig, I definitely would've been a nurse," you assure confidently; although truthfully at this point in time, you have no interest in taking care of anyone else besides your small found family.

        "You would've made an excellent nurse," Din chuckles.

        It warms your heart: hearing him laugh.

        "I thought you were going to pass out quicker than me at certain points, though," Din continues, "But I'm not dead so you must've done something right."

        "Hey now, Mandalorian: in my defence, I was not expecting you to come back covered in blood and barely conscious. Forgive me if I was a little rusty."

        You hadn't realised how close the two of you had become until now. His body was so close that you could almost feel the heat coming from his body. Or maybe it was yours. You weren't honestly sure at this point, but it was making your face heat up. You shyly looked away from his gaze. Seeing him like this almost felt unnatural. You were so use to him fully covered in armour, that seeing him without all the beskar felt like you were seeing him naked. Despite this, you enjoyed seeing him like this: he felt more human to you now. If he was feeling vulnerable at all, he didn't show it. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost say he enjoyed this new layer of vulnerability because it meant he could feel closer... Closer to you.

        "You're forgiven," he murmurs, his voice low, "Am I forgiven, cyar'ika?"

        "Hm..." you hesitate, teasing him for a second, "I will have to think about that-"

        "-Mesh'la, please," he pretends to beg you, smiling under his helmet; Din's eyes remain on you, almost transfixed as you pretend to ponder the status of his forgiveness.

       "Only if you tell me what m- me- mesh'la means," you whisper in a hushed tone, "Or agree to teach me Mando'a. I have to know what you are saying about me."

       "Only good things," Din replies in the same quiet tone, "Beautiful."

       "Beautiful," you repeat back to him, your heart swelling, "Din you are... Me- mesh'la too."

       You expect him to reply: correct your pronunciation, or joke back with you but the Mandalorian has gone silent. Not an uncomfortable wooden silence. No, it was a warm silence. It felt right, and after a second, you adjusted to the new quietness. You imagine neither of you have had a moment like this in a long time. The silences you were use to only echoed with your hollowness, reflecting your loneliness. But this: this felt right.

       Gently, Din leaned his head on your own. Due to the presence of his helmet, he was careful not to be too forceful, but you soon accepted the gesture, and kept your forehead on his.

       A keldabe kiss.

       That's what you would come to know that as. Although it originally started as slang for a headbutt, it soon became a sign of affection among Mandalorians. Affectionate moments with the Creed felt few and far between, so this was a way around that. And, it was one you quiet enjoyed. Even if you couldn't always touch your Mandalorian in the ways you wanted to, in these moments it didn't seem to matter. Despite the Creed, despite everything, there was no true barrier that could separate you and Din Djarin.

       Your foreheads stay together for a moment longer, before separating. You look up at him, and you know -even without words, even without touch- he is yours, and your are his.