areweevercameraready

[areweevercameraready]

Commission done for @areweevercameraready of their ocs, David and Marlowe being a tad bit fruity

[areweevercameraready]

more than beliefs (11: a girl worth fighting for)

A/N: happy thursday!

WARNINGS: a bit of a scuffle and a black eye — i don't think there's much else but, as usual, if you spot something and think it should be flagged, please let me know!

Words: 5,884

here it is on AO3!

here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!

enjoy!!

As much as Roman had mentioned her, none of them really thought the Dragon Witch would be a real person. Or, rather, real character. Someone this real. A house. A role. 

She was draped in very regal, medieval clothing. A scarf was wrapped around her hair, so long that the ends billowed and glittered above her cape. When she walked, it was hard to tell if her legs were moving down there or if she was just hovering in a line. Logan watched to see. He was impressed by the accuracy of her clothing. Sure, her dress was much closer to the fourteenth century than the fifth, when King Arthur allegedly ruled, but Roman must have put in a lot of thought to make her as accurate as he did to a time period, at least. And Logan was pretty sure that was an accurate way of pinning a headscarf. Roman must have done his research. Or Remus, because he seemed familiar with her.

Remus was chatting away in answer of her questions. Given that her home was on his side, it was probably safe to assume he knew her. Maybe they were friendly, even. That made her seem a little less of a stranger, like he were following the connected threads between them, though it still made her seem hostile. Someone that was friendly toward Roman and Remus both. Everyone was still trying to wrap their heads around the idea that the twins were friendly toward each other. Remus had seemed so concerned about his brother. 

Out of all of them, Janus just wanted to talk with Roman. That’s all. 

There hasn’t exactly been opportunity for it given Romans hatred of him now. But it was warranted somewhat. But if only Roman could understand that it was for Thomas’ good, that it was for the best.

If only he’d allow Janus to make his case. This was just so frustrating. 

And none of these advisors WERE Roman. Yes, it was good to talk with them, to hear bits and pieces of what Roman thought of him. The Damsel’s assertion (or, rather, laughter) over how little Roman liked him was enough to fully convince him that he needed to talk with Roman specifically. Not any part of him. No fragmented communication was as useful or as thorough as a direct conversation. But, well. Thomas nor Roman were known for their abilities of confrontation.

As they walked deeper into the cave, the sides began straightening and smoothing out, jagged red surfaces turning into carved walls. At some point, the torches and lanterns shifted into chandelier lights, and the scorched rock beneath their feet turned into a thick gray rug. 

The Damsel and the Thief were following closely after her as well. Janus brought up the rear, continuing to hide from view, but he wanted to get a better view. Virgil was next up at the front, eyeing everything with an air of distrust. This was technically Remus’ side, that’s where she lived. But this newcomer, the Witch, seemed to be influenced by both Creativities. Virgil was trying to size her up. 

“Should we introduce ourselves?” Patton whispered to Logan while they walked. 

It must not have been quiet enough because she turned to look over her shoulder at them. Patton let out a small “meep,” but she chuckled warmly. 

“You don’t have to, but you can if you would like. I know who you are, Morality,” the Witch had a cackle in her voice, just a little foreboding. 

“Makes sense. Did Roman tell you about us?” Virgil asked. 

She nodded. “A lot more than you would think. And Remus. I’ve heard a lot about you all over the years.”

Logan tilted his head at the phrasing. “Over the years?” he repeated. “How long have you existed?”

To that, the Dragon Witch just grinned. It was hard to tell if she meant it to be intimidating or if that happened accidentally, because she had rows of jagged dragon teeth. “Longer than you would expect, Logic.”

He glanced to the side, swallowing the excess water in his mouth. The motion made her laugh, at least, and she waved her hand.

“I was among the first forms that the Imagination made. Back when…Before Roman and Remus,” she sighed, looking back down the hall. “Come. The others are waiting for us.”

The Witch continued walking down the hall and, now, Remus was quiet. He was skipping, but he looked back at all of them with some kind of smugness. 

Happy that they understood. Or, rather, were going to understand. Maybe they understood nothing. These fuckers were SO confident in their everythings that when things like this, people like Vi and things like the Tree, evidence of their depth, whenever that was displayed, they all seemed to lose it. And Remus kind of reveled in it? He loved throwing them off, surprising them. It wasn’t that hard. But it felt fulfilling. 

Roman needed their help, though. Remus scowled at the thought, but that didn’t change how true it was. That’s half what he was, he was the truth-teller, he was the one without secrets. Without things to hide. He was an open book and the writing on the pages. Roman was the actor, the one who wanted no one to know anything about the reality of him. Remus was only ever a secret because no one, not Janus, not Thomas, no one ever wanted to ask.

Oh, he was going to beat the ever loving shit out of Roman for making him be responsible like this. Oh! The fucking nerve! 

At the end of the hall was an ornate door and a very normal looking shoe rack, almost homely, almost intimidating. Vi didn’t take off any shoes but Remus immediately dropped to the floor, one leg kicking out in a death drop, and then began trying to pull his knee-length boots off. 

Virgil, out of everyone, snorted at the motion. He’d been digging his nails into his palms for the whole walk, trying to size the Dragon Witch up. Unlike the Dragon or even the Damsel, it was hard. She was nothing like how she looked. Like, right now she just looked really pristine. But when she was a dragon, she was bigger than THE Dragon. Virgil had felt her nails. And she had Remus batting for her. 

It was enough of a threat that she was friends with Remus. But she was also with Roman. 

That was important, all of them were thinking. 

What did it mean, she’d known Remus and Roman before they were two separates? They could barely remember Creativity, when he was around. The split had happened when they were so young, when they first started daydreaming, really. Patton remembered him the most, but…only the wonder and the horror. 

They all had slowly taken off their shoes, dropping them near the shoe rack. Once everyone’s shoes were off, the Dragon Witch waved a hand toward the door, and its lock clicked unceremoniously. Inside was a homely foyer, like the inside of a Victorian house. Not much like a cave. 

Patton was the first in, as usual, looking around with less apprehension and more curiosity. He was followed almost immediately by Remus, who barged in and shouted, “HEY FUCKOS, GUESS WHO’S HOME!”

Logan took a moment to organize the shoes in a row out of the way of the hall, the last one into the house. Once he was in, the door snapped shut, with the Dragon Witch still standing by it. 

“Thank you,” she hummed. “You’re very organized.”

Logan didn’t know how to feel about that. He tried not to. “I do appreciate order,” he agreed. 

At that, she chuckled.

“AYOOOOOO REMUS,” they heard the Dragon shout from around an opening forward. It looked like it led to a kitchen of sorts. 

“You’re very afraid of disorder. I don’t know why. It doesn’t bite,” the Dragon Witch continued with Logan, and then she gestured toward the opening, saying louder for everyone, “Everyone’s in the dining room.”

The Sides didn’t seem very ready to move on. The foyer was huge, photos lining the walls, a coatrack with some cloaks and jackets that could belong to either of the twins. Patton was looking over the photos, many of which looked like paintings. Virgil was to one of his sides, eyeing Janus, who was at the other. 

The twins had managed to hide all of this. Janus’ eyes were glued to a photo, an old one, a polaroid that was framed. It was of Roman and Remus, both maybe ten years old. They were holding foam swords and standing on top of a dragon, looking proud — the very same Dragon Witch who was ushering them into the dining area.

“Everyone’s here. They bring updates, so I’ve heard,” the Dragon Witch explained as she drifted into the dining area.

The Thief and the Damsel were first to lead the pack in, but their departure drew Logan. The room was an interesting look into a past that none of them were privy to. Remus followed close behind, familiar with these things.

Around the room were mementos of the past. Family photos of Remus and Roman as children. As teenagers. The Dragon Witch in the background and holding hands with both, her hands curling over both of their shoulders like a proud mother. There were a few paintings and decor on the walls, too. One of Remus and Roman standing over her dragon form, as if having won a fight, and even she looked happy about it.

Patton stayed by the wall, eyes turned upward at everything. There was so much history here, so much he hadn’t known. They hadn’t even known Roman and Remus were friends, really. They seemed to not like each other quite a bit. So this was interesting. Even hearing the Damsel was calling Remus in to help was unexpected. But…well. He shouldn’t assume to know everything about Roman, right, after all of this. 

It was settling in, how much they’d all assumed. How much he’d assumed, Patton specifically. He thought he knew enough about Roman to be able to guess what he might be thinking or what he might want…but if he didn’t even know what Roman’s relationship to Remus looked like…

How much was Roman hiding? How much of his own feelings was he hiding? 

Had he been hiding them at all? Had Patton just not been looking, not been paying attention? Had none of them been paying enough attention? 

Had none of them asked? Even Virgil seemed surprised by everything, and Virgil had been on Roman’s side.

The Bard was helping bandage something on the Artist’s shoulder, his paint-covered hoodie sitting on the ground by his feet. It looks like they’d gotten into a scuffle with one of Remus’ creations, to which Remus acknowledged with a loud snort. The Artist shot him a glare. 

“Don’t hate the player,” Remus put his hands up in mock surrender. 

At least the playful sentiment got the Artist to roll his eyes. It must be a familiar argument. 

The Thief shuffled besides the Bard, who looked up to him with a wan grin. 

“Hey, hey,” he greeted, voice soft, but the smile dropped as he saw the Thief’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

The Thief, jaw firmly set, looked away. 

The Damsel, too, grimaced. Neither of them seemed to want to say anything about it. 

Janus would have been fine breaking the news had he not been wary of the other advisors being upset with him. Logan opened his mouth to explain, but the Dragon interrupted. 

“Wait,” the Dragon asked, wings falling to his sides with a scowl. “Where’s Gavin?” 

The Artist perked up, brow furrowing, and the Bard blinked in surprise. His eyes scanned through the crowd again — Virgil shoved his hands further into his pockets, dreading the upcoming confrontation — before he turned around to the Thief again. 

“....Eric, I’m so sorry,” the Bard whispered, tucking the final bit of bandage around the Artist’s arm quickly. “Eric, baby.”

The Artist stood, stepping away from the Bard and the Thief as he put his clothing back on. When he moved away, the Thief all but collapsed into his vacant seat, and the Bard quickly wrapped his arms around the Thief’s cloaked figure.

They pressed into each other, the Bard biting his lip worriedly, and the Thief just…curled up. His arms pressed into his chest and he fought against the safety of the Bard’s embrace, trying to keep himself from crying, because if he thought too hard about how he’d failed the Child…

“The Child has gone missing,” Logan explained, voice more gentle, now. 

No one interrupted. The Dragon nodded, mouth pressed into a firm line. The Damsel had shuffled to sit at the table beside him and he knocked his crowned head against the Dragon’s hip. 

“Do you have any-any theories, Logan? I have one, but I would-I am interested in-in your analysis,” the Damsel invited. 

Oh. Logan tried to keep his surprise to a minimum, but it was difficult. He hadn’t anticipated being called on like that. 

Patton wrapped his arm around Logan’s, though kept quiet, as if he understood how big this moment was. As if it were anything at all. Virgil sat down; Janus elected to stand closer to the Dragon Witch. The animosity was lowest here. 

“Well,” Logan began, clearing his throat. “Evidence tells us that something happened to the Playwright. And regardless of if he’d gone willingly to his assailant, it would stand to reason that, should they attack again, they would expect your guards to be up. Two is unlikely to be a coincidence, in this situation. I would hazard…that it could be three. That perhaps the Playwright and the Child are in the same place as Roman.”

The Damsel nodded in agreement, lips pursed. Janus, too, hummed softly. They were all on the same wavelength. They didn’t know where Roman went, but with advisors being kidnapped, it was all the more reason to believe either Roman too was kidnapped, or Roman…might be doing the kidnapping. To what ends, though? And is he alone?

“Hey, Eric,” the Artist asked. 

He’d put his jacket back on and was rotating the shoulder that the Bard had just bandaged. He wasn’t as much of a tactical fighter as he was a no-holds-barred-anything-goes fighter. He was struck and he’d live with that injury, since the Bard was trying to conserve energy. And his arms were full of the Thief. If only the Playwright were here, though….

The Thief turned ever so slightly toward the Artist, and Virgil got the sinking suspicion that no matter what the Artist asked, it wouldn’t end well. The Artist must have had a similar understanding, because he put his hands up in as nonthreatening a way as he could.

“I don’t mean this in like, a judgemental way, but…what happened?” 

Oh, god. No. 

Janus winced at the question, and Virgil hunched more in on himself. He was sitting by the Damsel, almost hidden behind him, with Patton to his other side. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too explosive. 

Whatever contrarian energy the Thief may have had earlier dissipated, though, as his shoulders slumped. Maybe it was the precursor that the Artist wasn’t trying to accuse, and maybe it was because they were searching for the same thing.

“Gav and I had an argument. He…He wanted to go out, help find Playwright with you all. I said we had to stay safe, stay home, keep everyone else out of trouble,” the Thief’s voice was heavy with grief as he explained. “I…when I was washing the dishes, I lost track of him. Or maybe even before that. I didn’t even hear the door open.”

He shook his head. The Artist winced at the explanation, as did the Dragon. And the Bard gave the Thief a squeeze. 

It seemed that everyone knew how harsh this blow was to him. Logan wondered, what did this mean for everyone, that they were so intertwined. What was the impact on Roman. You’d hope that it meant Roman was at ease with himself. 

After all, everyone was working together here. But Roman was the only outlier, he seemed to be in disagreement with all of them. 

There were rarely moments where Thomas was in disagreement with all of the Sides. Considering how these advisors were like Sides to Roman…Logan rubbed his jaw a little in thought. 

Thomas would turn on most of them if he was listening to one specifically. Similar to the play years ago, the one Deceit disguised as Patton had them put on, Thomas was only paying attention to one Side. 

Perhaps Roman was listening to only one of them. 

But all seven were here, in agreement, and Roman was nowhere to be found.

Were there seven?

“We didn’t find much over here,” the Artist confessed. “Just got here, actually, a few minutes before y’all.”

It felt like an effort to change to a more productive topic. The Artist blew out a long exhale before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man. We’re going to find them.”

“I don’t know who…” the Thief’s voice trailed off. 

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything with anyone, and no one I’ve made’d really do that. Everyone with a brain knows not to meddle with you meddlesome kids!” Remus squeaked in dismay, and then he cocked his head to the side in thought. Then, he shook his head again. “Nope, none’ve them’d.”

“Them’d?” the Damsel asked, and Remus snorted at him. 

“I haven’t noticed anyone traversing too oddly, other than the border dweller. And even he’s been more reclusive lately,” the Dragon Witch agreed with a hum. 

“Oh, a new border dweller? You’ve got a neighbor?” Remus asked. 

Logan looked up immediately. That would make sense.

“We should stay on—” the Damsel tried to interrupt, but the Dragon Witch let out a small chuckle in continuation. His authority meant less here, anyway. And meant less to the Dragon Witch.

For good reason, too. “No, no, Roman’s border. The advisor,” the Dragon Witch waved a clawed hand. “He’s been lovely the few times we’ve spoken, but he’s a bit paranoid. He might know something.”

The word advisor sat with everyone for a long while. It took some understanding at the insinuation. 

An advisor, who lived near the border between Roman and Remus’ edges of the Imagination. The Damsel frowned in confusion at the Dragon Witch, mouthing “border?” to himself. The Dragon must not have caught the insinuation at all, because he seemed even more confused by everyone else’s silence. 

Slowly, the Thief peeled off the Bard with a squinted, teary-eyed face to stare at the Dragon Witch. Even the Artist was watching her, brow pinched but mouth hanging open. 

“Excuse me?” the Bard asked, teeth gritted. He seemed to have made the connection first. “Sorry, advisor like. Like us, advisor?”

“That’s who Roman has been listening to,” Logan said. 

Patton frowned, nudging his side gently. “What do you mean?”

“If the advisors are Roman’s Sides….well, we’ve seen what happens when Thomas only considers the opinions of one of us. He acts drastically and without much forethought. Roman seems to be acting the same way,” Logan explained, though he kept his gaze on the agitated advisors watching him. “It means he could be solely listening to another advisor.”

The Dragon Witch must not have known this border dweller was new, because she looked worried. She put a hand over her mouth and turned aside, breaking eye contact with the Bard.

He winced, waving his hand and approaching. “Hey. Hey, Vi. Do you mean advisor like us?”

“....Yes. No wonder he’s not here,” she responded. “I thought you knew of him. He mentioned he’s met some of you.”

The other advisors were missing something. Some sort of crucial information, some epiphany, some kind of connection, because it looked like something was happening in the brains of all of Roman’s advisors. The Dragon’s confused frown turned angry, the Damsel’s hardened into a scowl. The Bard was helpless, frown tight and nostrils flared as he glanced at the Artist, whose eyes were wide. His mouth was slightly open still, but now from breathing. 

Virgil reached over and held his hand. At the very least, the Artist gripped back tight. All this tension was going to make the search later a lot harder, no one’d be able to focus.

The only person who seemed to not be angry was the Thief, who had been staring idly at the Dragon Witch’s feet, eyebrows raising. He must have been making some kind of realization, though, because his hand shot up to his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” the Thief mumbled, voice muffled. “Oh my god, I think I’ve met him.”

The Artist turned so hard his back cracked, and he winced in pain, though he was undeterred from shouting, “YOU HAVE?”

The Thief nodded, eyes closing tight. He hadn’t thought it was real, but if this was someone new, someone who lived by the edge, and was going to start kidnapping them all….well. He always thought he was just good at escaping things. “I…I thought he was…I’ve-I probably have. Maybe I’m going insane. I don’t know. But I think I’ve been-I’ve had dreams where I wake up at the edge. And if there’s one of us that lives there, that’s on the border into the Subconscious normally, then it’s him. It has to be. It can’t not be.”

A dream. It sounded less plausible the more they turned it over in their minds. Janus scoffed — a dream — and Logan bit his tongue to not say anything, but the reality of their situation was damning. 

It didn’t sound likely that a dream was where this mysterious eighth would introduce themselves, though dreams were as real as reality here. More than just the other Sides must have drawn this conclusion, because the Damsel pointedly put his hands behind his back, shoulders stiff and hiked. Guarding his own thoughts, as always. Or maybe guarding himself from the riling Artist, whose hands were pulling through his hair hard enough to pull his bun out of order.

“I’d’ve thought the one of us who knew him was Playwright,” the Artist shouted finally. “That fucker was always knowing more than he ever fucking said. He fucking-God DAMNIT.”

The Dragon leaned over, putting his hands on the Artist’s back in as comforting a way as he could, but the Artist just let go of Virgil’s hand and shrugged the Dragon’s hands off of himself. He jumped to his feet, pacing with his fists curled. Anger dripped off him. 

The colors on his sweater, swirling and abstract, tinged orange. “He fucking-He promised Roman he’d find all of us. He probably fucking found this other guy—Vi, what’s his name?” 

Everyone’s eyes returned to the Dragon Witch, who’d backed up a step. Her hands smoothed down the front of her shirt and she cleared her throat softly. It was something more painful than fear that danced in her expression as she played with the hem of her cape.

“He called himself the Director,” she confessed. “I’m so sorry, I…when I met him, he seemed level-headed. I didn’t expect this of him.”

The Director. As ominous a name as the Damsel, or the Dragon, or the Thief. Their titles were telling. 

The Damsel turned the name over in his head. Director. Someone who sees themselves as a leader. But not in the same way as a Prince, no. They see it as fake. As a facade that they run and, well, more than lead. Direct. They have opinions. Strong ones. 

Immediately, he likens the Director to himself. And…when he was formed, he had some pretty objectionable goals. With the disappearance of the Playwright and the Child gone…with Roman gone…could this Director be a catalyst of some sort? Some other conflict-resolution member? Why would he be hiding in the woods? Why would he have waited all this time?

Had he been alone, holed up by himself, when the likeness to Roman faded away? Had the brown hair and brown eyes, charming voice and sturdy posture, faded away into something else without him understanding why? It had ostensibly been years since then, though the Sides only experienced it in mere months. Did Roman know about him? Or had Roman happened upon him? 

Did he get Roman to do this? 

Logan met his eyes in a quick glance. They must be thinking similar questions. 

They should get going. With a new player, there’s no telling what this Director would have Roman do. Even a name like that…gave implications.

“It sounds like a fair assumption, that Marlowe would know and wouldn’t say anything. He does seem the type to keep things close to his chest,” Janus quipped, shaking his head. “In any case, we should—”

The Artist’s fist collided with his snake eye before he could finish the sentence.

Janus was so surprised and there was so much energy rolled into the attack that he was knocked off his feet, stumbling backward and scooting away. Everyone was surprised; the Thief jumped to his feet, sword drawn immediately, while the Dragon’s tail wrapped around the Artist’s arm without warning. The Bard shouted, “DAVID!” in a scandalized way, just behind the Dragon while he pulled the Artist back. 

In a quick move, Janus was blocked by Virgil, whose arms were spread out in front of him. He leveled a glare at the Artist, panic and anger matched in tandem. Immediately, too, Patton hurried to Janus’ side, holding his arm and pulling him back even more into his own grip. 

The Artist’s eyes were wide, teeth grit in an angry, glaring grimace.

Virgil’s eyes were wider. His hands dropped in front of himself, preparing for the worst. If there were a fight, Virgil knew he could win. He wasn’t a fighter. Thomas wasn’t a fighter. But to protect one of them, he’d do fucking anything. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Virgil hissed, voice dipping lower in panic. 

Logan stood by the Damsel, who was watching the scene play out. He glanced at the stoic prince, shoulders and back straight as he surveyed the turmoil, and stood solidly besides him. There wasn’t much they needed to do. 

Even while he got yanked away, the Artist’s fists were shaking, and when the Dragon wrapped him in his arms, the Artist tried pulling himself out. 

“Let me go, you stupid fucking—fuck,” he snarled. The Artist pointed rough at Janus, who was doing his best to not look over. “Keep Marlowe’s name out of your manipulative fuckin’ mouth, snake!”

The Dragon just sighed, holding him a little tighter. He cast Virgil a look that was bordering on apologetic, and Virgil didn’t move a bit. 

Behind him, Patton held Janus’ shoulders gently. Janus hadn’t expected to be attacked, no sir. He knew Roman was pissed at him, so the advisors must be mad with him, but this was out of left field. This was unexpected. He’d messed up, sure, but this was uncalled for. 

Roman was insane. He wasn’t in his right mind. Janus was fine to just say sorry and move on. Roman just had to stop being a dramatic baby, pushing him away, LITERALLY PUNCHING HIM. 

“Oh,” Patton tutted, and his thumb brushed over Janus’ cheekbone as he cupped his face. 

It was a soft hold, and Janus couldn’t help but lean into it ever so slightly. His eye was puffing up already, he could feel it. 

“That’s gonna be a black eye,” Patton assessed. “Hey, Logie, can you take a look?” 

God fucking damnit. Patton was always so gentle, so caring. 

They weren’t dating anymore. That was behind them all now. 

Patton leaned into a squat, looking back at Logan for advice, and Logan blinked as if he were surprised. An opportunity to be helpful and dispense some information wasn’t going underutilized, however, so Logan knelt down beside them and inspected Janus’ face as well. While he moved — while the Artist’s struggling in the Dragon’s arms grew weaker — while the Damsel and the Dragon Witch watched — the Bard pulled out his ukulele. 

“We’re getting a little too riled up here, eh?” he asked the Thief, who was now hiding his face in his hands, head leant against the Bard’s shoulder. 

“There’s a lot to get riled up over, Denny,” the Thief’s voice was muffled in his hands. 

The Bard tutted and began to play his ukulele. The sound that escaped was smooth, resonating around the room, soothing like calm waves over everyone in the area. It pushed and pulled attention. He didn’t sing, but the ukulele’s tune did its own work, though a soft pink light danced between the strings and the Bard’s fingers. Maybe it was just his painted nails. Maybe it was something else altogether. He hummed along to the tune. 

It was easy to forget the Bard’s healing magic when you weren’t paying attention to him. He swayed side to side as the song loosened the Thief’s shoulders and alleviated the tension behind Janus’ cheek, lifting some of the pain. He waved his hand at Logan and Patton, trying to dissuade worry, but Patton held his hand. 

Patton just held his hand. 

Janus held back. 

Logan stood, reaching down to help pull Janus up as well. Once he was standing, Janus fixed his hat and rubbed the scales by his eye gently. It was going to swell and bruise, but whatever.

In the Dragon’s arms, the Artist’s pushing turned to shaking, body pressed against the Dragon’s broad chest. He rubbed the Artist’s back tenderly before just stranding there, swaying to the Bard’s music as well. He smiled weakly at Janus when they made eye contact. 

Maybe the music wasn’t even magic. Maybe it was just the power of a pause in the action, a break in the narrative, giving everyone a moment to collect their thoughts and feelings. The Artist had even begun to cry. 

The song began to slow, until the Bard plucked the final string. His humming lasted a little longer, but not by much, and he finally gave the Damsel a smile and a wink. 

The Damsel returned the smile warmly. “Thank you, Bard. Your-Your calming nature is always welcomed.”

The Bard attempted a curtsy in his seat, and the Thief snorted at his attempt. “My pleasure, Princey. I hope your eye feels alright, Janey, wouldn’t want that pretty face getting too hurt.”

So forward. But maybe he should expect that from the Bard. He’s not exactly the most subtle one, and he’s often one of the more forgiving, understanding, and kind ones. Janus was still a bit afraid to make eye contact as he stood behind Virgil. 

“I do,” he said, staring at the back of Virgil’s hoodie. “Thank you.”

“This is…fine.”

What?

Janus frowned, turning around. Patton and Logan to his either side, flanking him while Virgil still stood in front. While the threat of the Artist was gone, Virgil still seemed hesitant to let Janus and the other advisors talk face to face. 

“I’m glad,” the Damsel responded. 

His fingers drummed against his cane briefly before he pointed toward the Dragon Witch. “Guinevere. Are you able to take-to take us where you saw the other advisor?” 

“It’s going to work. I trust him. If he thinks it’s going to work, then it’s gonna fucking work.”

Janus turned around again. Someone was talking, almost begging something to be real. It wasn’t. It was a lie. 

He could hear someone lying to themselves, but everyone else was in front of him. It was so loud. They were lying about something very, very big, so big it was echoing. 

“I should be able to, but I don’t know where he lives,” the Dragon Witch explained, still planning with the others. “I can take you to the part of the edge where I saw him.”

Sometimes, he could hear it, when the other Sides told a lie. They were basically incapable of lying to him, he could hear that all the time, but when they were telling huge lies, he could hear it through walls. It was like a beacon drawing him closer. It was something to protect, for him. Something to hide.

He could hear someone lying to themselves. It wasn’t Roman, but it felt like Roman. He didn’t think he could hear the advisors like this, but it had been a long time since he’d been in the Imagination. And if the advisors had a part of Roman’s essence within them, then it stood to reason…

“Roman knows what he’s doing.”

Janus didn’t want to interrupt. He’d caused a lot of problems, and maybe he couldn’t identify them, but he knew they were problems. 

“That’s all we need,” the Damsel murmured. “If we poke around enough, we’re sure to find an-to find an entrance.”

“I hear someone,” Janus whispered, soft enough that only the other Sides around him could hear.

“It’s going to be perfect. This’ll….it’ll fix everything.” 

“What?” Virgil asked. 

“Oh, fuck off,” the Artist scoffed, and the Dragon shushed him harshly.

Janus’ brow furrowed. This plan. The person was trusting Roman and talking about a plan. This had been planned?

“Someone,” his voice was drawn out as he tried to focus on the voice. “Is lying.”

A brief pause floated over the group while they traded looks. Patton was the first to gesture around the room and ask, “Here?” 

Janus shook his head. “No,” he frowned at the ground.

“The kid’ll go away and-and Roman’ll be okay. It’ll be fine. It’ll be better than fine, Roman’ll be that much better. Without. The kid.”

Janus’ eyebrows raised. 

The implications were staggering, and the weight of the lie was getting stronger. Janus might be able to….

“I think the Director is lying to themself,” Janus stated, eyes wide enough to make his bruised one throb. 

“Can you hear it?” Logan asked. After Janus’ ability to hear and appear during heightened deceit was revealed during Roman’s previous breakdown, Logan had wondered how far reaching the ability went, and if it followed into the Imagination. It seemed as though it did. 

Janus nodded, then closed his eyes. He had to focus. 

“We don’t fucking need the kid. We don’t. We don’t, we don’t, we don’t, we don’t fucking need him.”

“I’m going,” Janus muttered. 

Then, he disappeared with a soft popping sound. Virgil flinched, turning around all the way, as if to confirm there was no one behind him now. “JANIE?!” Remus shouted in similar surprise, looking around. 

He hadn’t been very privy to the conversation, it seemed. Patton reached over, the lack of a hand in his making him search for Logan's. Luckily, Logan seemed aware, or at least he didn't seem to mind when Patton latched onto him. Virgil let out a long exhale and when he looked up at the other two, his determined gaze found two of the same.

The Damsel stood. With one hand, he patted Remus’ shoulder, and the other he used to lean on his cane. “We have to-We have to go, too, then,” he said, glancing at the Dragon Witch. “Please take us, Vi.”

“Of course, Prince.”

[areweevercameraready]

new icon :D

ID: drawing of Gavin poking both of his cheeks with his fingers and winking at the camera, with his tongue sticking out. There's a star coming off of him. It looks vaguely mischievous.

[areweevercameraready]

snippet two :>

A/N: me: oh no, AO3 is getting DDoS'ed :( and i just finished a chapter of beliefs so I can post another chapter! damn me: me: wait i can post another human chapter

anyways, please stay off AO3 for the time being and here's a post with more information, but they're facing extreme server overloading and opening AO3 pages makes it harder apparently. i don't know, i'm a communicator, not a programmer, so i'm just passing along what i know.

anywho! here's another snippet of the human au i'd been writing. if you would like to read the first part, here is the first snippet, which also has some more background on the au. check here for descriptions of the human au.

this is likely to be the last of this big story i'll be posting. i might post some of the oneshots i have in this au, as i have a few that are sorta unrelated to the plot that i'm comfortable with posting, but...well. we'll see. i finished chapter 13 of more than beliefs so i've 1) begun writing chapter 14 finally and 2) might post chapter 11 soon :D not having anything to do with my life right now is good for catching up on sleep debt and writing fanfiction! yipee!

i hope you enjoy!

Words: 7,265

WARNINGS: having a panic attack and being sad, not much more i don't think but if there is, let me know and i'll make note of it!

(in lieu of a diving image, please take this human au meme LOL)

“So. Bartender. Your name’s Eric, right? That’s what Marl’ said.”

“Mhm,” Eric hummed. 

“Thanks for driving them home. Marlowe would’ve flipped tomorrow if he woke up and realized he’d left the car somewhere else. He’s gonna flip either way, though, since the idiot teaches tomorrow morning,” David snickered a little, leaning against the car door in a casual manner. 

At the very least, the flippance was making it more evident that David wasn’t, like. Mad at him. Or something. Eric nodded again before remembering that David was now driving. “Uh. Yeah. Would have been a kinda problem.”

“Mm,” David hummed. After a few beats of silence, he added. “You got anything to do tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? Why was he asking? “I, uh, have work at four. At the bar. Other than that, no,” because truthfully, he was only scheduled five days a week at the restaurant.

He tried to get his shifts at the restaurant and his shifts at the bar to not line up, but five days a week at both jobs meant there wasn’t ever a chance of that happening. When he did need a full day off, though, for parent-teacher conferences especially now that Gavin was going to school, he managed to get the exact days precisely. Which was probably because he was so punctual and dependable. Which was what he tried to be. But sometimes, he worried that wouldn’t be enough, so he always clocked the days he’d need two months in advance. 

Tomorrow was just a lucky day though, to just have one job and not both. Often they stacked. Sometimes they didn’t. 

“Wanna meet up for lunch?” David’s proposition cut through Eric’s tangential thoughts. 

He turned to David again now, a slight frown on his lips, before asking, “For lunch?” as if he hadn’t heard properly. 

David nodded. “Yep. My treat, for bringing my boys home safe,” he shot Eric another grin. “Also you like, haven’t at all told me where the fuck to go. I’m assuming it’s closer to downtown but unless you just wanna keep driving in circles….”

Fuck. Eric looked out the window for real now, trying to figure out where they were. It was the highway going into town. “You’re going to want to take the Concord exit,” he said. 

“Okay,” David said. “But, yeah. Lunch.”

“Lunch,” Eric repeated, quickly averting his eyes back to the dashboard. “You and me and lunch?”

He didn’t really want to look directly at David, but just in case David like. Grabbed him. Or something. Eric wanted to see him in his peripheral. He saw David shrug. 

“I mean, yeah. You ever been to Lucy’s on Main? Such a great diner, I used to go with an old girlfriend every night almost,” David pulled off the exit. 

“Right. And then left at the, uh….fourth light.”

“Gotcha. Lunch. At Lucy’s on Main?” 

Lucy’s on Main wasn’t the fanciest place, but Eric had only been once, and that was for Gavin’s fourth birthday. He liked their theming, even though it wasn’t an actual children’s diner or anything, and Eric was never one to deny his brother when he asked for something achievable. 

If he could, he’d get Gavin the world. Snatch it right out of God’s hand

Going there with a stranger, though….if David wasn’t dating like, at least two other people, Eric would be worried this was a flirt attempt. And he wasn’t really in the mood to be romantic. He kinda wanted therapy first? And he hadn’t thought about romance in a while, not since his boyfriend in high school. Now he was an adult with responsibilities, he couldn’t just ditch school and smoke weed by the train station with Schmidt. 

This was just some guy being thankful, though, right? And he wasn’t doing anything tomorrow….and the idea of food, especially free food, was pretty enticing. A guaranteed meal would be nice. And at this point, he didn’t think this was going to be a trap. He knew Lucy’s on Main. He wasn’t...this was awkward, but it wasn’t like he was going to get mugged or anything.

The silence dragged, just a bit, and David sighed. “If you wanna say no, you can. I just know this’ probably way outta your ways, and you seem like you’re not gonna kill me and steal my car, so it’d be nice to hang out once and say thanks.” David sounded tired, too. 

Though that explanation was pretty straight forward. Eric nodded slowly in something like understanding. If David was worried Eric was going to be mugging him, and Eric was worried that David was going to be mugging him….well, he could just be saying this to get his guard down. Eric knew he consistently looked like his guard was up, more often willing to fight than he wasn’t, but maybe that was off-putting here. Maybe he was the scary one, here. 

Ah, the mom friend override. 

“No, I, uh. That’d be cool,” Eric said, then cleared his throat and continued. “Thanks for the offer. Would noon work?” 

“Yeah, sure,” David smiled as he took the turn onto Concord Avenue. “Meet you there?”

“Sure,” Eric said. “You can pull over anywhere on this block.”

He gestured out the window. His building was maybe two blocks down, but, well. He didn’t want to take this dude all the way to his apartment. 

Did he?

No, no he didn’t. Also, his days of one night stands were like, two years long gone. Eric wasn’t about to bring a whole adult (WITH TWO BOYFRIENDS, MIND YOU, AT LEAST TWO) to his tiny apartment at almost four in the morning with his kid brother sleeping in the same bedroom. Like, sure as fuck that wasn’t happening. Regardless of how pretty David looked in the moonlight. 

Yeah, he was tired as fuck if he was just going to start mentally waxing poetic about how pretty these boys were. Eric looked around at the car, out the window, then back at David. Who was watching him with a smile ever so slight, almost knowing, almost cocky. 

“What, you want a goodnight’s kiss too?” he joked. 

Eric snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m just….” Confused. 

This was all so much, in one night. 

He had a hundred fuckin’ dollars in his pocket? 

And David’s boyfriend’s phone number? This dude just drove him home, too, for nothing, and was going to take him out to lunch tomorrow? 

“This’ a lot more social interaction in one day than I get most months,” Eric joked, almost confessed really, and shrugged. “It’s also four in the morning.”

“Huh, would you look at that,” David looked at the clock and pulled a face, as if he’d just noticed the time. 

Wouldn’t that be a riot? What the fuck was he doing awake, even? Eric snorted, hiding his eyes behind a hand as he laughed. “Stop no, it’s too-it’s too early for this,” he said between laughs as David began to chuckle a little himself. 

“Damn right. You head home, get to bed, and make sure you’re up at at LEAST noon!” David waved at Eric as he got out of the car, into the night air. 

It nipped at his nose, much colder than he thought it’d be. Granted, he thought he’d still be warm from the bar, too. Eric turned around, waving at David as he whipped a completely not-legal U-turn in the middle of the road, then headed back where he came. It looked like David was going to wait until Eric got into a building, which was kind of nice of him, but once Eric stood still and waved, he hit the reverse. Which was also fair. And also part of Eric’s plan. 

He didn’t exactly….Now okay, tomorrow morning this was all going to register as flirting. Eric was going to take off his shirts and lay down in his bed and watch Gavin sleep for maybe fifteen minutes before passing out himself out of just exhaustion while wearing his bartending slacks and without actually being beneath his pillows. He was going to not think about the implications behind the three men’s actions until tomorrow morning, while making breakfast, and he was going to be quiet enough in thought for Gavin to ask if he’d done something wrong while they were on their drive to school. 

“No, Gav, you’re fine. Peachy, actually, sweet pea,” Eric said, while he and Gavin waited at a stop light. 

Gavin was supposed to hold the motorcycle’s safety restraints while they drove, but more often than not he ended up holding Eric. He had his own safety jacket and belt buckles, which Eric installed as soon as he found out they were a thing. He’d gotten the bike before he’d gotten Gavin, and he wasn’t giving the bike away. 

“What’re you sad about?” the kid asked. 

The light was still red, so Eric leaned one arm back and gave Gavin one of their bike hugs. Positioning was always awful, but Gavin knew the drill, so he snuggled his helmeted head beneath Eric’s arm for a moment and hugged him tighter. 

Now, though, how to like. Explain this to the four year old.

“A friend asked to go to lunch together today,” was what Eric landed on.

Gavin gasped, excitement filling his voice in a way that almost made Eric feel bad. “A friend?! Yay!”

“Yeah, a friend. I’ve got those,” Eric joked. 

“Daddy’s got one friend,” Gavin said with his own snicker, and Eric laughed, too. 

“Daddy’s got more than one friend,” he said, and for a moment, thinking about the phone number written on the bill at home, he meant it. 

Gavin seemed happy with that explanation and with those jokes, and Eric was as happy as he’d let himself be. He dropped Gavin off and promised to pick him up later, told him to have a good day, that he loved him. 

Kid’s school got out at 1:38, which would be a fair reason to leave lunch, if it got like. Unbearably awkward. Which was a real possibility, if you asked Eric. Wasn’t last night awkward enough? This dude really saw Eric at his normal messiest states at four in the morning and decided that the best decision was to spend even more time with him. Granted, he was in his pajamas last night, and he seemed pretty out of it, too. It might be nice to have a real conversation outside of being ground into dust levels of tired.

Also, it wasn’t Eric’s worst, and he thought he’d held it together pretty well considering the outlandish circumstances. In nearly any other case, he would have gone running for the hills at the mention of having lunch alone together with a stranger, or even being handed a bill with a fucking phone number on it. He’d been hit on at the bar before; everyone likes the stoic type bartender, until he starts rejecting advances. Then he gets the drink thrown on him and slurs thrown his way, which like, really? The owner’s queer and they think it’s going to be okay to say slurs? Idiots. Eric knew it was a situation better than that kind of shit, but he didn’t know what made him say yes to these advances. Something about the genuine-ness of it all, maybe. 

And these like. Were definitely advances. There were no ifs, ands, or buts. He didn’t process it fully last night, but now that the lunch date was starring him in the face, he could see it for what it was: a date. 

Three people, though. That was three extra people to disappoint. And, if he really thought about it, Eric didn’t know if he could, like….handle that. On an emotional level but also on an anxiety level. 

Still, to not show up to lunch and flake would be rude, and he may be a coward but he was anything but rude. 

Eric took some time between dropping off Gavin and heading to the date to prepare. He had tried while putting his hair up, a looser ponytail rather than the pinned bun he had for either of his jobs. Usually, he’d’ve preferred to keep it down, but. Well. It got everywhere. It was kinda scraggly, probably 90% split ends. Good to have it out of the way.

He threw on a quick t-shirt, a pair of black jeans, and his regular leather jacket. If this was really just lunch, then it was a one and done kind of situation. Not much else for him to do, other than lay down and try to nap for an hour before heading out.

Lucy’s on Main was fairly crowded for lunch on a weekday, in Eric’s opinion. People were waiting outside when he got there. And he didn’t see David waiting amongst them, so he put his own name down for a table and went to go stand outside. There was a couple sitting on the bus stop bench, though. Smoking. It’d been a few years since he managed to kick his nicotine addiction, but he wasn’t exactly fond of the scent of smoke anymore, so after a moment of taking in the wind and hyping himself up to talk to a stranger, a whole ass stranger, he went back in. 

And that was when he heard a “YO! ERIC!”

Eric jumped, turning around towards the inside of the diner. Most of the tables were filled, and one had a guy with his arms up, waving him down. Literally. Waving him down.

“HEY!” David called out. 

Eric saw him crack a smile as he recognized him, as Eric waved back just a little. They were turning heads a bit. Just a bit. 

He told the host that he was with “that guy” and made his way over, sliding into the seat opposite David. And he tried to kind of avoid looking at him, because being yelled at across a public space was never something Eric was too fond of. As soon as he sat down, though, David waved in his face. 

“‘Sup, Harley,” David said. “Nice bike.”

“Thanks.” Eric looked up, briefly, then froze. And looked up again.

David’s hair was down, though it’d been brushed and was pinned back with a bobby pin or two. He was wearing a puffy varsity jacket and a t-shirt underneath, the varsity jacket covered in patches that seemed to be hand-sewn on. There was a pin, too, on the jacket’s collar, with the inclusive rainbow. Cute. His glasses were cute, too, framing his face in a way that made his smile look a bit wider as he also looked over eric.

He….Well. In last night’s dark, he hadn’t really caught what David actually looked like. He was smaller than Eric but they had similar styles almost. There was something comforting casual about David’s posture, though, and in the way he leaned back against the booth’s seat. 

Surrounded by hot men. Eric turned away as the waitress came over, hoping he wasn’t blushing as much as he thought he was, and ordered himself a plate of fries. Before she left, David interrupted.

“Nah, you can order more, dude. I’m paying,” he reached over and motioned towards the waitress. “Get a milkshake at least, Lucy’s shakes’re the fucking best.”

Now, Eric didn’t really want to be wasting someone else’s money, and the plate of fries was definitely more than he’d been planning on having today. But David was watching him. And Eric couldn’t really say no. Not when he was being watched like this. A burger did sound good, too, but….

God, he didn’t want to make David spend money on him. Eric stuffed his hands into his pockets slowly, playing with the edge of his phone’s case. “Can I, uh. Can I get a chocolate shake, too?” he asked. 

“M’kay,” the waitress said with a knowing smile. 

“And make his fries the bigger size! I’ll steal some,” David grinned at the waitress, who chuckled at his antics but wrote down the change. 

And then she left. 

Eric leaned back in the seat, and he didn’t really know what to feel. In a weird way, it was good that David just started to converse, then and there.

“Like I said, cool bike. What kind is it?” he said, as if he knew of it. 

“Uh,” oh, jeez, the bike. “It’s a 2005 Night Train.”

“Sheesh, a Night Train! And she’s still running? Do you do your own maintenance?” 

“I, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I do. Maintenance and modifications.”

And that got him talking. Which, like. Was hard. On standard, getting him to converse was hard. But then David mentioned his old bike, how he used to have a 2002 Softail Deuce, how he always found it hard to maintain. Well, ‘course it’s hard to maintain if you don’t keep checking on it, especially after not riding it for a bit. Eric installed the second seat and had to buy her new brakes, just in case and to help with smoother rides. 

He talked about how he kept his parts and mechanical tools in a case in his apartment. Usually he’d keep it stuffed under the coffee table, better than leaving it out in the garage. 

David said it was cool, that he knew enough to maintain the bike himself. Yeah, Eric just liked keeping up with it and making sure he knew enough about it. He didn’t know any mechanics in the area well enough to trust them to actually take care of it as well as he could. Plus, if anything went wrong, he’d know what the situation was. He liked knowing that. 

It was nice, to talk to someone about these things. Eric didn’t notice his tension easing up with David. It was almost natural.

David mentioned having a bike. What did he do with it? He had to get rid of it, he didn’t take good enough care of it. Sold it to someone before he moved out here. He’s originally from Michigan but relocated for work, since it’s better to be near a lot of galleries. Selling the bike helped pay for life after college. 

What did he work in? Art. He worked most in oils, something like a modern impressionist kind of painting. The big one was sculpting. He liked to chisel, but marble was kind of hard to come by. He’d gotten into wood carving, though, since the house was nearby a forest. He’d take down a tree somewhere on their property, replant a few saplings, then bring it in pieces into his workshop to carve. It was in the basement, but they’d set up a ventilation system well enough. He did like painting realism sometimes, as a hobby, though.

Eric didn’t know anything about art. He would love to see his works, one day. 

Well you could swing by. I don’t think anyone’d be home to mind. If you wanna hang out some more.

“Who’s home?” Eric asked then, almost confused. 

David blinked at him a few times, trying to process what was confusing, before realization entered his face and he snapped his fingers. “Shit, yeah. I’m supposed to….yeah. So, uh. Me and the boys wanted to get to know you more. ‘S why Princey and Marl’ were at your bar.”

“Oh.” What? Who the fuck are the boys? “Who’re the boys?”

“You’re gay, right? Just want to clear that up, ‘cause this is about to be so fuckin’ awkward if you’re straight.” David sipped his milkshake expectantly while Eric made a face, and before Eric even answered, David snickered. “Sorry, dumb question, you don’t need to be gay to like, get this. I dunno if anyone told you directly, but Phillip and Marlowe and I, and Cadence, and another dude you haven’t met named Draco, we’re all in a relationship. Poly, gay, all that. We’re all in a relationship.

“And like, we aren’t gonna reel you into a relationship with all of us. Cadence just said you were nice, so’d Marlowe and Phillip,” David put his hands up—Eric’s face must have been some kind of slack jawed, but he was more trying to decipher what David was saying than paying attention to himself. “We thought it’d be cool to meet you. Well. I thought it’d be cool. Like, as friends and stuff. And like, we move like a pack. I don’t wanna speak for the others on what they’re thinking, but I just wanted to make sure you knew like, this isn’t a date, not for me. But like, I dunno. You’ve got everyone’s interest now.

“So if you’re like, wondering why a bunch of randos’re meeting up with you out of nowhere, it’s because you seem cool and we all share one braincell that befriends people at the same time. We all wanna meet you. I dunno what everyone’s specific desires are past that, I just kinda wanna get to know you, but I think we could be friends. That’d be cool.” David leaned back, indicating the end of his explanation, and picked up his almost empty milkshake to sip from as Eric digested all of that new information.

“Oh. Okay,” Eric’s voice sounded hollow, even to himself. 

Was that like getting stalked? Was he just getting stalked now, but a frat house of gay dudes? Was that what was happening? He didn’t know. His ears were kind of ringing a little as he tried to process that. 

So he’d run into a gaggle of dudes who wanted to be his friend. All of them? They’d talked about him—of course they’d talked about him.

One of them was fucking famous? Eric didn’t know what being friends with a famous person was like, but he didn’t want cameras in his face all the time if that’s what it meant. 

Was he even good enough for that? Eric wouldn’t have considered himself friendship material for any regular person, not to mention multiple people at once, one of whom was famous.

He had a lot of concerns, off the bat. 

“It’s kinda a lot to explain. Mostly, we’re just gonna be annoying, since you seem cool and we wanna be friends. If that’s okay,” David said. “That okay?”

What would they want out of him? He didn’t have money. He barely had a personality, if you asked him. There wasn’t anything really to gain from being his friend. 

Why the fuck were these people interested in him? 

Eric barely heard him. He just. Starred. For a moment.

That was when Eric became acutely aware of where they were. Of who he was talking to. That this was...well, it was a casual conversation, but a proposition to come home. He had to—he checked his phone, it was 1:10, holy fuck. He had to pick up Gavin soon. Like, now even. He had to go. 

He had to go.

He just had to. 

“Okay. I,” what was he doing here, what did they want out of him? There was no way— “I need to go.”

David raised his eyebrows but said nothing of it. His smile faded. “Okay. Go ahead, I’m handling the bill,” his voice was a lot more gentle now, as if the fervor he’d spoken with earlier had been sapped out of his bones. 

Eric almost missed it. 

He’d been lulled into a false sense of security, out of talking about fucking motorcycles and art. He stood, one fast motion that is more abrupt than he should be, and turned down the hall. He could apologize. David seemed nice. So did Phillip. Marlowe. Cadence maybe even. It might be nice, to talk to some more people, to get to know them. 

Gavin had said earlier that he had a friend. He could stick his neck out there. Reach out to people. He had a phone number. He could turn around and talk to David right now. 

David had looked real sad when Eric left.

Instead, he walked down the hall and out the door. He tried his best to breathe evenly, because panic driving the bike was never smart, and in doing so he just. Swallowed. His feelings. 

Eric took a big gulp of air, actually, and grabbed his bike’s helmet. Already, he was just zoning out. He was going to go pick up Gavin! Then, he was gonna make sure the kid was doing his homework. And then he had a shift at the bar. 

What would they even say about Gavin? 

He revved the bike’s engine and pulled out of the parking lot without looking back. 

His brain was static empty by the time he pulled into the parking lot at Gavin’s school, a whole ten minutes early. He didn’t have to leave that fast. But he couldn’t just stay there. What would he do? Go back and talk to David? Face that kind of unknown? He...he couldn’t. He’d stormed out like something was wrong, and wouldn’t David be mad for that? He didn’t know him much anyways. He didn’t owe him anything, either. 

If only he could convince the guilt weighing in his stomach the same thing. 

When the school bell rang, Eric perked up, taking Gavin’s helmet out from where it gets hooked and clipped onto the back seat. He drummed his fingers against the top. 

His kid came bursting out from around the portables, running around to where Eric usually parked. Gavin threw his arms up in the air when he saw Eric, so Eric threw his arms up as well. He climbed off the bike and squatted down, holding his arms open enough for Gavin to launch himself into a hug. 

They did this just about every day and Eric didn’t see himself ever getting tired of it. Gavin snuggled his face against Eric’s shoulder and shouted “HI THIEF!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Eric said with a sigh. The nickname was a dour one, but it was hard to train Gavin out of it. He’d gotten upset about enough things, today, and he was waiting until they got home to do something about the rising panic he was literally just barely tamping down. 

He helped Gavin onto the motorcycle’s seat, strapping him in while he asked how school had gone. It was a Thursday. Gavin had math tests on Thursday, which he loved. They were doing fifty in a minute with addition, which the teacher said Gavin was really good at. Better than reading time, since he was bad at focusing. The teacher suggested he get Gavin checked for reading disorders or attention disorders. But Eric didn’t have the money for something like that. 

Still, it was nice hearing Gavin talk about how happy he was to finish the fifty. He was the first one done. “You’re such a smarty pants,” Eric joked, patting his hand on Gavin’s helmet once he got it strapped on. 

“Mm,” Gavin frowned at that one, then shrugged. “Not really. I just like the numbers.”

“You’re good at the numbers, too,” Eric reminded him as he sat himself back down, too. “What homework do you have tonight?”

“Wait wait, but I wanted to know,” Gavin grabbed Eric’s sides, balling his hands up around him. “How did lunch go?”

Lunch. 

Gavin was asking about. About how lunch went. Eric was really glad he wasn’t looking at him, because there’s no way he could have hidden how much his face fucking fell at the question. 

“It, uh. Went alright.” Eric put his own helmet on, not turning around to see Gavin. “I’ve got work tonight, so I’m going to cook dinner when we get home, and you’ve gotta do your homework. Okay?” 

He didn’t want to talk to his four year old brother, of all people, about that travesty of a date. It wasn’t even a date. It fucking felt like a date. 

He didn’t want to hang out with anyone. He didn’t even want to have to talk to any of them, not if they were going to all pile up on him and what if anyone ever started taking offense to him? He didn’t want to join their group. And he probably wasn’t even good enough for it. 

He didn’t want to think about how he’d walked out on David.

Shut the fuck up about it, Eric. You’ve gotta go for a bit of a drive. Then you get to panic about this.

“Okay,” Gavin’s voice was quiet, a little sad. Probably because Eric wasn’t answering his question. Usually Eric gave him an explanation before a nonanswer. But he didn’t need to. And Gavin wouldn’t understand. Eric could think of a thousand reasons why not to talk to Gavin about that. 

“It’s fine,” Eric said, as if he could comfort Gavin with that harsh statement. And he revved his engine before he could hear Gavin’s response, if any.

The drive was quick. Some kinda force must have been on Eric’s side because every light was coming up green. He parked the bike in his unit’s garage and Gavin hopped off fast, beating Eric to the door, and disappeared inside. 

Usually that was a surefire sign the kid was upset, but at the moment, Eric couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Nor fault him, really. Eric was on edge, was being pretty unreasonable. 

On the flip side, he had to make dinner. It was 2 p.m. and he had to be at work at 4, so he had to leave at 3:30, and he had to make sure Gavin was doing homework. A conversation like this could take hours. He didn’t have that kind of time. And he’d have to understand himself why this was all happening. Why he was doing this. What was so terrifying. 

Eric didn’t have the time nor the energy to confront that. So he wasn’t going to. 

Quietly, he trudged into the kitchen, jumping when the door to the bedroom slams closed. Gavin, most likely. He usually did his homework in the kitchen, but, well…

Eric slung his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs and went to work cooking. It was always a tossup, leaving Gavin home alone. He was a smart kid. Eric told him not to touch the stove or the oven or touch any of the knives on their stand, and Gavin had never done anything like that. Eric also would punch in his phone number on the landline phone and colored in the “call” button with green sharpie. If anything happened, Gavin knew to just hit the green button. That’d call Eric, and he could always get home within ten minutes. If anything super bad happened, Gavin knew to hide in the closet. All of the neighbors on their floor had been asked, please, to call him if something happened to the building or his unit. 

That was the best he could do, really. He didn’t have the money nor knew anyone well enough to let them watch Gavin. Once, he tried to leave Gavin with the neighbors, but he’d somehow escaped their apartment and gone back to Eric’s. The kid was attached, the neighbor had explained. And Eric didn’t really want anyone watching him in their apartment, when he wouldn’t be there. 

Sometimes, the kid will do the dishes for him. Once, Eric was pretty sure Gavin cut his hand while trying to wash a knife, but Gavin said a bully got his arm caught on a door hinge in a fight. That was a specific enough lie that worried Eric that maybe both had happened. Poor kid had to deal with living with him, bullies on top of that?

He made pasta with some marinara sauce. It was a solid batch, and if Gavin didn’t finish it, then Eric would have some. He’d already eaten more than enough at lunch, though. And he was used to being hungry by now. 

He stared at the cooking pasta with a blank expression. 

Once dinner was ready, Eric checked the clock. Twenty minutes before he had to leave. Which was pretty standard for him, save for how he now had to go into the room where Gavin was hiding so he could change. He wasn’t about to go out in what he’d consider his nice clothes, to a bar where he could get thrown up on.

He stopped in front of the door. And took a breath. 

“Dinner’s ready whenever you want it, Gav,” Eric said, voice soft as he also knocked on the door. “Can I come in? I’ve gotta get changed to go to work.”

“Sure,” came the soft reply.

Eric braced himself internally, pursing his lips a bit as he pushed open the door and peeked in. Gavin was curled up in his bed, backpack and shoes kicked off on the ground besides it. The blanket was pulled over his head, probably curled up into a ball under the sheets. 

He could just throw off his clothes and change real fast. But Eric only got his shirt off before Gavin’s head popped out. 

“Did your lunch make you sad?” he asked. 

The question made Eric freeze. Part of him wanted to turn around, growl at the child to shut the fuck up and stop asking. It would be easier, to be cruel. But he could never...he didn’t want to be his parents, and when the kid was worried about him? That kind of idiot’d do that. 

“A little,” Eric responded, trying to swallow the guilt that arose when he was reminded of how sad David had looked, how his smile had disappeared in the instant Eric stood up. 

“Does Thief not have any more friends?” 

Eric put on a black t-shirt and started taking off his jeans. “My name isn’t Thief, baby,” he tried to keep his tone level.

Gavin wilted a little. He hated it when Eric reminded him, but Eric hated that name, and it was going to be better to train Gavin out of it now rather than later. “Sorry, Daddy. But did your friend make you sad?”

He sighed. Persistent fucking kid. 

Too good for Eric, always worried about him. Sometimes, Eric wondered if Gavin got that from him, too. Always just a little too worried for it to be healthy.

He heard Gavin flinch back into the sheets, so he turned back around. Gently, Eric scooped Gavin up, blankets and sheets and all, and kissed his forehead. “A little,” he answered. “He was a new friend. I don’t think he meant to make me sad.”

“Okay.” Gavin snuggled a little more into Eric’s arms, and he felt Gavin hold onto his shirt. “Did you make him sad?”

Heh. “A little. We were both a little sad,” Eric gave him a squeeze, rocking slowly. “It’s okay, though. Sometimes you make yourself sad. Sometimes other people get sad. Being sad is okay. It’s—”

“It’s about what you do after you’re sad,” Gavin finished. Probably excited he remembered it. Kid’s always been bad at focusing, anyway. 

It’s something Eric’s told him before, quite a few times. He wished he could hide his panic and depression and honest despair from Gavin, but in a two room apartment? He didn’t want to leave the kid alone in the apartment, too. As little as he could. Gavin had seen him panic and Eric had pulled himself together to stop Gavin from worrying too much. The three year old kid had too big of a heart in him for Eric to keep making him sad, too. And now he was four. 

“Yep, you’ve got it. Smart baby.” Eric lifted him as Gavin reached his arms up, giving him a tight hug around his neck and shoulders. 

Gavin’s arm went around his head at that weird angle, where it was the only place where his arms could feasibly wrap around. “Are you gonna make it better?”

“I’m gonna try.” 

That seemed to be good enough for Gavin, because he gave Eric a kiss on the forehead, too, and then made a motion to go down. So Eric set him back down on the bed, ruffled his hair, and went back to changing his pants. 

“I set up dinner on the table, it’s noodles.” He always tried to get the ones that looked like sea shells, because Gavin thought they were fun. “After dinner, you can leave your plate on the kitchen counter and do homework at the table. I’ll be back before bed time, okay?”

Shift was supposed to be shorter today; he’d be off at 9, and it wasn’t like it was that long of a walk.

“Okay!” Gavin waved his hands. “Have fun! I love you!”

Eric, clothes changed and keys in hand, waved back. “I love you too!” 

He closed the door to the apartment, locked it from the outside, and hurried down the stairs. “I’m gonna try,” he mumbled again, quiet to himself.

The phone number. 

Eric still had the bill in his other pants’ pocket. He never took it out. 

It’d been a while since he, like. Had friends. And had to socialize. 

David likely told all of them that Eric had just walked out on him. He didn’t know what they thought of him. 

But he had to try. Right? 

At the very least, Phillip had seemed nice. Phillip had seemed like he knew what Eric’s anxiety looked like. And maybe that’d be….

Eric could try. There wasn’t a harm in that. 

Work went smoothly, both works. No one went too crazy at the bar and Eric left when the next shift lead came, just in time to catch Gavin brushing his teeth before bed. He’d managed to tuck the kid in, clean the kitchen, and even managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time. When he woke up, he took Gavin to school, then immediately went to his second job. Things were going well and, when he dropped off Gavin, the kid had wished him good luck in calling his friend.

Eric held onto that until his lunch break at his other job. During lunch break, he went across the street to a coffee shop, ordered a dirty chai, and took his phone out. He’d taken a photo of the bill’s phone number, wasn’t about to wave a hundred dollar bill around in public, but the picture was good enough. 

Here goes...well. Nothing, really. Everything. And nothing. 

Just call the damn number.

His finger hit the call button before he could think any more about it, and he waited. 

It took two rings for Phillip to pick up. 

“Hello?” he asked. 

“Hi.” 

That was when Eric realized he had no fucking idea what he was going to say. What, was he calling to say sorry? This was Phillip’s number, not David’s. Did he want to hang out with Phillip? What do adults do when they quote hang out unquote. He didn’t want to do anything that’d involve money too much, he wasn’t able to pay for a dinner or something. Did he even want to meet up with him, in person? And he had so many questions about the arrangement, of the what, five men in a relationship thing. Did all of them want to talk to him? Why? 

“Oh, Eric. Hello! I ha-I hadn’t expected you to call,” Phillip laughed a little, a sound that eased the tension off his shoulders. “Are you...What did you want to ta-to talk about?”

His voice sounded light. That was good. He didn’t sound mad. 

“I, uh. I just wanted to….” 

There was a pause. So Eric just took another sip of his coffee and said, quickly, “Did you want to go to a museum? Or hang out or something?” 

A museum. 

Eric hadn’t been to a single museum in the whole fucking city. 

What the fuck was he thinking. 

Phillip must have either pitied him or was picking up what he was trying to suggest, because that was when he responded, “Oh! If you want to-to walk around and ta-talk, we could go to the-the university’s botanical gardens.” 

Botanical gardens? And walking around might be nice. Eric’s never been to the gardens. To be honest, he didn’t know they existed, and also didn’t go to the city’s university. It was a little farther away from the downtown and it wasn’t like he got an education past high school level anyway. 

He’d always wanted to go into mechanics, what with working on the bike and all. It just never worked out. 

Flowers seemed nice. 

“Sure! That, uh, I’ve never been but that sounds nice,” he said.

“They are qui-quite pleasant,” Phillip hummed quietly, then added. “If you don’t mind, would it be alright if I exte-ex-ex-if I invited Cadence as well?”

Cadence. Cadence, the famous one?

“Is he, uh….is he allowed to like….” Eric, frankly, had no idea what protocol was around famous people. “Sure?”

Phillip chuckled quietly, just quiet enough for the phone to pick it up, and said, “He’s definitely allowed to be in publi-public, if that’s your worry. Being famous doesn’t make it illegal to be in places. He’d wanted to see you again, but, well. Bars are cro-cro-crowded. If you want, I won’t.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Sure. I’d, uh. That’s cool.” 

Why did he sound like an awkward teen? Why did this sound like asking someone out to prom? Eric was going to lose his mind. 

Thankfully and graciously, Phillip seemed to understand his plight. David must have spread the word of him being an anxious mess because, to some extent, Phillip was planning this date for him.

Not a date. Just hanging out. Still weird for him, but markedly less weird.

“When’s the next weekday you’re free?” Phillip asked. 

It wasn’t that hard of a question. “Monday,” Eric responded.

He didn’t have either job. Well, that was a lie, but he was picking up another late shift at the bar. He didn’t have to be there until eleven. 

“Great. Monday at ten?” 

“Works for me,” Eric said. 

Phillip hummed in approval. 

Eric almost wanted to ask about David. If Phillip heard. Things had been going well, for the most part, until David explained the polycule situation. And something about that had just made Eric’s chest seize. 

That was so many people to disappoint. They’d discussed him. Eric never liked being the point of discussion, for any people. So the idea that this group of people who were all dating had talked about him to the point that the others wanted to meet him was surreal. 

Plus, he couldn’t help but be wary of the insinuation that they just wanted to be friends with him. Phillip was very regal, pretty and polished. Cadence was so fucking handsome it was unfair. David had been handsome as well, beautiful in a casual way. Eric was too fucking gay for this. He hadn’t seen Marlowe in much other than lowlight, and while the dude was drunk, but even then Eric could tell the dude was adorable. It was un-fucking-fair.

There was a….worry, deeper down. That while they might not want him in a romantic way, he’s just going to be a nervous gay wreck the whole time. 

“See you then, then, Eric,” Phillip’s voice held something of a smirk, and then he hung up. 

Eric lowered the phone, starred at the call screen for a moment or two before things began to click on his head. He was going to hang out with Phillip. And Cadence. 

They didn’t hate him. 

That was a good start.

[areweevercameraready]

more than beliefs (10: lost in the woods)

A/N: the way in which i didn't expect to be updating this ., before thomas' next sanders sides video.,., anyway like i keep saying, life is crazy. i now have a masters degree.

also ! im going to post., another snippet of the human au .,., a little later today,.,.., i am getting Bolder lol

i'm going to try to be more proactive with responding to comments, especially on ao3! if you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask, and enjoy the read <3 !

WARNINGS: death threats, a kidnapping, and a very, very long fall — i don't know if there's much to tag on this one but if you think i've missed anything, please let me know!

Words: 5,248

here it is on AO3!

here are the MtB masterpost and the full Chivalry series masterpost!

enjoy! <3

Tonight’s only stroke of luck was that none of Remus’ beasts had made it to their side of the Imagination. The Thief was still out, combing through the woods. 

It had been hours. The sun had yet to rise, and searching rarely went well in the dead of night.

Virgil was following him around, from the ground. Sometimes, the Thief scaled a tree, which didn’t feel like something he should be able to do. It must be the upper body strength. Why didn’t Logan work that extra gym time into Thomas’ schedule, damnit. 

Janus stayed outside. He didn’t want to be inside, and it was good to keep the door open. It helped him think. 

Plus, being inside meant waiting around with Logan and Patton, and as much as they were all fighting on the same side, it wasn’t as though they weren’t fighting each other as well. And he couldn’t put up with Patton’s faux fatherly friendship. He knew it was fake. It had to be. 

It was early morning when Janus saw someone approaching the Tree. He stood, squinting into the distance. The person was much too tall to be the Child. They were moving slowly, too, and had an amorphously red shape. Janus could barely make them out in the moonlight.

“Who’s there?” he called out. 

“It’s me,” the Damsel’s voice echoed back. 

Oh. 

Maybe he was just getting paranoid. Janus sat back down on the doorway, holding the tree bark door open with a leg. 

“Good morning, Phillip,” he called. 

He didn’t receive a response until the Damsel, much closer, sighed. He leaned on his cane and looked around up at the Tree, the surrounding forests, before returning his gaze to Janus. He seemed out of breath. It must have been a long walk, or he must not be used to walking the distance. 

“Could you spare some room,” the Damsel asked. 

Oh, huh. Janus scooted to the side, opening space for the Damsel to sit, and he did. He rested his cane against the side of the Tree and grunted as he sank down, leaning on the doorframe’s side. One of his legs extended forward, straightened out, while the other pulled beneath it. 

“Sorry,” he hummed, voice muffled slightly by his scarf. “I’m not the best with distances. Usually the Playwright or the Dragon help me travel, but….but they’re not accessible.”

Right. The Damsel’s leg. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m sorry you had to come out here,” Janus waved at the forest while leaning his chin onto his other hand. “Did the Thief call you?”

“Virgil did, off of Eric’s-the Thief’s phone.” 

He let out a sigh as he cracked his back in both directions, then he leaned back onto his hands. Virgil had called in a panic; the Thief had unlocked his phone and dropped it to Virgil. The Child was missing. They were coming back to the Tree but they hadn’t found the Child. The Thief had combed every part of the woods faster than the Child could have traveled, so it was likely he’d been kidnapped. Did he get kidnapped out of the Tree? No, he ran after he and the Thief had an argument. Inopportune, but tensions were high, even between them, if the Artist’s anger was anything to go off of. 

First the Playwright, now the Child? Something must be picking them off. Could it be one by one? Luckily, the other trio was together, and the Damsel and Thief were with the other Sides. They would have to stay together. But what could be trying to capture them like this? 

And for what purpose? The Damsel’s…darker tones had never left. Never been removed. So a part of him wondered…perhaps Roman was trying to finish the deed. But no. That would be foolish, after everything they’d been through.

The Damsel shook his head, clearing the thoughts, before sighing again. He didn’t want to look at Janus but who else was there for conversation — mirthlessly, the Damsel chuckled. Maybe that was why Roman would try to finish things.

Janus didn’t know what to make of him. Ever since their first escapade and then some, even when they started actually getting to know the guy, he just couldn’t understand. What were the implications of a part of Roman being almost as cut throat, as ruthless, as ends justify the means, as himself. What did that mean for Roman, for something like the Damsel to exist inside him.

There were few and far between opportunities for him to be alone with the former Prince, and he’d been the one to unravel Janus in the very beginning. This might be untradeable time. He should take the chance. 

But for what? He wanted to understand more about Roman’s psyche, what could be causing all of this, but…for what? What part did he want to know? He’d thought he had a strong profile of the prince on lock, until Roman went against that, went against everything he’d known about him, just to prove him wrong. Out of pure spite. What did that say about him, and what didn’t it say that Janus needed to understand?

“When did the Chil-the Child run away?” the Damsel asked. 

“Quite late at night. Maybe eleven. It’s been hours,” Janus responded. “Virgil and Thief must have been walking for miles and they hadn’t found him.”

The Damsel nodded slowly. “Two out of seven’s more than just a coincidence.”

Hypothesizing, and reserved. 

“I’m surprised you followed them in here,” the Damsel continued. “I wouldn’t have-I didn’t expect you to care as much.”

Janus flinched, shooting the Damsel a glare. In response, though, the Damsel just cocked an eyebrow back to him, challenging him to argue. 

“We…I’m on good terms with Roman,” Janus said. “We’ve had our disagreements, but—”

The Damsel laughed. He laughed so hard he leaned forward, holding his hand over his mouth like Janus had done to the other Sides so many times, as if he could stifle the sound. It grated on Janus’ ears. It sounded too much like Roman to be comforting and it was harsher in the way it was different.

“The only terms you think you-you think you have Roman are on the terms and conditions, because of how often you use him. A ‘funny, wholesome prank’ you enjoyed,” the Damsel turned so fast his scarf brushed Janus’ arm and he jumped at the sudden tonal change as the Damsel hissed angrily at him. “Playing into his love of theater, being right, AND desire to be a good person? That’s sinking low. Even for the leg-less snake.”

“I wouldn’t have to—the *leg-less snake?!” Janus couldn’t wrap his head around the Damsel’s report of his being. 

“It’s a metaphor. You know, as you so enjoy. Speaking in tongues rather than-rather than play your cards openly, and I thought we-I thought-I thought you would have learned,” the Damsel growled in response. “You are the reason we-we didn’t go to the callback. You are the reason Roman’s self-love has been eradicated. And you are the reason Roman is missing. And I have no qualms with saying it, even if others-others do..”

Janus stared at him with wide, undilated eyes. He hadn’t noticed, but he’d pressed himself against the wall, one hand gripping the step into the Tree while the other scratched at the Tree’s wall, trying to find purchase. One more bout and he might run. 

Good. The Damsel reveled in it, Janus’ fear. He knew he had to stay level headed — someone had to — but it felt good to finally unveil the source of everyone’s hostility. As much or as little as everyone knew. He’d spoken with the Child about it a few times, who was disappointed. He’d hoped that he could trust Janus, only to be proven wrong. It broke the kid’s heart. The Damsel hoped that that was all it had broken.

Slowly, he pushed himself up again, grabbing his cane with another sigh. Rougher this time. In the distance were more figures. Two, to be precise.

“Get inside before Thief sees you. He’s-He’s not as good at holding back his sword when anxious, and he won’t make your death as painless,” the Damsel warned, the growl never leaving, and Janus wasn’t willing to argue that point. 

He hurried back up the stairs, trying to wrap his mind around what the Damsel had accused him of. That basically meant Roman felt that way. Or was it a third party perspective. Or was it both. Could it be both? 

Did it even matter?

Logan was in the kitchen, a mug in his hands as he leaned on the counter and checked his phone. He was typing something. Patton, too, was in the living room, also typing on his phone. Something else. Janus didn’t even want to ask what it could be or what was happening; he just wanted to get on with it. Who knew if either of them had similar feelings. 

“They’re back,” he said. “And Damsel’s here, too.”

Logan looked up first, pocketing his phone in an instant. “Oh, good,” he nodded toward the stairs. 

They hurried down in time to see the Damsel catch the Thief in his arms with a grunt, cane still propped up against the Tree’s side. Patton strayed near the back, but even he could see the Thief tuck himself into the Damsel’s chest, arms curled around his head and fingers raking through his own hair. Virgil, behind them both, waved a hand to the others, signaling that they stay put. The Thief’s anxiety had only gone up, skyrocketing in a way that worried him. Sure, everything worried him, and even that much worrying was a bit worrisome, but this was another level kind of worry. 

The Thief…worried Virgil. Every time he looked at Roman, knowing that he literally had an Anxiety was somewhere at the top of mind. That they’d torn him down so far that he had multiples of that, he had parts of himself that were willing to kill and fight and live in fear of every day. Had Thomas done that? Or had they? Did the things that he and the others say contribute to that? Last time he was here, everyone was able to quote back things at them, as if those quotes were what had built them. And the Thief was built on wanting to leave Thomas. 

Virgil carefully approached them both, but the Damsel shook his head at him. One of his hands reached up, rubbing the Thief’s back in patterned circles. 

“Eric. We need to-We need to get going. Reunite with the others,” the Damsel suggested.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” the Thief’s voice cracked on the swear, and his arms closed on himself tighter. “I don’t-I don’t know if he ran or if-Phillip, we were arguing, he-If he got taken, I wouldn’t know, I didn’t-I shouldn’t have let him out of-out of my sight.”

“We can find him again, we just need to re-reunite with the people who can travel easiest,” the Damsel murmured, a sharp and gentle contrast to how he’d threatened Janus. “I reached out to Remus, he should be here soon.”

The Thief nodded but made no moves to relocate himself. It felt a little awkward. 

If Remus was coming, though, that must mean that they’re going somewhere else. Janus stepped back into the alcove at the front of the Tree and pulled out his shoes. Logan did the same, after a second. Better get going soon. 

Behind them both, Patton stepped out, feet already crammed into his loafers. “Hey, Eric,” he whispered, right behind the Damsel.

The Thief flinched at the sound, but still lifted his head. His eyes were red, bright and tired. He hadn’t slept a wink, while at least Virgil got an hour or two earlier. His head hurt from the shouting and crying. And he stared at Patton with as much of a glare as he could muster. It wasn’t much. 

“What,” he asked. 

Patton glanced at the Damsel, who was also watching him curiously, before opening his arms. “I’ve heard I give Patton-tedly good hugs,” he offered with a soft voice, warm as the hearth. 

That was Patton. Always full of love, at the end of the day and the worst of times. It was a very high-stress situation, and he didn’t want to not help. He wanted to comfort. 

The Damsel let go ever so slightly and let the Thief lean to the other side. He pressed himself into Patton’s arms and curled up tight again, and Patton rested his arms on the top of his back, pulling him in just as close. After a beat, the Thief began shivering again, and Patton hummed softly. He could tell that the Thief was crying again. 

“Being a dad is so FUCKING hard,” the Thief grumbled into his shirt. 

“Hey, take it from me, it sure isn’t easy,” Patton said with a chuckle.

“You know, you’re not actually a father,” Logan interrupted, fixing his tie as he approached. 

“Oh, no, no, I’ve only got a father figure,” Patton joked right back, giving the Thief a squeeze. “Amirite?” 

The Thief snorted quietly, and even Virgil shook his head with a grin behind him. A bit of comedy to lighten the mood did wonders, in Patton’s eyes, especially when the Thief began to uncurl from his hug. 

“Thanks, Patton,” he muttered.

“No problem, kiddo. I’m always here to help cheer you up,” Patton looped his arm around the Thief’s for a quick side-hug, which the Thief returned with a lean.

It was good timing, too, as a horn sounded behind them. Everyone turned, facing up as another horn went off. It was difficult to see without sunlight, but the moon and thick coat of stars cast just enough light for them to see the floating barge. 

It was an old-timey sailboat, painted black, with green trims and a face of horror at the bow. The ship’s sails had been let down, displaying lime green splatters across their formerly-white surfaces. It was a wieldy vessel indeed. 

Only one person could be driving it. 

“Welcome aboard!” Remus shouted, and everyone stumbled as they were unceremoniously teleported onto the ship’s deck, above the treeline. 

The Damsel was first to regain his footing, reaching out with an arm toward their new captain. Remus, wearing a black tricorn hat, greeted him by yanking him into a tight hug. And squeaking. Like a squeaky toy. The Damsel laughed at the gesture, hugging him back quickly. 

Their camaraderie was noted. Once again, everyone was surprised about the relationship they had. Didn’t Roman hate Remus, and didn’t Remus terrorize him? 

On the other end, the Thief pulled back, helping up the other Sides. He made sure Janus was stably standing last and shot him another angry look before turning away. 

Janus brushed himself down. He didn’t understand. 

He was warranted anger toward Roman all the same, so what the fuck was all of this animosity? 

“Good to see you all in one piece again, and glad we’re gonna be playing One Piece again,” Remus shouted at them all. 

The Damsel meandered toward the side of the boat, looking around. The dusty wall of fog that separated their sides was so close, here. This was closer to the the Imagination’s natural form, with the kingdom world’s edges all being clouded in fog that you could only really see at this height. Beyond the fog was more worlds that they’d invented, like the city seen previously. Even other kingdoms technically existed, with different rules and plotlines, but this one was home. It was the oldest setting, based on Thomas’ slew of Disney knowledge as he grew up. Others were more mature. One was based on the Game of Thrones’ settings, though it was more a daydream than a fleshed out world. There were alternate paths for their lives, even, with duplicates of Thomas’ home abound in every universe. They were all daydreams. 

So nice, to see the world again, especially from such height. They were higher up than even the Tree. The setting was designed to not show any of the too obvious spaces between the worlds, so even the highest point wouldn’t show off the bounds. Only the Dragon, Dragon Witch, or something like this, a flying boat, could give a good vantage over the whole of the kingdom. It wasn’t a sight the Damsel got to see often. 

Oh, he remembered sometimes, like this, what it was like to rule it all. To be Roman. 

The self-loathing often mellowed out into melancholy, grieving a power he was technically never granted and was absolutely never promised. And the knowledge that he had to cultivate the rest of his Round Table. Especially his heir. 

The Damsel, once the Prince, gripped his cane tighter. Oh, Child. 

After he’d mellowed out, as the others put it, he tried to manage the actual town around the castle. And it became clear that the responsibility he was overburdened by was almost also visible in the Child. No one else seemed to handily understand how their perspectives impacted Roman — from the Thief’s judgements to the Artist’s drive and motivation, only the Child seemed to care about how his input impacted Roman and Thomas. And that responsibility was something the Damsel had been hoping to cultivate. 

Of course, the Thief and the Bard were reluctant to like. Co-parent with a known murderer and the Dragon. But the Damsel appreciated the Child’s input, when he was allowed to receive it, and he did his best to respect the Child’s opinion. 

“Which of you wants to walk the plank first!” Remus exclaimed, gesturing around with a rapier. 

He poked it against Logan’s chest a few times, enough for Logan to see the tiny morning star affixed at its end, and the gesture was returned by a withering glance over. Janus snorted, at least, and Patton coo’ed at how tiny Remus’ weapon now was. 

“Awh, it’s so cute!” Patton praised. 

Virgil, on the other hand, waved his hand at the weapon. “Get that off his chest. We’ve gotta get to the Dragon Witch, with the others. You’re taking us there, right?” 

Remus’s lips upturned, pouting as he leaned over closer. “Awh, boo! All work and no play makes Virgil a dull, dull boy,” he flicked his finger against Virgil’s nose and, before Virgil could retaliate any more than a growl, turned around quickly. “Yes, we’re on route for that. Shouldn’t be too long before we get there and drop trou.”

“I believe we’d be dropping anchor, when we arrive,” Logan corrected, following Remus first up the deck. 

The whole troupe moved after him. Around them, the sails were being managed, ropes pulled, and steering wheel turned by invisible forces. It was like the ship were being manned by invisible people, but it was likely only run by Remus, who was hopping up the stairs. 

“Oh, sure, whatever you want, Nerdy Nummy,” Remus said with a grin, gesturing over the side of the boat. “I’ll sure be dropping trou, at least.”

“How are the others?” the Thief asked quickly, trying to ignore Logan’s quizzical look. 

Once again, Remus waved his hand. “Oh, you know!” he barked out a laugh. 

Well. What did the Thief expect, with that one. He scowled at Remus’ back, a few ideas on how to get him to talk dancing through his mind before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Behind him, Janus shook his head.

And before the Thief could grapple with the snake and throw him overboard, as if sensing the imminent danger, Virgil yanked Janus back in a quick, sharp motion. 

Behind both of them, Patton stumbled into the Damsel, who held onto the railing and caught Patton around the midsection. Virgil held Janus steady off by the side, watching as the Thief slowly brushed his cloak down. The air was tense around the whole party, even though Remus was skipping his way up at the top of the stairwell. 

“Eric,” the Damsel murmured, trying to break the tension. “Eric, come-come on.”

The Thief’s eyes moved from Janus to the Damsel, squinting a little harder at him. 

The Damsel let go of Patton to gesture forward, as if tired. Condescending. 

Janus took it in quietly, eyes flitting between both, before Virgil shoved him up toward — past — the Thief. “C’mon, guys,” he grunted. 

That shattered the tension. The Thief hopped off the steps in one vertical leap, landing on the railing and hurrying up the rest of the rail as if it were a balance beam. 

At least they weren’t fighting. That’s what Patton was most afraid of, any more big fighting. They’d done that earlier today and they had to stop, really. It was going to start hurting Thomas at some point. 

There was so much hurting. Who hurt you, who hurt me, hurting, revenge, and Patton didn’t agree with any of it! They just needed to sit down. Take a breather. Talk things out. But everyone was so tense and no one was willing to just breathe.

“Don’t worry, kiddos, we’re doin’ great,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m all good.”

The Damsel snorted behind him — Patton completely forgot he was there, too. He helped Patton upright, which he thanked him for, and they both began up again. The Damsel had a slower gait, holding the cane with one hand while he gripped the railing with the other, so Patton let his stride slow to keep pace. 

“How’re you doing, Philly boy,” Patton bobbed his head as he spoke.

It was a silly nickname, sure, but the Damsel stopped fully again, squinting his eye at  Patton with so much vitriol that he almost flinched. Almost. 

“Philly boy,” he repeated. 

“Mmmmmhm,” Patton glanced up the stairs with his eyes before stopping himself. 

“I’m doing alright, Patty boy,” the Damsel responded with a small smile, shaking his head as he continued to climb. “How are you?”

Oh. Thank heavens. Patton laughed, clapping. “Wow, I’m glad you liked that one. I was about to start crying.”

As they got toward the top, the Damsel patted Patton’s shoulder gently. They were closer to the stern, going toward the wheel, which Remus approached himself. He waved his hands away at whatever was controlling it and gripped it tight himself. 

“ONWARDS!” he screeched.

Somewhere, seagulls screeched, and the Thief jumped at the sound. 

The ship turned quickly, careening to the side, though it didn’t throw off anyone’s balance too much. Remus was nice enough to think about that, at least. They faced the wall of mist that Virgil had crossed prior, the one that cut the Imagination in half, and began drifting toward it. The wind caught the sails in ways that defied logic and gravity, given that there was next to no wind blowing against them on the deck. Logan looked around at the world, approaching the railed edge slowly. 

It was beautiful. He didn’t think he told Roman that enough, when they were together. It was hard to call something beautiful objectively, since it was, by definition, subjective. But the beauty of these creations, even at night, as the moon’s faint glow trawled over the edges of each tree. It faintly glittered on the river that cut through the forest and the town, dull light emanating off the terracotta roofs in town…

He missed Roman. Logan didn’t know what to feel about everyone else here, the arguing they’d been going through, but at the very least. Well. Roman did listen to part of what he’d said. 

They should be able to discuss this like people. 

God, fucking, and also damnit. 

He ran his hand through his hair and took off his glasses slowly. It was giving him a headache and not because of his aid of the Imagination’s creating.

“It sure is pretty out here,” Patton sighed.

“It’s about to get even better, Daddy-o. Hold onto your pants!” Remus shouted.

Before any of them could ask what the fuck that meant, the fog of the split approached and engulfed the ship. It was impossible to see the hands in front of their faces, let alone the world around them. A whole shift. 

And in almost an instant, it was gone. The fog swiped past them, drifting off the ship in slow rolls. Logan watched it drift back into a wall behind them, smoothing back down, before glancing over the world before them. 

It was less dark than he’d expected. It was day, in a way, the other half of the sun glowing red more than the gold of Roman’s side, bathing the world in a bloody glow. The lighting poked holes between the pitch dark trees and between the tangles of brambles that surrounded the grounds of Remus’ world. In the distance was another castle. It was much taller. Much less clear how physics worked here, if Remus kept it in mind or if he pointedly discarded it. Logan had a hunch it was the later, building things that he knew wouldn’t work, because the largest tower of the castle had a full 90º bend in the middle. There was a bend, then another bend, then it continued upward, like someone had pushed it over a chunk. 

To Virgil, it was a little familiar. He’d traversed both sides, though Remus’ far less. Back when he had to make nightmares more often, he’d have to go in through Remus’ mirror rather than Roman’s door. He also leaned over the railing besides Logan with a sigh.

“Hello everyone, this is your captain speaking.” Everyone jumped, Virgil nearly a foot off the ground. They whipped around to see Remus in a captain’s outfit — all green, of course — holding a radio speaker whose chord seemed to disappear into thin air above him. 

He waved his fingers at the group and only the Damsel waved back, as per usual. “We are hovering above our destination now, and I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight. Beginning our descent into the Dragon Witch’s lair in t-minus five. Four. Three.”

“Oh, fuck,” the Thief groaned, holding onto the Damsel’s arm.

“Two.”

“What?” Virgil asked.

“One.”

The boat disappeared, as did Remus. For everyone else? 

They began their descent. 

For a moment, just a brief moment, it reminded Janus of the last time they visited. What, with trap door falls and all that. 

Below them was the Subconscious, just besides the ground of Remus’ side. Virgil screamed — words can barely explain the stress he was under — as did Patton. The Thief had curled around the Damsel’s waist, cloak shielding them both and actually breaking some of their descent. It gave them a wider surface area, especially as the Damsel’s scarf undid itself. He kicked one of his legs out as well to increase surface area. Logan, at the furthest to the bottom, had his back to the fall as he watched everyone else. 

It really felt like they were going to die here. 

Until the shadow passed above, blocking out the little light they had. Logan could see it, it was a dragon. The Dragon? No, it looked larger. He couldn’t remember the Dragon’s actual dragon form’s size and length. Maybe he should take measurements. 

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Janus managed to choke out through the air that was surging past them.

The dragon passed by again, closer this time. It dove and, with one claw, grabbed the two Roman figments. The Damsel wrapped his arms around its claw as it dove beneath them again. In this movement, it swiped Patton straight out of the air. 

Somehow, Virgil screamed louder. 

Then even he was silenced by the dragon’s tail coiling around them. 

Impact must be coming soon. They were getting close to the tree tops at least, and while the Subconscious was an impossibly further drop below, even Logan was getting worried. He couldn’t see how far they were falling but it’d been about eleven seconds. That felt like quite a bit. 

Claws wrapped around Janus in front of him then, quickly, himself as well. The dragon wasted no time in reaching up with its front arms and depositing them both onto its back, which was much wider than Logan remembered Draco’s being. And much more purple. 

This must be the Dragon Witch, then. He patted her back with a sigh. 

Virgil was still hyperventilating, holding one of the Witch’s protruding spikes with both of his arms. Also his legs. Patton was too stunned to make sounds, jaw hung open, and Janus, as soon as he was deposited, scrambled over to hold a spike himself. That was probably wise. Logan grabbed one. 

They were safe. 

“That was fun,” the Damsel said, coughing a few times. “Wow.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” the Thief croaked. 

He was just as pale as Virgil, almost moreso, as he held onto the Damsel and as the Damsel held one of the spikes. The Damsel laughed a little at the Thief’s anger.

“That was AWFUL,” Patton cried. 

Logan blinked a few times, only to find his vision clouding. Oh. He took off his glasses, making sure to grip them tight as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Wetness. Ah. 

“No, it was fucking great,” Janus snapped, jaw closing so quickly it made a biting sound, only for him to let out another small scream as the Witch ducked into the side of the cliff, into a dark opening. 

They held on for the bumpy landing, wincing as they rolled a little on her scales. Slowly, though, she leaned to the side and stilled. 

An opportunity to get off. No one was unhappy to oblige, and the Damsel, remembering how, slid off first. One by one, they disembarked, looking around the cave. 

It was large. Red clay and brown limestone walls were illuminated by hanging fire lanterns and columns of fire within, ones that seemed to spin flame into itself but not anywhere outside. It was as big as an airplane hangar, expansive and echoey. At the very least, it had to be large enough for her to fit, didn’t it. 

Once Patton descended, the last person off, the dragon began to shift. Her expansive golden wings coiled in on herself, pressing into her body, compacting her. They managed to cover the entirety of her magenta and forest green form, tail wrapping in all the same as she kept shrinking.

“Draco?” Virgil asked, and Logan shook his head. 

It seemed everyone else had made the incorrect assumption. “No, no, she was much too big to be the Dragon,” Logan explained.

“She?” Janus asked. 

“She indeed,” the Witch hummed, voice booming from her giant form. 

The gold wings peeled off then drifted back into two long, billowing ends of a shawl. It was wrapped around her shoulders and trailed behind her, punctuated by the thick, swirling gold cape over her shoulders. She was still an imposing presence in her human form, standing taller than even the Dragon, shoulders squared further by her thick coat. A horned headless, somewhat accurate to medieval style, saw on her head like a crown. 

She opened her arms in one dramatic bow. 

“Welcome in, everyone, it’s so good to finally meet you. My boys’ve told me so much,” she held out a hand, first to Janus, and her glowing eyes were striking. 

Slitted and golden. Like him. “My name is Guinevere, but you can call me Vi.”

[areweevercameraready]

another series of human au pics but this time, it’s CADENCE!!!!! who is my angel!!!! i love him so dearly!!!! he’s so good and also the best <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

IDs: Pic 1 [Cadence posing with his hands folded beneath his chin, smiling excitedly. He is wearing a fur coat and shimmering black dress with lots of gold jewelry, and his make-up has gold eyeliner. There are soft-glowing string lights behind him.] Pic 2 [Cadence posing in a field of lavender in a big, poofy, shimmering pink dress. He is wearing a flower crown made of lavender and smiling joyfully.] Pic 3 [Cadence is coming in to hit you with his ukulele. He looks very mad. He is wearing a short pink pleated skirt and a pink sweater with black knee-high boots. His ukulele has many stickers on it.]

[areweevercameraready]

<3 most of these are tiktok audios so some of the context is lost but wtevr love the sillies

I LOVE THEM THESE ARE SO FUCKIN FUNNY,.

hilariously i am NOT on tiktok but they are so funny even w/o context

[areweevercameraready]

a little snippet...

A/N: so....i actually have...... maybe 100,000k words unpublished with the boys in human au.,.... and since the human au infodump, i've been wondering if i should post things from the spinoff au. i asked a friend and she suggested i post at least a bit since there Were Folks who enjoyed these characters. im hugging everyone who has been keeping up :') thank you and i love you and you don't know how much this means to me, that people like my work.

i do plan on updating more than beliefs, though as you can probably tell, updates are pretty slow. i've had big weird life changes over the past three or so years, which is kinda sad, since i used to be able to update chivalry literally once a week :'D but thank you all for sticking with me through it!! i'm hoping, once i'm done writing my thesis, i can get back to updating MTB more often. i've had the whole thing plotted in my head for a while and you all deserve to see more of macbeth, along with where he was during like. all of chivalry.

heads up that this is NOT going on AO3 — it's a bit far from the actual fandom space so I'm really hesitant to put it up there. it'll only be here! somewhat related, but i might spruce up this blog layout. the banner image is kind of old/i don't like the anatomy, and same with the icon. and i just took a look at the blog and went "wow the text is smaller than i remember it being..." so that's a sign that it's Too Small! time for a change probably.

Words: 7,615

WARNINGS: descriptions of anxiety disorder, descriptions of past child abuse, suicidal/depressive thoughts, someone's ankle breaks (don't run in heels, kids!), alcohol and drunkenness

if i forgot anything, please let me know! this is only one chapter of a longer thing (i'm still on the fence about posting all of it but frankly, if i do revamp this blog, i straight fuckin might. i don't plan on publishing these novels for market consumption, but i would be happy to know if folks out there enjoyed them :') )

enjoy the snippet! <3

Eric Yuan hadn't considered himself lovable in a long, long time.

The anxiety disorder was just scraping the surface. There was the legal battle he'd gone into against his parents for custody over Gavin. He was so responsible it was irresponsible, sleeping odd hours, sometimes none at all, and living off of the cheapest coffee he could find to keep himself awake. There was the lack of time, the long hours of work to pay for the apartment and his and Gavin's lives, between working at the bar and at the restaurant, trying to pull together something to keep them afloat. He survived off of lunch and, when tips were good, the occasional dinner. 

Gavin had noticed, of course, but he was nice enough to not say anything. Eric tried to be as honest as he could about how sometimes they couldn't get new games or new things, how he would have to stay late at night at work. If Eric was thankful for anything, it was how understanding Gavin was. That kid rolled with as many punches as were thrown and while Eric knew he shouldn't have to, knew that his brother deserved a better upbringing than the shit that their parents and now the world were putting them through, he also recognized that this was the best he could do. 

He tried to hide himself in work, two jobs that provided enough money to keep them going. Honestly, if he’d talked with his managers and budgeted hours differently, he could get by with just the bartending job. But the days without work were spent taking Gavin to school, watching Gavin at home, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He had to have something to bury himself in so he wouldn’t be stuck with his thoughts, the ones that promised danger, contempt, building paranoia and anxiety until he choked on his own breath. Thoughts that promised a kinder world. On the other side.

If he killed himself, Gavin would go right back to their parents, and Eric had to stay alive if only to prevent that. That was….that was the only reason. 

Sometimes, he wondered if Gavin knew, because on nights like that the kid always managed to find his way into Eric's bed. He'd crawl in and snuggle between Eric's arms and tell him he had a nightmare. Eric never knew how honest he was being, but he never turned the offer down.

He had to keep alive. So he did. 

And like, man worked a lot. Often, too much. How the fuck was he supposed to keep up with the world around him if he barely used his social media, didn't watch any of the new content put out in recent years, didn't engage with new platforms. Well, he had a Twitter, but that was just to look at funny memes. Those were his favorite development in recent years. Twitter also helped keep up with the news somewhat, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to that. Also, cat videos, those were important to him. 

Yeah, he was fairly disconnected, but what else was new and what could you do.

Eric Yuan's life flipped when he was opening the bar at 4 p.m. on a Wednesday. He wasn't an owner or manager, but he was a shift lead. The most dependable shift lead, if you asked his manager, and while he often told Eric that he was pretty reliable, it wasn’t as though Eric processed that kind of praise. He did know that he got the most done, and was the most efficient, because he could take that kind of metric comparison. But, like. Most reliable? He didn’t know how true that was. Eric liked to take the opening shifts, helped get home at a reasonable enough hour to see Gavin to sleep and for him to sleep enough to take the lunch shifts at his other job. 

The opening shift consisted of a few things. Making sure dishes were racked for the night, that the trash was all arranged and the bins were out in the alley, that bottles that looked like they were going to go empty had restocks close by. It was slow and quiet, for shift leads, but it was perfect for Eric. He liked to turn on some music and walk around, working efficient and quick enough usually to have a few minutes of quiet before the bartenders started showing up. 

The alley behind his bar was more like a driveway than anything, wide enough just for one car. Most of the time, the neighboring businesses would just put their bins back here during work hours. 

While opening on this day, though, Eric noticed a man running. He'd turned the sharp corner near the bar and hurried partway down the block, panting as if he'd been running a while. Eric actually pulled his own bins back as the man passed him. Then promptly tripped. What idiot runs in heels, anyway?

The man tried to get back up, but a few steps proved his ankle injured enough for him to collapse again. And that's when he looked up, frantically looking around for help, and his eyes locked with Eric's. 

Eric waved, ever so slightly. And, well. He's always been the type to help someone who needed it. He didn't know what the man was running from, but it seemed that time was of the essence. He jogged over and picked the man up easily, making sure he didn't grab the man's dreadlocks accidentally beneath his arm, and hurried him into the bar. At least the dude was pretty light, and he let Eric pick him up, wrapping his arms around Eric’s shoulders. 

The first and only real thing Eric noticed was that he smelt a little floral. Must have been perfume or something. The man wasn’t wearing clothes that Eric would have called casual, especially with the heels. A fall like that must have hurt his ankle.

"Thank you," the man whispered, and Eric noticed how gentle his voice was, how lofty and warm. "Close the door, please, they can't see me."

Eric didn't know who the fuck "They" was, but Eric kicked the door closed on his way in. Just as he did, too, he heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the alley. Eric helped the man hide behind the bar, out of view of the door, and shushed him quietly as a knock sounded on the door. 

He wiped his hands on his apron, stepping back towards the door. He paused before opening it only to prepare his face, so he could open it with the deadliest glare. And there were. People. There. Were many people. Many with cameras. All looking fairly out of breath. 

How did that guy outrun a whole ass crowd? 

The man who had knocked was haggard, taller than Eric but with an obviously lankier build, wheezing as he asked, “Have you seen anyone come up this road?”

He sounded kinda desperate. Eric shook his head slowly, cogs working in his head as he put together a cover story. “No, I’ve just been trying to open up shop. I took the bins out,” he gestured to the trash bins, set alongside the wall. “But I didn’t see anyone then. If someone was out there, they could have run past while I was stocking.”

The man nodded, either willing to accept that lie or too frantic to look too deep into it. Eric watched with sharp eyes as he and the group looked up and down the street. He didn’t think this concerned him, though, and he wanted to check back in on the absolute rando’ he’d just let into the bar. So he nudged the guy’s hand. 

“I think the candy shop over there’s open, around that corner.” Eric pointed to the end of the alley. “If someone ran past, they could have seen them. Other than that though, I don’t have anything, and I’ve gotta get back to opening.”

Just a few well-placed white lies. The man at the door nodded and motioned the group to leave without another word. Eric let the door slam behind them. 

Well. Then. He exhaled slow, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then turned to the bar counter. 

The way the bar was arranged was such that there was a peninsula counter, sticking out of the wall with seats arranged on all sides. On one side, too, was a small stage. Often, they would just play music. Sometimes they had performers, live musicians, and every Thursday was comedy night for local comedians. In June, they have a small drag show every Friday, and in December, they have a run of charity shows. There are still fliers and decorations up from the last one; Eric should take them down while he’s opening. 

The man who he’d snuck in slowly peeks his head around the counter. There was something awfully familiar about him, like Eric had definitely seen this dude before, but he isn’t attuned to the daily gossip. Maybe it was just because the man was pretty as could be, eyes a warm brown that lingered around Eric before darting back at the door. His brows were perfectly shaped. Eric could see a little heart on his cheek, too, and silver decorations in his dreadlocks. Very, very pretty.

The man scan the area, see Eric going around to take the chairs out from where they’ve been stacked in the corner. And he asks, in a voice almost more delicate than Eric could have imagined, “Are they gone?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, setting down the barstools as he went around the bar’s lounge area. “They stalkers or something?”

As soon as Eric said the people chasing him were gone, the man sighed, standing up all the way and cracking his neck. He scooted to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands, which was fair. It wasn’t like the bar ground was the cleanest, even just before opening. 

Someone like this dude, this put together and manicured and astoundingly beautiful, shouldn’t have had to put his hands on the bar’s fuckin’ ground.

“Basically stalkers. Paparazzi,” the man sighed. 

“Paparazzi?” Eric asked, looking back at the man.

Was this dude fucking famous? Eric couldn’t recognize him. Damn, he was that far removed from things, that he couldn’t recognize an entire celebrity.

The man must have realized now that Eric hadn’t known who he was, because his grin turned sheepish as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Yep! I’m, uh. Songbird? That’s my stage name. And my YouTube channel.” 

That name rang, like, literally no bells in Eric’s head. Figures, though. He rarely watched Youtube. 

They stood in relative silence for a few beats before the man tried again. “Cadence? Cadence Beaulieu?” 

“Oh,” Eric said, and it must have been obvious how he didn’t know who the fuck this Cadence dude was, because Cadence laughed a little in his face. 

“You’re cute,” Cadence said, limping out around the bar, holding onto the bar’s side. “I don’t get that much anymore.” 

“Cool.” Eric instinctually hurried over, holding Cadence’s arm and waist as he helped him onto one of the bar’s seats, but his head was reeling from the idea of a famous celebrity calling him cute. Like? That didn’t just happen. Did it? This guy was fucking famous? 

What the fuck was he supposed to say? How do you talk to famous people? Eric helped him settle into the seat before asking, “Do you want water or something?”

“No, I’m good,” Cadence smiled at him.

Eric was going to loose his mind, he got called cute by a famous dude and now he’s looking at the famous dude and realizing how cute the famous guy was. He hadn’t paid attention to that earlier, too preoccupied with getting the guys at the door to leave, but now that he was actually looking at this guy—his anxiety was about to start kicking in, hard, he could tell. What if he made an ass of himself in front of the famous dude? The incredibly pretty famous dude. 

“Cool,” Eric looked down, at the bar, and whistled a little. “If you want, you can, uh, stay here for a bit, until your car comes?”

He figured the famous dude isn’t driving around himself. 

Cadence nodded. “If that’s okay,” he murmured, taking out his phone. “I can stay outta your way, then.”

Slowly, Eric nodded, too. He had to get the extra drinks ready. Finish opening up. And. He couldn’t really. Process? What was happening. He just thought he was helping someone up off the street, having tripped, and….Wait.

“Wait, how’s your ankle?” he tried to swallow his anxiety, looking back at Cadence, who seemed to be idling on his phone. 

Cadence looked back up at him, then at his ankle. He was wearing strappy heels, flowy pants, a tight shirt, and an old oversized jacket, and none of these looked like clothes that were good to be running around in. Especially those heels. Eric didn’t know much about heels but he figured they might be an inch? And that was probably enough to fucking break a leg. Rude to stare, though. So he just. Averted his eyes back to the glasses he was stacking for later.

This guy was so fucking pretty. Eric was holding him earlier. He’d carried him—Eric had deadlift carried a whole ass celebrity. 

“Probably sprained,” Cadence said with a sigh. “When I get home, I can ice it. I don’t think it’s fully broken, though, I could put a little weight on it.”

Now, they had ice in the box. Eric grabbed one of the spare bags for their limes and filled one with ice, part of their protocol for when drunkards would hurt themselves. He wrapped it in one of the clean towels and, once the Grey Goose was restocked, brought it over to Cadence. Who took it. Gratefully. It seemed. 

“Thanks,” Cadence gave him a smile, which like. Eric still didn’t really know how to feel about this. 

“No problem,” he said. “Sorry, uh. For, uh, being quiet. And not knowing who you were.”

Because like, that felt like something he should apologize for, you know? If Cadence is used to people recognizing him on the streets and some level of respect because of it, then maybe Eric treating him like a regular person (maybe even ignoring him, since he’s just sitting in the corner) might be rude? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the fucking etiquette for talking to famous people, this isn’t a problem he’s ever had!

“It’s okay, no, don’t even worry,” Cadence giggled—that sound, that fucking sound was so soft, what the hell?—and waved his hand dismissively. 

“Okay,” Eric nodded. And he didn’t have much to. Like. Add? 

So he turned around and went back to restocking the bar. And he didn’t say anything about how he could feel Cadence watching him. He didn’t say anything, but he could feel Cadence’s eyes on his back every so often, when he’d look up from his phone. 

Maybe he was tweeting something about him. Eric didn’t know much about social media so if he did get tweeted about, he definitely wasn’t going to be able to find it. Or maybe he was texting his famous friends about the weirdo bartender who’s just ignoring him as he lifts the crates out of the storage room and cracks them open. 

There’s no way this dude would be bullying him over shit like this for no reason, right? 

Regardless, Eric wasn’t about to start a conversation and ask. He just knew that the guy was staring at him. For what felt like an hour. Realistically, only like, half an hour. But for fucking forever, man.

At some point, though, it had to end. After about twenty minutes, Cadence stood up, wobbling a little on his hurt ankle. Eric, who’d been restocking the limes, looked up, then stood up. 

“Your car here?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Cadence smiled a little at him. “When does this place open, anyway?”

“Uh,” Eric frowned, checking the clock on the wall. “In ten.”

Where the fuck are his bartenders, anyway? They’re supposed to get here at around now. Fuckers. 

Cadence nodded, though, noting the time. “Glad this all happened before hours, then. Wouldn’t want it to get too crazy in here for you,” he looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Eric, with a small smile that made Eric’s already quick-beating heart skip a beat thinking of how his eyes creased with gentle happiness. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Eric tried to smile, too, but something told him it looked a little more like a grimace. 

Cadence waved, Eric waved. Then Cadence left. And the door closed behind him.

And that was the that. On that. 

Eric was fairly zoned out for the whole shift. He was mixing drinks on autopilot, not so much as handling customers. Some drunkard got rowdy, Eric wasted no time to tell them to fuck off. His patience was zilch. 

He got home and Gavin’s already put himself to bed, tucked in and in his PJ’s, though Eric heard him get up when he closed the front door. Eric picked him up, tucked him back in again, and kissed him on the head. Poor kid hated being alone late at night, especially when he had to put himself to bed. Eric laid on the bed with him, one foot off to hold himself steady, and made sure Gavin was all the way asleep before he stood up to change his own clothes. 

Only once he was sure Gavin’s not getting out of bed again does he check his phone, too. 

“Cadence Beaulieu” had over four million followers on Twitter, over fifteen million subscribers on Youtube, and an Instagram account that makes Eric blush almost inappropriately. And this is the guy who was. In his bar. Talking to him. Eric picked this man up earlier and didn’t even notice that the heart on his face was made up of three moles. It looked like a tattoo almost, but no, apparently. 

He spent almost too much time binging Cadence’s content before he managed to pass out to the sound of one of his beauty tutorials. Interesting, that this is the guy he met. This is the guy who he picked up, carried into his bar, hid in the corner.

Interesting. 

But not every day is so interesting. So Eric goes back to work and expects nothing to change. He tries to put this rare celebrity encounter behind him. Tries not to think of how much of an idiot he must have been, seeming to just fade into the background and ignore what could have been a real moment had he asked more questions, became something more memorable perhaps. He could have asked Cadence how he was doing, at least. How his day had been. Anything, really. 

Instead, Eric just has the memory of the prettiest man on the planet sitting in the corner of the bar, of his bar. Alone together. A stranger, sure, and maybe Eric understood somewhere that that was part of why the anxiety was so strong? But c’mon. Man was pretty. Nice, too. 

Damn. This is why he’s single, he joked bitterly to himself. Lonely, the joke in his head twisted. He didn’t have the gall to actually talk to anyone, what was he supposed to do.

He had been cleaning out glasses at the bar, late one night. He’d picked up a later shift, after Gavin had already gone to sleep. Usually, Eric liked to be home while the kid slept, but sometimes the scheduling didn’t work out like that and he’d need to pick up extra hours for other bartenders who had to tap out. He was a very strong cover, apparently. And on the spectrum of “thank god that lucky ass thing happened,” this was right below Cadence’s accident. 

About two weeks after Eric meets a whole ass celebrity, two men sit down at the bar during one of the live musical performances. It was Eric’s time working behind the bar, and he saw the one with the eyepatch wave him over. Which, like. Okay, sure, he was getting there. But customer service and you never know how many drinks they’ve had before they walk in at one in the morning and you definitely don’t want to get mad at the dude giving you the tip and maybe this dude’s never been to a bar, who the fuck wears soft cashmere at a bar, and his buddy there was in a bowtie and suspenders like this was some kind of book club and not remarkably past midnight on a Thursday. 

Like, okay, nerds, maybe they’ve just never been to this kinda bar. Sure. Fine.

“What can I get started for you boys,” Eric said, slinging his washcloth over his shoulder on his approach. 

“Two cosmopolitans, please,” the one with the eyepatch said, giving Eric a smile that read polite. 

Eric looked at the one with curly hair and glasses, who nodded in confirmation. “One shot in both? You got any vodka preferences?” he asked, taking out the house vodka and two tumblers. 

Before the eyepatch’ed one could reply, the one with glasses butted in, saying, “One with one shot, a double in the other, please. And if you have Ketel One, that would be grand.”

“A double shot? Marlowe!”

“What, it’s been a good day! I think I deserve a double shot. And you know two shots isn’t enough to do much.” This Marlowe guy sounded pretty cocky, if you were to ask Eric, but no one ever asks the bartender. So he didn’t say anything about it. 

He tuned out of the argument there, as soft as it turned. Much less of an argument, more aggressive flirting, and that was something that was easy for him to zone out of until he set the two cocktails down. “Double shot,” he said, setting the double in front of Marlowe. “And a single. If you boys need anything else, my name’s Eric and I’ll be at the bar all night.” 

“Eric,” the one with the eyepatch smiled, and it was kind of pretty in that controlled, poised way that some models do. “Thank you. If we need anything, I’ll-I’ll call.”

“Thank you, Eric,” Marlowe said, raising his glass and taking a long sip. 

Eric just nodded and went around, checking on others. Earlier, he’d seen some dude try to roofie a girl, and had taken the drink back. She had left with a friend she trusted, and he’d kicked the guy out pretty forcefully, but the moment still left quite the imprint. He was always on edge whenever that happened, hoping to prevent it from happening again. 

He did a few rounds before he ended up in front of Marlowe and his friend again, maybe half an hour later. This friend was on his phone, typing something out, while Marlowe flagged Eric down, with an empty glass before him. 

“Hello, Eric,” Marlowe raised the glass. “Would you be a dime and make me a Long Island Iced Tea?” 

Okay. This dude had to be a heavier drinker, if he was going to be calling out drinks by name. And it wasn’t necessarily Eric’s job to know how much someone could drink, especially strangers. The guy didn’t, like….he didn’t look drunk just yet. You know? So Eric nodded. 

“Sure thing. You got any preferences?” he asked, taking the cup back and pulling out a tall glass. 

Now that seemed to be the right question, or at least one the man hadn’t thought of. Marlowe reached up, cupping his chin in thought, and spared a few glances at his friend still typing. Hopefully this wasn’t, like, for the friend. Eric would have to watch for that. But after a bit of time, Marlowe nods. “Yes. Ketel One again for the vodka.” 

“Sure.” They had Ketel One under the vodka cabinet, but people rarely ordered it. It was one of their premium vodka’s and house vodka was Smirnoff. 

“Do you have Patrón for tequila?” 

“Yeah, I’m….pretty sure,” Eric, before he could be made to swallow his words, took a stride to the tequila cabinet and checked. “Yep, I’ve got Patrón for you.” 

“Excellent. I don’t know enough about the other three alcohols to have preferences, but if you could tell me what you put in, I’d love to start learning.”

An….interesting request. But Eric knew the house drinks like the back of his hand (and he might not be able to hold his liquor like the best of them, but he’d still tried all of the standard drinks. For posterity.) so he pulled out the Bacardi first. “This’ the rum. In house, we use Bacardi. Pretty light for a rum, but it does have a better taste than Captain Morgan. A lot better to mix with,” he explained. 

Marlowe had turned himself toward the counter, watching Eric pour in the Bacardi first, then the Ketel One, then the Patrón. Then, he put those three down. The triple sec was all out on the shelf, since they were common enough and the bar stocked a small enough range to have the whole selection out for viewing. Eric pulled down a bottle of Bols to add, then Henrick’s gin from the shelf below. They were running out behind the bar anyways. “Bols is the triple sec,” Eric said as he poured. “It’s really good for mixing with multiple alcohols. Sometimes a drink’ll play nice with other alcohols and sometimes it’ll only play nice with, like. Coke.”

“That makes sense. The consistencies are very different,” Marlowe hummed. 

Sounded like this dude was the analytical type. Which might explain why he had some of his preferences on hand. If you don’t go to bars often, you’re going to be scared of the unknown. Eric was almost proud of the guy for that, if this was him trying new things. 

He just hoped Marlowe wouldn’t throw up in the bathroom or something. That would fuckin’ suck. Always a situation when the patrons didn’t know their own limits.

“Henrick’s is the gin, and it’s just a easy gin to use,” he said with a shrug. “And then we just….”

He pulled out the cola spritzer, topped the glass off with cola, and put the slice of lemon in. And then he slid it over to Marlowe, who took the drink in one hand with a fascinated look. Dude even pushed his glasses up. 

“Interesting. I’m excited to try it,” Marlowe said, glancing back up to Eric with a smile. 

And before Eric could even warn him about how strong of a gut punch it was about to be, Marlowe picked up the glass and took a swig about a third of the cup. “Woah, buddy,” Eric couldn’t stop himself from jumping at that. “You alright?”

“Marlowe, what the fuck are you doing?” dude’s friend finally looked up from his phone to see Marlowe slam the glass down and cough into his arm. 

“Holy shit,” Marlowe said, fixing his glasses with a smile that seemed a little too wide to be sober. “That’s quite strong, but very, very good. Thank you, Eric!” 

His glasses were still crooked. Eric almost leaned forward to fix them, before the guy’s friend got to it first, and that was all for the better. It’s not like Eric knew these people, after all. 

Marlowe took out his phone and Eric took the chance to lean towards his companion. “He asked for a pretty strong drink,” Eric warned. “If you need a hand taking care of him, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve held a dude’s hair back in the bathroom.”

His friend must have been surprised at the suggestion, but it can’t have been an uncommon thing considering how quickly he got over the possibility. “Thank you, that’s very k-very kind. He’s not usually one to drink a lot,” the friend sighed, then nodded to Eric. “Thank you for your service tonight, Eric. My name is Phillip.”

Phillip, alright. “Good to meet you, Phillip,” Eric said, and he went back around the bar to do rounds.

It was another hour and half before the bar closed, though. Eric wasn’t technically the shift lead for closing, but he was on the shift. When it got close enough to three, he turned on Semisonic’s song “Closing Time.” Most of the people had left by then, quick to leave on their rides or to new bars. 

But still sitting at the bar were the two people Eric had pegged as nerds earlier, Marlowe and Phillip. After Marlowe finished the Long Island Iced Tea, Eric had poured a water, but the man still ordered a margarita on top of it. And now it looked like he was paying for it, given how he was literally leaning on Phillip’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. Phillip didn’t look all too pleased, however. 

“David is going to be worried si-worried si-sick when we get home.” Eric could hear Phillip chide Marlowe as he got close.

“It’s-It’s all dandy. I love David,” Marlowe hiccupped into Phillip’s shoulder, then leaned around and pressed his face into the base of his neck. “I love YOU, Prince.”

Phillip tutted, reaching back to run his hand through Marlowe’s curled hair. “I love you-love you too, you idiot.”

Cute. Really gay, and cute. Eric put away the cups he’d just washed and approached the pair, noting how they’d slowly but surely become the last people at the bar. 

“Hey,” he said, waving slightly. “Phillip, right?”

“Mhm. Eric,” Phillip greeted. “Sorry to still be here. I can see you’re closing up.”

“Eh. Marlowe’s falling asleep on you, I get it. Do you two have a ride home?” 

At that, Phillip winced. And Eric could have guessed the follow up, honestly. “Actually, Marlowe was supposed to be the driver,” Phillip confessed, patting Marlowe’s hand. “I think he overshot how much he could drink, though. As per usual.”

“I only had three drinks!” Marlowe interrupted, all too proud of himself for having three drinks that had the alcoholic consistency of a freight train. 

Phillip and Eric both seemed to be on the same page, though, because neither acknowledged him. Save for a few gentle pats from Phillip as Marlowe buried himself more in Phillip’s back. 

“Okay. Do you need to call someone?” Eric asked. 

Phillip rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I know someone who’ll be awake who can come help, but….well. Marlowe’s car is still in the parking lot. It has a parking limit in the morning, which will quickly become an issue.”

Fuckin’ city parking. Eric had definitely gotten a ticket or two before, parking his motorcycle in the wrong place. He usually just walked to work, though, since he was two blocks away. So he didn’t have a vehicle to worry about….

A drunk man and a man with a cane could get picked up real easy this late at night by some unfavorable people. Maybe that worry was what made Eric offer. Maybe it was because Phillip and Marlowe had been fairly kind to him throughout the night. It could also have had something to do with how nice Phillip seemed to be taking it now, how calm he was handling the situation. And maybe, too, how Phillip himself didn’t ask. 

There was something nice about being able to offer help, rather than having it asked of him always. 

“If you want, I can drive you home,” Eric suggested. “I’ll catch an Uber back to my house from yours.”

Phillip blinked, and Marlowe giggled. Eric didn’t know what was so funny. He thought it was probably pretty shady to offer. He knew he wouldn’t let just any stranger drive his bike, after all. But he’d gotten to the point where he could do a solid vibe check just by looking and interacting with someone, and these two seemed nice. He could see himself accepting this kind offer, under similar circumstances, from either of them. 

Still, kinda scary to think he’d be driving someone else’s car to their own house. He wouldn’t know where it was, Phillip would have to direct him. But Phillip legally couldn’t drive, not with the one eye gone, and Marlowe definitely couldn’t drive if he tried. Which he shouldn’t. 

“That would be so-so lovely, thank you,” Phillip said. 

Getting clearance to drive some drunk patrons home was a breeze, knowing it was Eric “workaholic glad you’re getting out early” Yuan. Soon enough, he had his arm looped around Marlowe’s waist, helping him up as Phillip led them to the car, which was parked about half a block away. Phillip also used a cane, which would have been a pretty difficult thing to work around if he needed to carry Marlowe himself. All the more reason Eric was glad to help them home. 

They walked up to a nice sedan, likely a newer model judging by the built in navigation. Phillip helped Eric lay Marlowe in the back seat as he mumbled something about a pony, and Phillip himself climbed into the shotgun. The car wasn’t that hard to drive, now that Eric looked around at the controls. Same as any. The break was a little more tense than he was used to, but once he got it onto the road, he could manage. 

Phillip, in shotgun, turned on a jazzy, late night radio station. And directed Eric gently towards their home, probably. Neither of them made conversation much but, to some extent, it didn’t seem like it was necessary. And that was kind of nice, to Eric. He didn’t always like conversing, especially with patrons and folks who didn’t know him. Which accounted for most people. But Phillip’s presence was nice, calming almost, which was rich for a guy who Eric had just met. He was tense, like he usually was, but for a stranger? In this kind of precarious circumstance?

It’s when the drive took them onto a small, two-lane road at the edges of the city and beginnings of the forest that Eric starts to worry. Was Marlowe actually a heavy-weight? Maybe he was pretending to be drunk back there so they could mug him? Take his kindness for granted and leave him in a ditch? He didn’t think he looked like he was worth mugging, but like….maybe. Was that a necessary cane or was it a weapon?

“It’s this-this house here,” Phillip said, pointing to a gravel driveway, and Eric swallowed despite the dryness of his mouth. 

“Sure,” he murmured, pulling onto the gravel. 

As he did, the house’s porch light turned on, front door thrown open as someone else jogged out. Eric stopped, threw the car into park immediately, but Phillip didn’t seem too phased by the newcomer. Instead, he turned to Eric and held out a one hundred dollar bill. “Thank you so much for all your help this evening,” he said with a smile.

Eric looked at the bill, then up at Phillip. He hadn’t really expected to be tipped for this, in all honesty. But it made sense. You know, if he’s going to drive you home, tip him. He’s done over the top enough. But a hundred fucking dollars? This dude just whipped a hundred dollars out on a tip? How loaded were these gay dudes, and then they didn’t have someone to drive them home?

“That’s a hundred dollars,” he said, unthinking. 

He blushed a little, stuttering on words to add on and say he didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Phillip just laughed. His laugh was breezy, like leaves in the wind. “Yes, it’s a hundred dollars. I think it’s-it’s warranted, considering you drove me and my idiot home,” Phillip put the bill on Eric’s lap and undid his seatbelt. “It’s a hundred dollars plus something-something extra.”

Eric looked down at the bill, picked it up, and there was. A whole ass phone number written on the side. With the “Phillip & Marlowe” written on the side. 

Before he can ask what the fuck is happening and if he’s been dreaming this whole time, the backseat door opens. “Davy,” Marlowe’s voice is so slurred it’s almost incomprehensible, but the person who’d come out of the house, this “Davy,” unbuckles Marlowe swiftly. 

“Jesus, Marl’, how much did you drink?” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe out by his arms. 

Instead of setting him on the ground, though, Davy just wrapped them around his shoulders and then slowly, steadily, lifted Marlowe into his arms. Marlowe let him, swinging his own legs up to make it easier for Davy to catch them. Once he had some semblance of a grip, Marlowe leaned forward and pressed his face against Davy’s, kissing him rough enough for Phillip to laugh at, Eric to stare confusedly at. 

“He gets like this, when he’s-when he’s drunk,” Phillip leaned over to explain, though it does nothing to clear up Eric’s questions. 

At this point? He’s a lot more willing to walk home. Just get out of the car and walk. 

“Alright, y’ sap,” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe off of himself and nestling him into more of a hold. 

Eric was still sitting in the driver seat, just watching through the passenger window as Phillip opens his own door and climbs out. Davy leans his head towards Phillip, who pats his shoulder warmly and looks down at Eric. 

All three of them are looking at him now. 

The odd one out. 

And, like, fair. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing here, either. 

“Uh,” he said. “I can just, uh. I can call myself an Uber now.”

“Who the fuck’re you?” Davy asked, almost at exactly the same time.

Eric put his hands up and slowly climbed out of the car. This Davy person didn’t really look mad—Phillip leaned over, whispering something to him, and Davy nodded along. And Eric didn’t know what the fuck that was about really, but he didn’t feel in the mood to test anything. Not at three in the morning, in someone else’s driveway. He had to get back home. 

“I can just….” Eric gestured to the road again, taking a few steps back. 

Davy shook his head. “No fuckin’ way, dude,” he was much more abrasive than the other two, and something in the sturdiness of his tone got Eric to shut up. “I’ll drive you.”

On literally any other day, Eric would probably have started running right then and there. His palms were sweaty still, from gripping the steering wheel tighter than ever and from the mounting panic of driving someone else’s car to a house he didn’t know. In a car with a bunch of strangers. 

But, to be frank, Eric was just starting to believe this wasn’t real. 

He was probably just tired. He didn’t usually work shifts this late, and this was a whirlwind of a night already, and he’d already swallowed whatever panic arose earlier, which usually left him without the energy to worry about semi-tense situations. It was a kinda numb feeling. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He dies and Gavin goes back with their parents? Bit too late in the night for Eric to care about something as trivial as dying. 

So he nodded slowly to Davy’s suggestion. “That would be nice,” he said. 

Davy grinned. He lifted Marlowe a little and said, “I’ll put this one to bed and come back out, ‘ight?” 

Eric just nodded again, which must have been good enough for Davy, because he just turned around and marched himself back into the house. Phillip stayed outside, though, leaning on his cane with both of his hands. Eric shuffled around the car, now feeling a little more awkward, and Phillip gave him a small shrug as if to say he sympathized.

“I’m sure this is-this is strange,” Phillip added on. 

It sure as fuck was. But Eric was like, almost too out of it to properly acknowledge that. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “This’ gonna be one hell of a dream to wake up from.”

Phillip chuckled at that one, laugh light like air. He leaned over and rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder—Eric flinched, hands reaching up into a defensive stance, and Phillip pulled back quick. 

It was. A little out of his comfort zone. 

Just a little. He didn’t like people touching him, especially people he didn’t know, because for the longest time he’d been used to sudden motions as a threat. And while he used to take it, Eric had long since trained himself to fight over flight. So it did take self-control to not just deck this dude.

He turned back around to Phillip, shoulders hiked enough for his neck to stiffen just a bit, and he tried to lower his own hands. They were shaking, much to his chagrin, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Sorry,” he fumbled over his words. “Sorry, I, uh. I’m kinda...it’s late, and I don’t really like, uh. People touching me.”

“No need to apologize, that-that was on me,” Phillip responded. “No need at all. I should-I should have known better, but I’m ti-I guess I’m tired my-myself. I’m very sorry for touching.”

Eric smoothed himself out slowly, as best he could, and Phillip rested himself against the side of the car. He glanced over, watching Phillip as the man looked up at the tree line. In the moonlight, Eric could see him smile, ever so slightly. He looked weirdly regal, with how prim he was, even after being at a dive bar for three hours. His hair was still brushed to the side like it’d been gelled, though Eric had seen him run his hand through it a few times. And although it was dark, he could still make out the freckles that dotted Phillip’s face, like stars in their own right.

He turned away, looking at his feet, and hoped Phillip didn’t feel too badly. It wasn’t his fault Eric was a nervous fuckin’ wreck. But he didn’t say anything. Getting a little too tired to hold proper conversation.

They both look up as the front door opens and closes again, as that Davy guy jogs out. He’d changed out of his clothes into other pajama looking clothes, or maybe he’d just thrown on a jacket. 

“Alright, nerd’s been sung a lullaby and is all tucked into bed.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together slowly. “You gonna be able to get yourself in bed okay, Princey?”

“Oh, I’ll be okay. Just-Just sad my favorite artist won’t be there to kiss me goodnight,” Phillip said, and Eric did a double take at how flippantly the flirt was doled out.

Wasn’t Phillip dating that Marlowe guy? Eric glanced between Davy and Phillip as Davy scoffed and grabbed Phillip by the shoulder of his sweater, yanking him close and kissing him for a second. Were they like, all dating? Was that what was happening here? 

Eric was more confused than anything else. He knew of polyamory. He’d just never seen it. Then again, he didn’t know about a lot in the queer community. Once, one of the queens who came in for drag night called him “gnc as hell” and he had to get an explanation from one of the girls sitting at the bar. Polyamory, though, was a new kind of fear for him. That was just more people to disappoint. 

He looked back at the car and climbed into the passenger seat while Davy pulled back from Phillip and mussed up his hair. Eric very intentionally ignored eye contact while Davy climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down Eric’s window, though he did wave at Phillip while Davy pulled away.

“Drive safely, David!” Phillip called out, waving a hand. 

“Be back in a sec, baby!” David must have been his name proper, because he blew Phillip a kiss through the window and then rolled it back up. 

Eric just kept sitting. Quietly. He almost wanted to pull his knees up, but this was someone else’s car and he didn’t really want to put his shoes on the leather seats. He put his hands on his knees, though, and tensed his knuckles a little. 

Whereas the ride to the house was quiet in a calm manner, Eric felt a lot more tense now. He didn’t know this David. And this David dude seemed a lot less poised than Phillip or Marlowe, given how he just turned off the radio and mumbled music lyrics, off-key and without any actual tune. And Eric could recognize that only because, at some point, David was singing some Shinedown song he knew. “State of My Head?” Probably. 

Would David be mad? If this was a polyamory situation, would it be like encroaching on territory to have driven Phillip and Marlowe home? Eric didn’t know. He didn’t want it to seem like that; he just didn’t want them to have to call an Uber and get a ticket. Shit was expensive. 

At the first red light off the one-lane road, David glanced at him, and Eric caught the sight of a birthmark near his neck. It looked faded but it was still a recognizable shade of red. Eric looked away almost immediately, so David wouldn’t notice him staring. He must not have been too successful, though, because David chose that moment to start a conversation.

[areweevercameraready]

it's time to go a little insane lads

[areweevercameraready]

keep it down they're sleeping!!

anyway i love themb.

here's the non-blanket version. tw for scars and for some level of nudity but like. they're just sleepy boys.

[areweevercameraready]

i don't know if i wanna do these in like, big dumps, but i definitely knew i had to post these two. i thought i'd already posted them both :'D

IDs: Picture 1 [Gavin wearing a yellow shirt and white overalls, excitedly waving and shouting "DAD!"] Picture 2 [Eric and Gavin sitting in a car on the way home from school, with Eric driving. Gavin asks "why does Cadence call you 'babygirl'?" and Eric responds "how about we stop talking for a bit." Like the meme.]

[areweevercameraready]

human au...info dump

me: i don't upload much that isn't directly related to the sanders sides fic that's going on, but i'm sure i've uploaded something from human au my blog archive: DING DING DING, NO YOU HAVEN'T!!

….anyway. that is to say, here now are the info sheets for the boys in their human au, which i've been working on for the better part of two years. three years? years.

a general synopsis: they are all dating and are in a polyamorous relationship. gavin is getting co-parented by seven idiots, all with varying amounts of actual parenting (insert david's "i can barely keep myself alive, you trust me with a kid???") small warnings for scars and suggestions of past-self harm (hey did you know that command + z on tumblr posts actually DELETES EVERYTHING UNLESS IT EXPLICITLY SAYS IT SAVED? because i just found this out :')

first, meet eric "lijie" yuan

ID/Further explanation: "Eric" Lijie Yuan is a 24 year old gay man who, prior to meeting Cadence accidentally, worked as a bartender and waiter. His parents head a real estate empire and immigrated to the US from Shanghai, China; he cut ties with the family when he was 18 and fought for custody of Gavin on child abuse grounds. His facial scars are from having a wine glass broken on his face by his father. He almost always wears his leather motorcycle jacket and a long sleeve shirt, because he prefers to keep his body mostly hidden, and he doesn't actually own that much clothing because he's reluctant to spend money on himself. He was a pretty good bartender and liked experimenting with drinks, but he is a lightweight. Having his hair up for too long gives him prolonged headaches and neck aches, so he only puts his hair up for work. Eric is also quite afraid of the dark and likes falling asleep with his phone on, so the screen turns off after some time. Eric doesn't use many pet names in general, especially in his relationship, but he does call Gavin "baby," "kiddo," "bud/little bud," and "sunshine." He is prone to panic attacks and has extreme agoraphobia from being isolated growing up, so meeting new people is hard. When he does panic, he's most likely to close his eyes and sit still for a few hours until he's functional again. He's also very good at staying quiet when he's mad or when he disagrees with something.

now, meet gavin!

ID/Further explanation: "Gavin" Faijie Yuan is Eric's 10 year old brother, and he's an absolute sweetheart! Gavin likes finding the happiness and fun in everything, and his favorite thing is making people happy, especially when he gets to do fun things with his older brother, Eric. He's very hard to upset and doesn't get truly mad often, but he can be quite judgemental and often speaks out of turn. He's pretty blunt and honest, so he sometimes says things that can come off as rude, if not mean. Gavin does have a good intuition of people, however. His favorite subject is math and his favorite color is yellow, like the sun! He likes things that glow and his favorite shoes are light-up Sketchers. His pajamas are Eric's old clothes that he no longer wears, because it comforts Gavin when Eric has long late night shifts at the bar. He also suffers from some pretty bad separation anxiety from Eric, getting fidgety and sometimes panicked when he isn't with Eric for long periods of time. Growing up, their parents called Eric "thief" more than they used his name, and Gavin sometimes forgets that it's not Eric's name. Most of the time, he calls Eric "Dad." When he's upset, Gavin has a habit of fiddling with his shirt or other fabrics, like tablecloth or bedding. When he's very scared or sad, he'll hide, not wanting to see anyone. But when he's happy, he balls up his fists and shakes around, most usually shaking his fists up and down.

now lets hear it for cadence!

ID/Further Explanation: Cadence Beaulieu is a 26 year old Youtuber and drag queen who goes by the name Songbird. His content is mostly make-up tutorials and reviews, though he does a lot of vlogs and often posts drag performances, and his channel as of the au has roughly 14 million subscribers. He has three moles near his eye that he fills in with eyeliner to make a heart, and he prefers skirts and loose pants, so he ends up dressing and styling himself more feminine regularly. He usually has long acrylic nails (there was a small scandal when he suddenly had two short nails…) Absolute GNC queen! He is pretty good at not making snap judgements and thinking through situations and relationships before making decisions, but when he does make decisions, he's quite decisive. Along that vein, he can hold pretty strong grudges, and you have put in the effort to earn his trust back. He's pretty good at hiding his emotions as well, but he has very, very strong emotional reactions. If anything, he can be kind of passive-aggressive if he's really pissed. Cadence has had bad experiences with fans finding him in the wild in the past, so he's wary of unexpected fan interactions but he loves all his little birdies so much! His Youtube channel blew up while he was getting his PhD in emergency medicine, so he's also actually a doctor, and he had to pick a career path after a fan interaction went south while he was on the clock working on an ambulance. Cadence often wears make-up all along his neck, sometimes even his shoulders if they're going to be exposed, because he has pretty bad body dysmorphia. He has burn scars across part of his cheek, along his neck and shoulders, and all over his back from a house fire he was in when he was young. He likes warmth and fireplaces but he's scared of fire when it's not "contained" to a candle, a fireplace, etc.

more on marlowe :D

ID/Further Explanation: Marlowe Doyle is a 30 year old English professor who specializes in Elizabethan theater, such as Shakespeare and his contemporaries. His pronouns are he/they/she and they currently identify as genderqueer, homoromantic, and asexual! He also has a mild case of hemophilia and a pretty bad fear of needles. He will style himself masculine or feminine depending on how he's feeling, but he will almost always look like he's from the 1960's. He changed his name in college so while he's a fan of Shakespeare, his name is from Christopher Marlowe, and his favorite play is Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus. He's incredibly romantic and enjoys the position of best kisser in the polycule. He has a very big bowtie collection, with over 100, and he's been slowly developing a sock collection. He has a very bad memory and is prone to forgetting things, so he journals daily. He comes off as very overconfident, which is his bouncing back from being walked on and used in college. He also is quite vulgar and quick-tempered, very quick to judge, but he's aware of this problem and tries to withhold his judgement. Especially if he's proven wrong. Marlowe is quite eccentric and loud, and it's rare to catch him just soft. He doesn't admit being wrong and doesn't often apologize, but he adjusts his attitude immensely and is very introspective. He also would do anything for education, he loves learning and loves teaching, loves it when his students are excited. He also has a very funny transatlantic accent.

david time

ID/Further explanation: David Aosora is a 27 year old gay trans artist. He works mostly in oils and his style has been described as urban impressionism, but he also enjoys chiseling marble, stone, and quartz, as well as carving wood. He has ADHD and is prone to hyperfocusing on his art, but also forgets to take care of himself often and he hates having to be responsible. Often, he wears cheaper clothing to wear while painting, he has clothes from maybe a decade ago that he still wears. He also likes that it hides his boobs but he doesn't have the energy to care too much, similarly he says he's too lazy to commit to surgeries. He's also afraid of commitment. Whenever he has to clean himself up, he has nice slacks and button downs he wears, as well as a few binders. Being too serious makes him a bit depressed so he does not. He is also lowkey quite strong from lifting his statues and such, but he doesn't really recognize it. He also has crazy bad eyesight, he's very nearsighted and can't legally drive without his glasses, but he hasn't gotten his eyes checked since he was 19 years old. David is quite short-tempered and impulsive, smarter than he seems, given his irresponsible disposition. His fear response is also anger and vitriol. He has cut off his entire family and does not have any real support structure, but he doesn't like talking about why.

LETS HEAR IT FOR DRACO!

ID/Further explanation: Draco Jiménez, born Draco Umbra, is a 30 year old actor. He was born into a mob family and he ran away when he was 16, walking from his hometown of Las Vegas to Los Angeles over the course of a month. From there, he was unhoused for a time, got a job as a line cook, and then a photographer for a modeling agency saw him in passing and suggested he apply. From there, he became a model, was scouted to be an extra, then found an agent who pushed him into auditioning as a secondary character in a television show. And things spiraled. He became famous. He prefers working in action or comedy, or both, and he's most known for both. He's not the brightest, often susceptible to being manipulated for others' gain (such as when his old manager/agent/boyfriend got him into hard drugs and abused him) but he loves being loved and loves loving. He wants his loved ones to be okay, safe, happy, and he wants to help how he can. His favorite jacket is a leather jacket that was oversized on him when he was 19, shooting his first ever television show, and it fits perfectly now. He usually wears that jacket with a comfortable t-shirt and tight pants, preferring well-fitting clothes or skinny clothes rather than baggy because he wasn't allowed well-fitting clothes as a child. His favorite color is bright red, like fire, and he has his ears pierced as well as his nose, which was done while he was unhoused. He shaves his face every day because his ex said he looked scruffy with facial hair, and he has a very loud, boisterous laugh. Draco loves cooking for people! Because of his upbringing, he is often confused by normal things, unaware really of "gender" and "oil paintings," but he craves a life where he can just come home to his family and cook and sit on the couch with his loved ones and hug them. He now gets that life for the most part. His favorite sweets are strawberries, especially strawberry ice cream with the chunks in it. He's very prone to disassociation, especially when he's reminded of his past, and his nervous tick is rubbing his wrist scars, which are usually hidden under a series of bracelets. Gavin made him a friendship bracelet within a few days of knowing him and Draco never takes them off. Most of his scars are quite easy to hide. He has kind of been beaten down such that he no longer gets truly angry and when he is mad, he is usually able to breathe it out, but if he does snap, it's similar to when he has a panic attack, and he loses control of himself.

Phillip Prince

ID/Further explanation: Phillip Prince is a 31 year old defense lawyer, who specializes in representing defendants with defamation and libel claims, as well as criminal privacy charges. He very much hates social media but he enjoys those fun word apps, like Wordle. When he was a graduate student, he had a small job with the Supreme Court and was kidnapped in a terrorist incident in association. He was tortured and held for ransom for a bit under a year, when he and the other survivors were saved. He is missing his left eye and his left leg was injured, so he uses a cane. He does not like having his photo taken and he works from home, currently, but he does dress quite professionally normally, especially in court. His hair is graying from stress and he used to be very extroverted and loved having relationships with people. His parents are negligent and after the kidnapping incident, he cut ties completely, but some ticks continued, such as how he covers his mouth when he smiles. His favorite eyepatch has an embroidered rose on the front, which he emblazoned himself. His face is covered in freckles and he is very prone to blushing, and his ears get red when he feels any strong emotion. He is prone to random mood swings and panic attacks, and can be triggered by seemingly innocuous things (being called pretty). He feels quite righteous often and doesn't like raising his voice but is fully capable of getting mad. He paces when he's angry. He doesn't care too much about his scars anymore, mostly just surprised by his own appearance. He is a huge fan of red wines, especially merlot, and has expensive tastes for the most part. He is, however, a lightweight but he likes drinking and the taste of wine too much to care.

who is macbeth donner?

ID/Further explanation: Macbeth Donner is a 30 year old talent agent who often represents children or young adults in movies specifically. He himself was a child star and he has a lot of unresolved trauma from adult figures who abused him in the industry. He is aware of it, however, and wants to keep children in the industry safe now that he has the power to. His hair is almost always laden with gel and he enjoys having his entire body covered, including a small collection of scarves. His body temperature also runs quite cold so he wears layers. He was raised pretty rich and has needed to unlearn a lot of work ethic problems. He also has a lot of internalized homophobia. He recognizes that he's been raised pretty bigoted and is pretty diligent in fixing himself internally, mostly because he wants to be better for his clients. Also, he does not care about his clients' parents. He cares most for his clients' well beings. He is very poised, regardless of how he's feeling, so when he is very expressive it must be a big problem. He is a hazard to his own safety and cannot be trusted with weapons, as his trauma involves a lot of prop weaponry, especially prop guns. He will bottle things until he explodes. Macbeth is also incredibly paranoid in his personal life and doesn't trust people on principle, as he is kind of a control freak, so it takes a while to earn his trust.

like i mentioned, i've written....a lot. and worldbuilt a lot.

this is a little synopsis of everyone and how they look, how they've changed, and some of their individual stories!

technically, phillip and marlowe are the first to meet, because they're roommates in their freshman year of undergrad.

phillip and draco are the first to meet and establish the polycule when draco's (now ex) manager/agent/boyfriend publicizes his nudes and alleges he's an abuser, in retaliation for draco firing and breaking up with him. phillip wins him the case and draco asks if they can hang out, because phillip seems very kind.

.,.,,.., anyway.,.,.,,...., here's what ive been working on .,.,,.,.., i hope y'all enjoy the trajectory these guys have gone in uwu

[areweevercameraready]

THANK U LIL MAN!!!!! HES GORGEOUS!!!!! ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!!!!

HIS SMILE LIGHTS UP THE FUCKING PLANET THANK YOUUUUUU

hilariously i’m still working on a lot of original fiction with these characters, and i haven’t been posting it..,, but i hope u enjoy my friends art of the bard OTL he is a lovely artist if u want a doodle he does a lot of lego monkie kid art and he has a kofi!!

Request for @areweevercameraready! Putting your ocs in my mouth and running off thank u

[areweevercameraready]

more than beliefs (9: gaston)

A/N: bro grad school is kicking my ASS!! and it's my last week at my current job!!! thank fuck !! it's been a horrible few months!! but we've got it !! we're in it to win it !! and honestly as long as i'm updating chapters before thomas puts out the next vid, i'm fine LOL

WARNINGS: Imagination-induced-amnesia, blunt force trauma, some light scheming, conceptual self-harm — we're really getting into the violence now. if I've missed anything, please let me know!!

Words: 4,110

here it is on AO3!

here is the masterpost! be aware that this is the sequel to chivalry is dead, which you can find more about here!

When the Playwright opened his eyes, he found that it was remarkably difficult to see. Things were quite blurry and one of his eyes was covered with something, such that even when he opened it a crack, all he saw was darkness. And it was not too comforting. Maybe he was designed with one eye? He couldn’t remember. 

There’s….a lot he doesn’t remember. Had he just formed? He felt like…he knew some things. He’s the Playwright. He knew that much. And he knew he could travel, he went around the Imagination, he was in charge of it, like a housekeeper. He’s meant to make sure the daydreams are in order. But why couldn’t he remember beyond that? Had he ever actually done that, or was that just his charge that he’d been created with, just now?

Perhaps someone was here to help guide him. He was laying on a cushioned surface at least, and the more he woke up and focused, the more he noticed voices coming from the other room. He wore a sweater and slacks, tucked beneath a blanket. He’s probably been left in some bed somewhere. He doesn’t know where.

The more he woke up, however, the more his head throbbed. Curses. He isn’t even fucking real, why does this wound cause pain?! Illogical. 

“Hello?” he croaked, voice softer than it felt like it should be. He was parched. 

The voices outside quieted, and then a door opened. The Playwright could see it but everything was so damn blurry, he couldn’t make out any of the details. 

“Playwright,” someone said. 

Slowly, he nodded in response. “That’s me. May I ask, who are you?” 

The person didn’t say anything for a moment. They stood still, still facing the Playwright, as if watching. It was a bit unnerving to be stared at by strangers, though, and his hands balled into the blanket as he pulled them back to push himself up. 

“Who—” he tried to ask again, before wincing in pain. 

“Does your head hurt?” the person asked. 

“Yes, it fucking does,” he grunted. “I imagine something went wrong with-with the creative process here, because I sure hope the pain is temporary.”

“It should go away soon,” someone else asked, a voice so familiar. 

The Playwright immediately let out a breath, one he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. That was Roman. It must be. He could recognize his creator anywhere. 

“Roman,” he greeted, trying to be as calm as he could. “It’s a relief to hear you.”

The figure in the doorway, that must be Roman. He shifted a little, gestured at himself. “I’m glad. You got hit on the head. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Sorry for…I’m sorry for hitting you on the head,” the other person said. “I thought you were…It was stupid reasoning. I’m sorry it happened.”

The Playwright shrugged. Roman was here for it, he must have been. And Roman wouldn’t…let him get hurt like that. He was a good man. “No worries from me.” He was pretty sure Roman could just…make it disappear. Right? That was something Roman had the capacity for, right? And just…chose not to do. 

It was a decision that the Playwright disagreed with, for obvious reasons, but. Well. He trusted Roman, he had to. 

“I’m sure with a little more time, it’ll go away. May I repeat, though. Who are you?” he gestured to the other figure, the first one in the room, and they sighed. 

“I’m the Director. You and I, we’re figments Roman’s created to help guide him through certain parts of his duties,” the Director explained, until his voice trailed off. “I’m…”

That made sense. And the name ‘the Director’ coupled with his own title made the Playwright think that they worked together often. There must have been something that went wrong, of course. That’s how the Director ended up striking him. It sounded like that, at least, and he sounded sorry enough. 

“It’s okay,” the Playwright repeated, waving a hand. “Is there any reason I can hardly see either of you?”

The Director nodded and the Playwright could see him fumbling for his pockets. “I—yes, your glasses—I cleaned them, sorry,” he leaned forward, arm outstretched, and as he came closer, the glasses in his hands came more into focus. As did he. 

A blonde man, hair slicked back, with green eyes. He looked worried as he stood closer to the Playwright, as he put on the glasses. The world clarified around him once he did. The Director’s outfit was definitely befitting of a stereotypical director, red scarf and trenchcoat and all. Roman was wearing a much more casual outfit as well, seemingly at peace here. They must be backstage somewhere. Perhaps there was an accident while they were preparing for some dream or planning session.

Roman watched the interactions quietly, thinking to himself about what this would mean. He didn’t want the Playwright questioning him on anything here, so he had to remove more than just the incident. And he wanted to know more about the Director’s plans. Especially if he was going to be taking it up.

A plan to help Roman be more perfect. Perfection was unobtainable, but you could always strive. Roman always tried. 

Maybe it’d help fill this emptiness in his chest. 

“Trivial,” Logan had said. Roman’s lapse in pride was “trivial.” That’s what Janus thought, too. Even Patton. Maybe even Virgil, it sounded like what he’d said so long ago, and had anything changed? Or did Virgil pity him? Roman didn’t know. He couldn’t trust any of them. He couldn’t trust Janus, he couldn’t trust any of them. 

If Logan thought that, then Roman should have to make the change. Logan was often right. And if only it didn’t hurt so bad to be told it…

Roman had to be able to trust himself. Maybe the Director was onto something. Maybe Roman could live with a little less naïvety. Maybe it would hurt less. 

He rolled his shoulders with a sigh. The other Sides were likely still milling about the living room. Patton was probably waiting for him to apologize or something for making a scene. He did indeed make a scene, but…he was tired of having to be the bigger man. And tired of having to apologize when the other party, the one who hurt him, didn’t. Or, at least, wasn’t told to. And made no motion to do so. Why did he have to continue being the bigger man? Because it was “chivalrous” or something, the kind of thing a real prince would do? He wasn’t even a real prince. He wasn’t even real! Why should he be held to such a standard? 

Why couldn’t they just treat him like a person, too. 

Sure, they weren’t people. That was part of the whole thing. But they all had feelings. And they all had their own independent thoughts and opinions. So maybe they weren’t fully developed people but they certainly weren’t just facets, not anymore. They were something in the middle. It was a balancing act. And the others, namely Janus, couldn’t just keep toppling him on the tightrope. Roman wouldn’t let him. 

Roman had to cut the parts out that made him so easy to manipulate. He had to be smarter, more cunning, to keep up. It fell in line with the Director’s reasoning. Roman understood it. He wondered why the other advisors hadn’t seen the solution so clearly before. It was how they’d all begun, wasn’t it? A battle to the death? 

They just had to figure out how to actually incur death. Roman remembered the Damsel telling him how hard he’d tried to kill himself, kill all of the others, and how nothing seemed to work. That was because they still had bits of Roman in them, without Roman being his own being. 

Now that he was separate from them physically and now that they were all metaphoric representations for parts of him, they might be easier to mold. And the Damsel’s old plan…coupled with the Director’s plan…yes. Yes, this could work. 

“He’s going to rest for a bit more before getting food,” the Director murmured, interrupting Roman from his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been paying attention to whatever the Director and the Playwright were doing, but given how he’d erased all of the Playwright’s memories and left him with the injury’s pain, he figured they weren’t conspiring. Probably just asking simple questions and planning for what they’d do in a bit. 

“Fair indeed,” Roman hummed, stepping back into the Director’s living room again. 

The Director closed the door behind himself with a sigh. Then, he rounded on Roman. 

“How much of his memory did you take out?” the Director hissed, brows furrowing in confusion. “He didn’t know his own name.” 

“If he remembered anything, his one brain cell would activate and he’d find us out,” Roman argued. “I took it all out.”

“All of it.” 

“Mhm.” Roman took a few more steps back toward the kitchen. He figured they were going to prepare some food.

“Roman. That’s…I’m sorry to question you, but isn’t that a bit…” 

Roman turned around slowly to see the Director standing stock still in the hallway, right in front of the door to the Playwright’s room. His voice had dropped, and their voices were soft already. If the Playwright heard them, missing his memories wouldn’t protect them from his scrutiny. So Roman? Glared.

The Director didn’t seem willing to go against him, however, which was good. That’s what Roman wanted to see. To get this done right, he’d need cooperation. 

He took in a deep sigh and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“If he remembered that he’d met me before, he’d have some kind of…oh, I don’t know, some big idea about how he can fix things. Or how we need to talk to the other Sides, if he remembered meeting them,” Roman waved his hand while he turned back to the kitchen. “I wasn’t going to risk it.”

He could hear the Director let the rest of his breath go behind him. Of course, even the parts of him didn’t trust him. No one did. And that’s why he had to be wary with all of them, too. 

“No, you’re right. I’m just…You’re much more willing to go with this than I’d expected,” the Director admitted as he followed Roman into the kitchen. 

“Of course. It’s a new kind of plan, and nothing else has worked,” he tried not to sound too bitter. “I think it’s time to get creative.”

In response to that, the Director snorted. “What’s your favorite idea,” he mumbled. “Mine is being creative.”

“Don’t even go there, Macbeth.” 

Lunch was easy to make, a solid standard cream of broccoli. Lucky for Playwright that he didn’t inherit Roman’s sensitivity to cream-based broths. Roman was dicing the broccoli while the Director did the potatoes, and throwing it into the blender to purée was easy. It was a strong feel-good recipe. It…was one of Patton’s recipes. The scent made something in Roman’s chest pang with an indescribable pain, like familiarity and regret all at once. 

…Breakups aren’t easy for him. That didn’t seem to be something that anyone really processed. Sure, Janus and Patton and then Virgil and even Logan were putting pressure on Roman’s ability to trust. He barely wanted to work with them, he couldn’t trust them. But love? Love was a literal part of him. A broken heart felt like a bruised rib. 

So…watching them all fall apart…feeling them all grow distant…oh, just throw him on a rack and tug him asunder! Just tear him apart! Again! He could do it again! Fourth time’s a charm! And this time, he’ll tear his heart out, TOO! 

“Easy, my prince,” the Director murmured, voice soft behind him. 

Roman sat at the kitchen table slowly, hands crossed in front of himself. He felt weary. Much too weary, like he’d undergone a journey or a tribulation, for naught. 

The Director gently patted his hair, raking his fingers through in a careful manner. Almost loving. 

How sad, his voice echoed back at him, to comfort himself. It had come full circle.

“I’ll bring this to Playwright and we can talk turkey when I’m back. I’ll tell him to go back to sleep and shout if he needs us,” the Director explained quietly. 

Fair enough; Roman waved his hand, and the Director was gone. 

There were no windows in the Director’s house, not really. His home was carved into the side of the overhang of Roman’s world, the precipice right above the Subconscious, far too deep into Thomas’ brain to be remembered or even called upon. One wrong move and the Director and maybe even Roman would be eradicated. Who knew if it could erase Roman, given his necessity to Thomas’ functions. 

He’d tried. Before. Long before. But it was an accident, somewhat. The Dragon Witch had flung him a bit too far, and he skittered off the edge, only to reappear in his castle. 

…But could the Director be erased?

There were no windows in the Director’s house, so Roman leaned back and stared at the wall, which was carved from the smoothed limestone cliff. It was something to look at while he thought. 

He wouldn’t want to throw the Director to the subconscious. He…these were creations. His advisors, they were creations, with a little something extra. Could he separate that something? Could that be erased? Would it even need to be?

The Director, no, he needed his direction, but…but the Child…maybe the others…

Maybe it would be merciful, too. If Roman could separate the parts of the Child that connected him to Roman, then that would possibly solve the problem identified by the Director. Whatever parts of Roman the Child represented would be freed. And Roman could throw that to the Subconscious, bury it away, while the Child could continue as a character. 

That might work. It would be a plan that the others would oppose less. Of course, they would oppose it initially, but some of them must understand that Roman had to do what must be done. And the Child would be back! It wouldn’t be anything drastic, not like the Damsel had wanted. And with much more thought put into the planning, compared to the Damsel’s. Right?

When the Director came back, Roman was still staring at the wall. He did a double take, looking between the wall and his prince a few times before waving his hand. 

Roman jumped when the wall indented, opening to a garden. Still surrounded by stone, as he looked, but a full garden. Fruit trees and all. 

“You seemed like you wanted something to look at,” the Director said. 

“If I did, I could have made it,” Roman retorted, only for the Director to sigh. 

“I’d like to make something for you, for once. There’s only so much I can make.” He slid into the seat across Roman, holding a mug. It smelt like chocolate. 

Another mug appeared in front of Roman. He also wanted a drink, and if they were having hot cocoa, then he’d love to indulge as well. Sure, it was technically a mocha. Sue him. 

The Director rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his face. “Show off.”

And Roman snorted. 

It was nice. Peaceful. 

…This was the kind of ease he wanted more of. As often as possible. If he could ever have it again. Just a quiet peace without having to question people’s intentions with him. 

Roman took the first sip and it tasted bitter in the back of his throat. 

“I’ve been thinking, about your plan,” Roman murmured. 

“You’ve said that a few times, but I don’t actually have a concrete plan. I’ve got a theory, but it’s nothing workable,” the Director responded, voice harder this time. “What’s the plan?”

That was fair enough, Roman supposed. He leaned back again, rolling his shoulders. It was nice to not be wearing his princely garb, too. Here, he had it hung in his room’s closet (he had a room here, a cozy, quiet room that faced the waterfall into the Subconscious) and got to wear clothing that was just comfortable. Fuzzy socks. Shorts. A hoodie. 

The safety of it all helped stifle the growing dread, the numbness in his stomach. If this plan had to be done, then it had to be done. There must be some reason that two of his facets had come to the same conclusion. That parts of him had to die. So he could simmer in the comforts while facing these realities head on. 

“It’s a combination of your theories with…the Damsel’s original plans,” Roman said, beginning his explanation. “The Damsel…I remember knowing something was wrong with me. That there was a reason everyone…I had to become something that would be more effective. A form Thomas would find more use out of. That’s why you all came into being, after all.

“The Damsel wanted everyone to die. But what he ran into was that all of you, all of my advisors, have some part of me in you. That’s part of how you’re able to predict what I would do and see what I do out in the Mindscape. Just because I’m myself doesn’t mean you don’t have that connection anymore. It’s just weaker.”

“Like we’re your self-inserts and this is a fucked up alternate universe,” the Director suggested.

Roman snapped his fingers. “Bingo. And you all, like myself and the other Sides, are me in different ways. Not in as clean a split as myself and the others, but still split in ways regardless. So if I separate myself from one of you…then that piece just becomes another character of the Imagination. If I disavow, say, David. The Artist. I would stop creating as much.”

The Director nodded, though his eyebrow was still raised in confusion. “Where are we going with this?” he asked. 

“Well,” Roman gestured. “If it would work with any of you, it could also work with Child. And you’d suggested that Child was the root of most of my problems.”

In that instant, the Director seemed to understand. He had been about to take a sip, stopped halfway, and put his mug down with a slight slam. His eyes were wide as he stared at Roman, who only grinned back.

No. Roman really…Roman would do that. Roman trusted his judgment that much? He was willing to go through with it? This would…It was completely possible. Roman himself could use the Imagination’s powers to its fullest extent and then some. If he claimed that killing the Child and removing his connection to Roman through this…

What, this “disavowing” as he called it, if he thought that would work, then it must. Because Roman said it would. Because in this world, Roman was the prince. He was the ruler and controller of everything. 

If Roman said the Director was right, then he must be. 

Because in this world — in the Imagination — in the play-reality of Roman’s mind — whatever Roman said went, and whatever Roman believed happened.

“How would we do that?” the Director asked. “Like, how do we get the Child here?”

That wouldn’t be tricky, Roman initially thought, before realizing…that it was going to be incredibly tricky. 

The Child was well-protected, all things considered. He was strong. Too much sway and too permanent a position with Roman (and Thomas, even) meant he was able to protect himself pretty well so long as he believed he could. Not to mention the Thief. Roman was a good swordsman himself but the Thief did it for a living. 

“You need the Child?”

Roman and the Director both jumped. The Playwright was standing in the doorway holding a tray of empty dishware. He tilted his head at them both. 

His glasses were hanging off his collar. It hurt to keep them on for too long, like a headache in the back of his neck, and if all there was in here was these two then he didn’t need them on. Plus, he could navigate the space well enough without them. The Director bid him rest but he wasn’t exactly sleepy. Might as well bring back out his dishware. 

He shuffled toward the sink, casting them both quick looks. He must have interrupted an important conversation about the Child. 

“Is he particularly hard to get?” the Playwright asked again. “Or should I not know about this?”

Quickly, the Director shared a look with Roman — one that very plainly read ‘help me so fucking god I’m dying’ — before shaking his head at the Playwright. “I wouldn’t want to implicate you in anything,” the Director said. “This is…this is behind the scenes work.”

Huh. Interesting phrasing. The Playwright tilted his head. “Am I not…your behind the scenes worker? Am I not literally named ‘Playwright’?” he asked. 

Ah. Well. 

The Director shot Roman another look, one that Roman did not return. 

Something must have been moving in his brain, something the Director wasn’t privy to, because Roman was watching the Playwright with a small smile. Almost knowing. 

“You are, actually,” Roman said. “As you know, I consult with all of the advisors.”

The Playwright nodded, then stopped. “All? Is the Child an advisor?” he asked. 

“Yes, he is, and I’m a little worried about what he’s been advising about. After all, I can’t be too childish. I can’t put anything out that isn’t my best, and I want to achieve STARDOM!” The Director leaned back when Roman’s arms jumped out, gesturing in a grandiose way at the world around them. “I need to be taken seriously as the prince I am!”

“Aren’t you already taken seriously?” the Playwright frowned. “Virgil and Logan have both verbally sparred individually against you and you’ve come out clean on both fronts. If I…remember. Correctly.”

Roman tutted, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s almost the problem. No one trusts me to not battle my wits. And Deceit—Or, oh, Janus—”

“Ah. Janus,” the Playwright cut Roman off. “The two-headed Grecian god of duality.”

“Yes. And Deceit, that’s his name. And duality’s the right word for the dual-faced dueling he’s been doing. I need…him. To take me seriously.” Roman leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms with a petulance that had the Director reminding himself Roman as much a prince as he was an actor. 

A pause fell over the group, as the Playwright turned to continue washing his own dishes. It was followed by Roman, quietly, earnestly adding, “And I need the Child to understand that.”

It was a reasonable request, the Playwright thought. To be taken seriously, well. Even Logan couldn’t achieve that, as much as he desperately wanted to. It’s what the Playwright wanted for Roman. He had to be organized, methodical, and practical. If the Child was impeding that…

“I know where he is.” The Playwright turned off the water and pulled a dishtowel off of the oven’s handle. “I can fetch him for you.” 

Roman and the Director turned quickly toward him. 

“Really?” Roman asked. 

“Of course. It’s my duty to know where every member of the Imagination’s cast is, including us advisors. The Child just left the Thief’s Tree. I can retrieve him for you,” the Playwright rolled his sleeves back down. “Should I bring him here?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

The Playwright nodded. As assured as his movements were, as much as the Director knew he could, he still felt an unease crawling up the back of his throat. He couldn’t quite place the worries, but they were making his stomach tie knots. Maybe it was just the Playwright. Without his memories, he was just methodical and driven by the ends that could, perhaps, justify these means. Almost moreso, to an enforced degree. He never got to meet the Playwright when he’d just formed, but he has a hunch that it was something like this.

It was unnerving. The Director almost wanted his old companion back. He wanted someone else to look at this plan. But it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roman, no, it wasn’t. So he didn’t need someone else. He wiped the doubts away as quick as it came.

One of the biggest roadblocks in the Director’s plan has been the Thief. The Child’s Imagination-assigned guardian. But if the Child left the Tree, left the Thief’s side, then he would be a thousand times easier to get. The Playwright would just need to confront him and open another trap door, and they’d be here. 

“Consider it done,” the Playwright said and, without much further ado, the ground beneath him swung open and he disappeared.  

[areweevercameraready]

Roman getting "the one thing you can't replace"ed AND HE'S GOING WITH IT?? my babygirl please this isn't the way

LMAOOOOOOOO you bet your bottom dollar roman is like "oh i can replace that" while every other advisor (excluding the director) and every other side is like "NO YOU CAN'T NO YOU CAN'T NO—"

[areweevercameraready]

more than beliefs (8: prince ali)

A/N: so so so excited for us to be here. I've had these chapters written for quite a while, actually — got it up to 11, which I finished last night. it takes a little bit for updates because i have a job and am a student LOL

WARNINGS: none really, there's a lot of tension and a lot of arguing, but if there's anything I missed then please let me know!

Words: 4729

here it is on AO3!

here is the masterpost (i keep forgetting to link it, oops...)

enjoy <3

“Well. Now what.”

“This is...an opportunity.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your plan. We could….well, we should ask his opinion when he wakes up, if he has one. He won’t have any preconceived notions of any of the others. So we can ask him about your plan. Or, rather….I think your plan makes sense. Already.”

“You want to….what. Follow up on what part of the plan? It’s not necessarily concrete.”

“I don’t know. It’s your plan.”

“It’s you the plan is about.”

“Fair enough. We could start with the part you’re most upset over.”

“No. No, really?”

“Why not.”

—————————————

None of them were strangers to the Imagination, not after last time, but there was something now about how they traversed the town that made it seem so normal. Maybe things had been fleshed out more in the town, but the buildings looked a little more real, the town people waving a little more emphatically. Logan squinted up at the sky, reminding himself that while time moved at a regular pace due to his involvement with the Imagination, the clouds realism and the sky’s hue were not related to him. It all looked very realistic, with a new amount of precision. 

While they walked, Logan took his time to look around the group, taking up the rear of the crowd. The Thief was in front, the Child right besides him. Logan didn’t remember them being as reliant on each other as they were now, but, well, there must be some kind of symbolic reason they looked so similar when none of the others did. The way that they leaned on each other was more than just a choice of family or partnership, it must be.

In front of him was Virgil, who kept looking back to make sure Logan was coming. He’d been near the front with the Thief for a while, before Janus approached and Virgil quickly dropped back. It was clear they didn’t want to associate with each other, for clear reasons, of course, but by god. That was going to be annoying after a while. Logan did his best not to acknowledge it. 

Patton, too, seemed to be trying not to acknowledge it. Or rather, he was trying to figure out what to do about it, looking for a way to balance both sides. He was trailing after Janus, kept looking back at Virgil and Logan. 

All of this was rather annoying. Logan had just wanted to get in, confirm Roman was alright, and get out. It was supposed to be simple and quick. 

Still, though. The nagging anxiety of something having happened to the Playwright….

It wasn’t Logan’s problem. The Playwright could handle his own. And it wasn’t as if he and Logan were companions as of late. 

“Pick it up,” the Thief called back at Logan. “We’ve gotta get back before nightfall.”

“Why?” Logan heard Janus ask, closer to the front. 

“Noted. Sorry, the detail is captivating,” Logan responded.

He stopped gawking around at the town while they walked. It had grown in detail, of course, but he could admire that some other time. It was just impressive to him, to see how Roman had grown, even to pick out the precise detailings that Logan himself helped with. He was the one who ran through Roman’s work for edits, after all. Much of the architecture was a mishmash of different historical time periods and famous forms, so it was inspiring to see how the gothic-inspired stained glass art meshed with the colorful Victorian-style exterior paints. 

One would think that, past the city walls, there would be less to look at. And one would be wrong. The grass was now definably tallgrass prairie, tall enough to almost fully cover the Child. They could see the top of his head bobbing along besides the Thief, though that was an indication of how tall the grass was. Virgil kept looking back at Logan, too. 

Logan waved his hand dismissively. Virgil didn’t need to wait for him, it was only a waste of time. Logan was on his way. But all Virgil did in response to that was to squint warily and keep walking. 

Perhaps they should talk. It has been a while and neither were allowed an audience with Thomas during the most recent bout of arguments, so Logan had an idea of what might be running through Virgil’s head but only an idea. And Virgil, when he wasn’t blowing troubles out of proportion and spurring instinctual levels of conflict, managed to have some very thoughtful ideas. Logan would give him that. 

The other two were much harder to talk with on the topic of what to do next. Patton was troubled, unendingly so, over how to approach the situation. Janus seemed to know what must be done but couldn’t recognize that perhaps the ends did not justify the means, not at all. 

Neither had wanted to listen to him, along with Roman. Janus had outright replaced him. 

No, Logan didn’t want to try talking with them any time soon. 

The grassy plains didn’t take much time to cross, not as they rushed. The sun must have been low in the sky by the time they got to the treeline, though, because the Thief waved everyone forward. He didn’t meet Patton’s eyes, nor Janus’. Not Virgils or Logans, as he took up the rear. 

“Follow the Child, he knows where he’s going from here. It’s getting late enough,” he grunted.

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get us inside fast?” Virgil asked, sparing a glance back as he climbed over a log. 

The Thief squinted at him, just as ice cold with him as the others, before responding, “Yes. You’re unarmed. If we get attacked, I’m gonna have to keep track of all of you, plus the kid. And I don’t wanna have to do that, so we’re going inside and not coming out until daybreak.”

Straight forward, though it did leave a very obvious and glaring question. “What the hell would be attacking us?”

“Nothing’s changed, V. We’re in a forest next to Remus’ side, take a fucking guess.”

“There’re probably a lot of possible things in the forest, Virgil,” Patton butted in. Up ahead, the Thief could see him count on his fingers. “Uh, last time, you were worried about bears, right?”

“Think bears,” the Thief said with a sigh, annoyance abundant. “And then think, like, no fur. Just none. Ten feet tall. And six arms.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” Janus hummed. Jeered, really.  Because he knew, he remembered, that the Thief had mentioned being afraid of something outside. He couldn’t really remember what, but he knew that the Thief had wanted to be indoors before nightfall last time they trekked across the meadow that separated the forest and city.

But the Thief had no patience for Janus, which was almost a return to how they’d met. Almost worse, in retrospect, because it was the rolling back of carefully crafted trust. “You’re gonna be talking from the bottom of a ditch if you keep it up.”

The rest of the walk went quietly and much quicker than before. No point in trying to start conversation when it was always going to be bitten back. Especially by the guy who was carrying weaponry, none of them wanted to cross him. Once they got past the forest line, too, it went a lot quicker. The tree wasn’t very recognizable to most of them. Logan could pick it out for the subtle windows above the eyeline, but if the Child hadn’t proudly stopped in front of it, Patton totally would have kept walking. 

“We’re here!” The Child held out a hand, waving at everyone to stop while he leaned toward the door. 

Or, rather, the drawing of the door. It was still painted on with what looked like black chalk, but some of the symbols were different. Logan’s eyes trailed over the writing — *A place for solitude.* Still just as encouraging as last time. 

The Child pushed his hand against the big black dot of the handle. As he did, the black chalk began to glow in gold, and he gripped the bark tight. Then, with a slow, gentle movement, he pulled it outward. And out popped a handle. 

Behind them all, the Thief was waiting, glancing at the group and the Child every so often. Logan hadn’t forgotten about him and his posturing. If there were something out in the woods, surely they’d hear it by now, wouldn’t they? Especially if it were truly as monstrous as the Thief were leading them to believe. 

“Here we go.” Logan turned once more to see the Child pull the whole door open. Patton clapped, and the Child mock-bowed. 

“Good job, kid,” the Thief leaned over, grabbing the door. “In you go.”

The Child scrambled in first, Patton following. Janus followed closely after, Virgil in next, and Logan stopped in the doorway. He glanced back at the Thief quickly, noting once more how similar his appearance was to the Child. It must have a reason, hadn’t it? “I thought this was just your house,” he asked. 

He stepped in, following suit with everyone as they took off their shoes. The Child had already kicked his light-up sneakers off and stowed them with the rest of the shoes. There was a coat hanger, too, where it looked like there was only one cloak hanging. While everyone undid their laces, tucked their shoes away, the Thief just unzipped off his boots and stacked them in the corner.

“I got roommates,” the Thief responded after a while, while they were taking off their shoes. “Bard and Child live here permanently. It keeps them safe.”

The last part was added quieter. Virgil glanced at the Child, who only nodded in agreement. “I’m learning a little magic, too! It’s technically creation, I think, but it makes me feel magic. Like a witch. Thief says it’ll be good protection.”

“Like uh. What’s her name—Vi?” Janus asked.

The Child’s response was a vigorous wave of his hands. “Oh, no, Missus Vi’s a lot more dragon and a lot more witch,” he hurried into the kitchen after he threw his cloak onto the coat hanger. “D’ya want anything to drink?”

“Hey! You can sit down, I’ll handle drinks,” the Thief called out. 

The offer demonstrated the routine of this all, at least. The Child knew what the Thief was going to offer. Janus raised an eyebrow and glanced at Logan, who he assumed was making the same connection. Logan shrugged slightly. Neither of them knew who might have been coming over enough for them to develop this routine. Maybe it was none of them, because Patton was also pleasantly surprised, Virgil tucking against the back of the pack, by the now sealed door. There wasn’t even a handle. All magic, huh. 

“You guys can come up the stairs, too. No point just standing in the foyer,” the Thief shouted back down at them. 

Logan sighed. True. 

“Is it just me, or are we feeling corralled?” Virgil mumbled. 

“It’s just you,” Janus responded, and he grit his teeth when Virgil smacked his arm. 

“Fuck you.”

Up there must be better than whatever was brewing down here, Logan decided. And he was the first to walk up the stairs. 

The first time they visited, it was surprisingly home-y in the tree. Logan had only gotten to visit when they first arrived, after the ball, since there were few opportunities to see the Thief and Child outside of that moment. Now, it had somehow become even more homely. On the couch were a few blankets, some freshly disheveled. The Child had just hurried over to one, wrapping himself up with it like a cloak, while the Thief hurried about in the kitchen. His hair was down, black drapery around his shoulders, even though his cloak was hanging downstairs in the foyer. 

“Is this seat taken?” Logan asked the Child, gesturing to the other side of the couch. 

“Nope, go for it,” the Child chirped, still burrowed in his blanket. 

Logan sat, crossing his ankles and leaning back. This was all much more than he’d wanted. He had hoped, similar to Roman, for some solitude. These arguments and his forced silence in them was bearing down hard and when he was alone, at least he got to have first say over himself. But here….

“Hiya, kiddo,” Patton’s voice cut into his thoughts and Logan closed his eyes. 

“Hi, Dad!”

“How’re you doing?”

“‘M doing okay. Eric’s stressed. Everyone’s pretty stressed. I don’t know where Roman went, but….” the Child’s voice trailed off as Virgil and Janus, finally, climbed up the stairs. Logan could hear their thunking steps.

Virgil slowly shuffled off to sit in one of the armchairs. It was big and plush, and enough for him to sprawl his legs over one side to dissuade anyone from coming closer. Janus, similarly, sat on one of the counter’s bar stools. Rather than watch the Thief cook — it looked like he was making actual dinner rather than just drinks — Janus turned toward the living room to listen to the conversation. There was a lot you could learn from eavesdropping. 

At the silence, Logan opened his eyes, drawing attention back toward the crowd. He had to learn, same as everyone else. Whatever thought the Child was having ended as muddled as it began, and the Thief sighed with his own response. “None of us know where he went, or even why he’d go so far from even us. He’s been pissed at everyone lately, it feels like. I’m worried.”

“Does this happen often?” Janus leaned back around toward the counter

Instead of responding, the Thief just glared at Janus. All of these standoffish responses weren’t getting them anywhere. “C’mon, Eric,” Janus leaned a little closer. 

“Shut the fuck up,” the Thief bristled, scowl deepening if it could. “You don’t get to ‘c’mon’ me, like you don’t know what you fucking did.”

“Language!” the Child pipped up, and the Thief’s lip twitched in the faintest of snarls before turning back toward the other side of the counter. 

A tense moment for everyone, even as the Child stared hard at the back of the Thief’s head. There was a power dynamic here. Logan was trying to understand it, but there was something he wasn’t quite grasping in it. 

“Sorry, kid,” the Thief mumbled, his shoulders dropping slowly. 

The Child shrugged, as if the Thief were looking at him, and then he shook his head. “It’s okay. Sorry. You can swear. We’re all worried. But yelling at Mister Deceit isn’t going to bring Roman back.”

The Thief nodded without turning around, and none of the Sides said anything, because what were they supposed to say to that? None of them even shared glances, as if the mere act of looking at each other was going to give something away. 

After a few moments, Patton stood up from his seat on the ground and shuffled into the kitchen. “Need a hand?” he asked. 

After another pause, the Thief responded in a soft, hoarse, “Sure.”

Patton and the Thief worked on cooking, cutting up vegetables for a medley and pan-frying some fish. It was a silent few moments while they worked and while everyone else sat, just thinking. The silence was only broken by the Child hurrying up, Virgil behind him, to offer to make the table. 

While they set the table, there was only more silence. A few quiet quips by Patton while cooking, but otherwise, no one wanted to start conversation. Tensions were high. Even the Child was tense, it seemed, and…Logan realized, his poise reminded him of the Damsel’s, from earlier.  Thinly veiled understanding and anger, held together by what, pure responsibility? That made sense from the Damsel, who posed as the royal figurehead to the group. Why would the Child have the same aura? Interesting.

Other versions of the tension were read differently as well. The Thief’s wording earlier had struck a chord in Janus’ ear and he thought on it some more, while they all sat in silence. ‘He’s been pissed at everyone.’ That’s what the Thief had said. ‘Everyone’ was a lot less specific than just the Sides. Did this exclude himself and the other advisors? Why would Roman be upset at all of them? Or rather, were they upset with him, and the feeling was mutual?

The Child’s eyes were trailing back and forth between the Thief (sitting besides him, eyes pointedly on his plate) and Patton (also looking around, though he gave a shrug when their eyes locked) then Logan (staring ahead with a blank look and eating slow) and Virgil (glancing between the Thief and Janus) before finally landing on Janus himself (watching the Thief). It unnerving at the very best. Everyone was so scared. The Child didn’t know where Roman went but he sure had a hunch that Roman was feeling down, and maybe he wanted some quiet time. Maybe if they all just talked. He didn’t know. 

He’d been especially disappointed by Roman in the latest talk with Thomas, the round table and name reveal and such. It was such a nasty thing to do, to laugh at Janus’ name. And Roman knew it. But he guessed it was fair. Janus had hurt Roman. And Janus…well. The Child didn’t like bullies. Janus had torn Roman’s ego to shreds while trying to claim that he was helping look out for him, and the Child didn’t like the sound of that, he’d told Roman. It was a really complicated situation. The Child was upset with Roman but he was much more upset with Janus. 

The sentiment didn’t seem to help Roman and the Child worried if he was upset with them, the advisors. Because he’d run from even them. 

That sounded like something that was happening, that Roman was being overly critical with himself. The Child wished he were here. He wanted Roman to know that it was going to be okay. That things were tough, but so were they. 

That’s what the Thief said sometimes, whenever the Child was worried, but he didn’t think the Thief really knew how deep those words hit. 

The Thief was the first done eating, and he was quick to put his bowl into the sink. He then just leaned on the side, arms crossed, watching the rest of the table. 

This was all a headache and a half. 

Janus kept watching him. It was unnerving. 

“You doing okay, snake,” he asked, voice hard.

Janus sighed at being called out. “I’m doing just fine, thank you,” he hissed back, casting his eyes back down.

The Thief let out one harsh, “heh,” before the Child interrupted now. 

“You seem really upset.”

“Oh, damn, do I?” the Child’s face fell more at the dripping sarcasm. “Gav, we’re in a real shitshow. I’ve gotta make sure these guys don’t fuck Roman up any more.”

“I don’t think any of us want to do anything anymore to Roman. He’s….we just want to talk about things. Make sure he’s okay,” Patton explained.

The Thief rolled his eyes at that one. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Virgil put his fork down, standing up with his own plate to put away. “You all keep acting like you’re so surprised that we give a damn. Roman’s important to us, he’s ONE of us.”

“Yeah, well. Should’ve told him that before he ran away,” the Thief said.

“We know he’s important to you all, but he…well. Egos need to be fed, you know,” the Child pushed his plate forward as he spoke, then curled back into his seat, picking at the fabric of his cargo pants. “Everyone’s all about not letting Roman’s ego get too big, but he is ego. And…I don’t know. Mister Deceit used him. He’s hurt.”

“Roman dug his grave. Likethe rest of you schmucks,” the Thief approached slowly, picking the Child’s plate up. 

He grabbed Virgil’s and Logan’s as well, Virgil’s while he was still standing. They stared at each other for a moment, Virgil trying to understand what was such a threat here. The Thief was wondering the same. 

The stare-off lasted only a moment, though, before the Thief sighed and put the dishes into the sink. There was no use fighting. They were all too stubborn to accept that they might be wrong. And that’s their problem, not the Thief’s. 

“Sit tight and wait. We don’t go back to the castle until we hear from Bard that they’ve found him or are coming up empty,” the Thief said. 

In their own ways, everyone was discontent with that. Virgil especially sat back down at his seat at the table, gripping the actual seat part with tight nails. It didn’t feel good to just be waiting like this. He knew that Roman wasn’t splitting again but something sure was telling him that something was happening. It was just a bad feeling. He got those a lot. 

Hilariously, the one who spoke up was the Child. He leveled a glare at the Thief and said, “We all could be looking for him.”

The Thief sighed. It sounded like a common argument, but this was the only time Roman’s gone missing, from everyone else’s memory. 

Logan leaned forward on both hands, crossing them on the table. He was intrigued by their relationship already. He wanted to see how this conversation would play out.

“I can’t. You can’t. I need to stay here and watch these bozos,” the Thief gestured to the table, and Patton piped up with a, “Hey!”

“I could help. You know I could,” the Child argued back. 

“I’m not letting you get in harm’s way, Gavin.”

“But you KNOW I can fight! And-And you’ve been helping me get better. Roman’s going to need all of us supporting him, when we find him,” the Child stood up, hands opening and closing at his sides. 

“Kiddo,” Patton’s voice was soft, cutting in while the Thief glared and tried to think of what to say. “Maybe…I think Eric’s right. When the search party finds him will be a better time to talk with him, right? That’ll mean everyone’s there.”

The Child whirled on Patton, brows furrowed. It looked like anger. Or fear. 

Logan squinted a little. Did the Child know anything? He seemed so self-assured about what was happening and what Roman needed.

“But-But didn’t the Playwright already go after him? And then whatever…Wherever Roman is hurt the Playwright. Right?” he turned back to the Thief. 

“And that’s exactly why you’re not going out. Because if it took down the Playwright, it’ll take down you too—“

“But he was alone! If we all go together—“

“Gavin,” the Child took a step back, flinching from the Thief’s tone. “I’m not arguing about this with you. You heard the Damsel, too. We stay here.”

The standoff ended in silence, both parts of Roman glaring at each other with a lack of understanding. To Janus, it spoke even more to how disjointed Roman must be feeling. After all, it’s not very good when the parts of yourself argue so much. As well as he loves a good spirited argument and battle of wits, this is far from it. 

He stayed quiet, like the rest of them, but the sound of breathing caught his attention. Janus’ eyes slowly slid to the side and he noticed Virgil, tense as a coiled spring, hunched over the table. Immediately, on an instinct, Janus stood. 

“Virgil?” he asked.

That drew the attention of the other two, who had also been preoccupied watching the argument. The Child stepped further away from the table as Janus hurried around, putting a gentle hand on Virgil’s back. 

The raised voices. The stress of it all. 

The Playwright had been hurt. Roman was hurting himself again through this stupid self-insert situation.

They’d let Roman get hurt. Again.

The Thief’s anxiety was enough to fill the room and then some, and just feeling it was making Virgil nauseous. He dragged his fingers through his hair and took a slow, deep breath. Trying to not hear the echo of shouting. 

Fuck.

“Virgil, dear,” Janus tried again, voice soft as a cushion.

Virgil jerked his shoulder away from Janus, choking out, “I’m fine.”

“Virge, here. Breathe with me. Like the thing Logan taught you,” Patton was knelt besides him. He felt Patton’s hand on his knee.

He could hear Patton breathing. It was on pace, 6 in, 7 hold, 8 out, something they’d done before. A variation on something they’ve done in a video, similar to something they’ve done in general. The numbers switched sometimes, since Patton wasn’t all that on details like this, but…it still worked.

Virgil closed his eyes and breathed. And kept breathing. 

He reached down and grabbed Patton’s hand. He squeezed tight as could be, and he hoped it didn’t hurt, but it more than likely did. But he was breathing. 

Patton out a hand on Virgil’s other shoulder to steady him, watching the top of his head as they breathed together. While they were all together, Patton had done his best to figure out what would help calm everyone down. That’s part of why he was so scared of Roman being alone, you know! He liked venting. When Roman was upset, he liked finding people he wasn’t upset with and staying with them until he could get it off his chest. Janus was the one who liked space. And he got enough space that he became distant. 

Virgil needed support, a hand to hold, someone to lean on, and then rest. Someone to lead the breathing so he could follow. He was brave on his own right and in his own time but in managing emotions? Walking the tightrope between them? That’s where Patton’s breathing came in. 

After a few minutes of quiet, breathing (Logan’s pretty sure the Thief was also following, as he had leaned back and was staring at the ceiling, quietly breathing as well), Patton leaned back. Virgil patted Patton’s other shoulder, tiredly staring at the table. It always seemed to suck energy, when he got into a state. They tried to prevent him getting there in the first place but when he got there, it took a lot out of him. And he likely was trying to siphon some more of the panic and fear out of everyone else. That sounded about right. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Thanks Patt.”

“No problemo, Virgil,” Patton chirped.

Janus looked around at the walls for a clock, to see what time it might be, but the Thief was ahead of him. “That’s enough for the night, I guess. Plates in the sink. I’ll handle it. The rest of you, you know where my guest bedrooms are.”

And that was that, it seemed. Everyone put their plates away, the Thief told Virgil specifically to get a good rest, told everyone else to sleep well, and they quietly made their ways toward the hall of bedrooms. It was nestled beneath another stairwell, one that went down, and no one really wanted to talk to each other. Patton wished everyone a “sweet dreams” and that was that.

The Thief did the dishes, quietly, quickly. It didn’t register that it might have been too quiet until he was done. 

Janus and Logan were both still awake. Virgil had knocked out and Patton was halfway there, too tired to hear the scrambling upstairs. 

“Gavin?”

A box being shut, a door being quickly closed. The pounding of feet running up another set of stairs, to the third floor, where the Tree’s master bedroom was.

“Gavin, are you up here?”

Logan closed his book first, hurrying out in his blue pajamas. His feet were cold on the stairs. Something was cold in his stomach too. The moment of realization, perhaps.

He met the Thief on the ground floor, Janus behind him, and the Thief’s eyes were wide with fear. His dark black hair was covering his shoulders and chest, blending in with his cloak as he moved like a shadow past them toward the front door. 

“What happened?” Janus hissed, grabbing Logan’s arm.

Logan grabbed him back, squeezing tight. They both knew, as the Thief threw open the front door and ran outside with a shout. 

“GAVIN?!”

[areweevercameraready]