#i feel like this is fairly incoherent in places but idc

[lordxgrinnyxboy]

screaming over the progression of Face Reveals in tgm, a post that is entirely too long.

like, the first time Gwynp takes off the bandages, it’s played up so much. there’s the music, the flashing lights, the Puppet. and then the lights go out and...it’s presented as a bit of a horror show, really. you’re left not quite sure what you saw, just that it was a shock. there’s a quick shift to  the reactions, from Josiana and the rest of the in-show audience, rather than lingering on the face itself.

the second time, it’s within a dreamlike sequence. the unsettling vibe is still there, but not the rapid shock. instead, it’s slowed down, lingers. the lighting is still dim, but it isn’t flashing. when the people lift Gwynp up, it kind of serves as an invitation to look, though the moment still passes fairly quickly.

the third time, with Josiana, the lights are dim, there’s no flashing, no weird musical effects. the bandages don’t come off especially slowly. Gwynp’s face remains somewhat  obscured just, given what’s going on. Josiana reacts to the wound, thirstily calling Gwynp an “abomination”

the fourth time, when Angelica takes the bandages off him (without consent, c’mon Angelica, that’s a no-no) Gwynp’s initially facing away from the audience, in addition to the light being dim. instead of getting a view of the wound, we mostly just see the Puppet during the next dreamlike sequence that follows, wherein the entire cast comes out to worship The Grinning Man.

( an aside - i wonder if these sequences with the Puppet, particularly its second and third appearances, are representative of Gwynplaine’s fear that this is all he is to people? initially, we see Ursus observing the people’s reaction to Gwynp, but not participating in their fervor. Later on, however, Ursus and Dea are present and join in the singing of, “Praise the Grinning Man” perhaps indicating Gwynp’s fears of not being perceived as anything other than his disfigurement and trauma might be getting worse. He always knew that’s all he was to the crowd, but it’s been creeping up on him that Dea and Ursus might, though for different reasons, see him the same way. hence the inclination in Freak Show and the first dream/Puppet sequence (and Brand New World to some extent) to just give up and embrace being that for everyone )

but then there’s the fifth time Gwynp is unmasked - and stays unmasked for the rest of the show. this time, nobody reacts, comments on it, or anything. the Puppet is nowhere to be seen. The, “then you realize that you are him and he is you” is repeated, but this time it’s calm and sober as compared to the previous instances. for once, it’s no longer about the reactions, it’s just there. And yeah, it is a terrible wound. It’s not pretty. But its exposure takes up very little of the focus of its screentime. This is...the first time the mask has come off without it being specifically because of someone wanting to see Gwynp’s face. He isn’t showing himself to a paying audience, or clamoring crowd, or intrigued potential lover or a queen. Maybe he wanted Barkilphedro to see the result of his actions, but it is entirely his choice, not something that’s being, even implicitly, asked of him. Also, with the wound remaining uncovered right through the end as Gwynp and Dea walk away toward their new life?

it’s been a recurring concept that Ursus wants Gwynp to let go of the past in order to start a new life, whereas Gwynplaine has been caught up in a need to remember the past and achieve revenge. Thing is, whether he did as Ursus wanted and gave up on the past, or went through with his desire for revenge...he would still always have to live with his disfigurement. He doesn’t have the luxury of entirely escaping his past, because it is literally carved into his face. But, he did finally get to have a choice in the matter. Choosing to remember instead of continuing to suppress the memories, choosing to let Barkilphedro live, and then, even, choosing to live with his wound. Given his fears of people not seeing him past his wound, to now be neither hiding it or leaning into other people’s expectations surrounding it, it seems like he’s at least begun to make peace with it.

( also there’s probably an argument to be made that the five instances fit both some of the lyrics with, “at first you shudder with the shock”, and a, possibly rearranged version of, the five stages of grief, but that’s another thought )

[reyneclaw]

psst, you wanted asks? 1975, eyes, lightning, thunder, coffee

1975: playing football with my little cousin (7) on a school sports ground on a peaceful summer evening. i'm winning 2:1 (to be fair, it ended with a draw or friendship wins, idc). losing the ball and running to find it in the bushes. laughing. feeling safe and light-hearted. my aunt is waiting for us at home with dinner ready. surprisingly, i can be trusted with children or with this particular kid. eyes: you say you've been to london right? i want to go too, with someone who's been there before :) it's kind of on a shared bucket list in our class to go to berlin together. maybe with J, she's in the french class but she's the one frenchie who mostly hangs out with us and speaks german fairly well. she'd be interested i think. i'd take @petratouromiou to the hermitage, she's been looking forward to visiting spb this summer and i hope she makes lots of good memories there.certainly barcelona with L, a friend of mine, she knows the city like the back of her hand, it's been her jam initially, i might've caught it from heranywhere my mum would choose to take me, she's exploring finland while i'm stuck here studying, not fair XDlighting: oh this isn't gonna be a nice story. kissed someone i'd never kiss sober. with consent but we were both totally wasted, not sure if this kind of consent is valid. luckily we agreed to forget about it.. she's my classmate, imagine how embarassing it was the next day.thunder: there's, like, a lot of such things. kill a pet for example.coffee: caramel macchiato with soy milk. if coffee could be girly... i wouldn't care XD. or a plant-milk-based cappuccino with random syrup, at any coffee place. and i'd better not give anyone the trouble of ordering this for me(sorry, i wrote a wall of incoherent musings. on coffee. lol)

[lil-lycanthropy]

Belong

Words: 5,250 (or something like that)

Parings: None??? This can be read as platonic or romantic idc

Warnings: Angst, Dissociation, Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Flashbacks, slight Blood (nothing gory really), slight Burns (once again, not really bad or anything), Self-Loathing, Negative Thoughts, I think that’s it?

Summary: Everyone’s trying to accept Parker, and Parker is trying hard to be accepted. But the fact of the matter is, he traumatized the sides and they’re not coping well.

Notes: This is for @parkersanders​ as my SAD entry. It’s late (I’m so sorry) because I’m a depressed procrastinator who has to edit things 434753947 times and rewrite all the chapters. Also sorry it’s so long I have no self control, and go big or go home so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, hope you like it! I’m in love with your verse and hope you have a happy birthday!

Disclaimer: The fic is based on @parkersanders​‘s fic Silence and Duality (read here), and I use one quote from it in here somewhere, I think in the fourth part? Yeah. Enjoy.

Roman was lounging on the couch when it happened.

Everything was fine, until he thought about Parker. The new living situation wasn’t as fear-mongering as he thought it would be, yet there were still tensions. They were all still slightly worried as Parker settled in, but were trying to hold it together so they wouldn’t trigger anything.

Parker was...interesting, to say in the least. With all their history, it was surreal with him back in their lives now. Dealing with his absence for two decades to having him be sleeping next door felt unreal. It would have been unimaginable even a couple weeks ago, and yet that was their reality now.

Then there was the whole drama of Parker escaping his prison, only to put the other through the same hell he experienced—if only for a much shorter time span. Usually Roman was more than okay with drama, but the things that happened in there, only for Virgil to be the one to save him. It left him feeling very defeated in a way he hadn’t ever been before. The shame, the fear...

Suddenly, Roman’s breath started coming in short pants and he could no longer feel the couch beneath him, the pillow under his head, or the clothes he was wearing. He couldn’t feel...anything.

It was like he was having an out-of-body experience, except that didn’t make sense, because as facets of Thomas personality, they were not capable of such things.

He went completely limp on the couch, not having the strength or mental presence to hold his body upright anymore. Focusing on one thing became impossible, his eyes darting back and forth without taking in any information. Roman didn’t know what was happening.

Roman...

Was that even his name? He couldn’t remember. Why did he even have to have a name? It’s not like he even existed...

Roman continued thinking everything and nothing at once, thoughts crossing his mind so quickly, little bits of nonsense that meant nothing.

After a time, Logan walked into the scene—the Prince, sitting on the couch, limp except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest and his eyes flashing a mile a minute.

“Roman?” Logan said, rushing over and kneeling down.

Roman glanced over, barely acknowledging the presence of the other side. “I-I don’t—”

Logan took a breath to steel his nerves. “May I touch you?”

Roman looked confused, then gave a jerk of his head that passed as a nod. Crouching down, Logan took one of the Prince’s hands and placed it on his chest. “Okay, we’re going to go through some grounding exercises to get you feeling calmer. Can you breathe in, as deep as you can?”

A shuddering breath, then a slower exhale.

“Good. Now, repeat.”

They carried on until Roman was breathing fairly regularly, but he was still far from his normal rambunctious self. “Roman, could you do me a favour?” Another nod. “Can you name five things you can see?”

The Prince looked anxiously around the room. “Um, you, the-the TV, the, uh, carpet, table, and-and the blinds over the window.”

“Four things you can feel, now.”

“Your h-hand, my shirt, the couch, and...exhaustion.”

Logan cracked a smile. “Yes, that I can imagine.”

They went through the grounding exercise until Roman was sitting up and didn’t look quite so pale. Logan summoned a glass of water, which Roman chugged gratefully.

“I know I’m not the best at dealing with emotions, but I am curious—do you know what exactly triggered the attack?”

Roman put his head in his hands, mumbling something incoherent.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that.”

Roman raised his head and said, “Parker.”

“What about Parker? I know our situation is going to take some getting used to, but what about that would cause something this bad?”

Hands now shaking again, Roman brushed back his hair. “I was thinking about, how, y’know, we did all this horrible stuff to him, and then he put us through all that when he got out, and it was terrifying. I’m not saying we didn’t deserve it, but, god—”

“Roman, please calm down. You’re rambling, and I know you well enough to recognize when it’s not coming from a place of stability. You’re right; we have done some unacceptable things in the past. We’re all guilty—”

“Virgil’s not.”

“Well, I’m not going to contradict that statement. However, we’re trying to make things right. As for what you faced in there—Parker preyed on our fears. All of us. But fears are often irrational, and even if they’re not, almost any problem can be solved in some way. As long as you remember that, your fears will have no power over you.”

Roman gave a slightly tearful nod, trying to hide the drops through a smile.

Across the room, hidden by shadows, another figure was also trying to hide his tears. Not with a smile, though—with the sleeves of a faded hoodie and the long edges of his sandy hair.

Parker sunk out, retreating back to his room. Just another day where he was to blame.

There was no shortage of those.

A crash broke the relative silence in the mindscape kitchen as Logan dropped the coffee pot, spilling its contents all over the floor.

It was still early—only 9:00, still an hour before regular scheduled time to go to bed—but Thomas had once again decided to procrastinate on a video, so it was likely they both were going to be awake for awhile yet (Roman, too—no video could exist without his input).

Prolonging the inevitable was fruitless, so Logan decided he may as well start early and get some heavily-caffeinated bean water into his system to give him the energy he would require to get through the night.

Making a pot of coffee was pretty much second nature to all the sides by now. With the amount of times Thomas stayed up late, they had all gotten used to rapid-heart rate, shaky-hands, slightly-nauseated feeling. While drinking coffee in the mindscape was more of a habit than actually useful, they all still did it whenever Thomas would be up late. It was really the only way they would function (except Patton, who preferred hot chocolate and was bubbly around the clock).

However, sometimes things go wrong. Logan was distracted, thinking about both the video and Roman. He had been better since his his dissociative episode three days ago, but it had still bothered the analytical side. He was thinking about how Roman’s own mental state might affect the quality of the video (along with the worry for his friend, not that he would admit that) when he dropped the full pot of coffee, shattering it all over the kitchen tile.

As the coffee flooded the floor, they soaked Logan’s fuzzy socks (he was going for comfort rather than appearance. Just this once. One-time thing. Definitely). It began burning his feet, but worse than that was how Logan’s breath stopped.

Being a side meant not having to shower or bathe. It meant not having to go swimming or step in puddles or going in the rain. Being a side meant that dealing with water was a complete rarity, unless one enjoyed baths for leisure (like Virgil sometimes did. Roman had found that out one day, promised to keep it secret, then proceeded to tell Logan, Patton, and Thomas about Anxiety’s guilty pleasure). The last time Logan had been in water was...

The flashback was the only thing occupying his vision. He could vaguely take in his surroundings, but his immediate thoughts were get out you’re going to drown if you do not find a way to GET OUT YOU’RE GOING TO DROWN—

Gasping for breath was a painful affair as Logan forced his lungs to take in oxygen. He wouldn’t be able to escape unless he could think rationally and come up with a solution, but no matter where he stepped, water squelched between his toes and he knew he was still in danger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure wearing loose clothing, a hood draped over its head. His mind immediately went to Death.

As he tried to get away, his back hit something solid. He slid down, landing in the puddle on the ground.

A wall, it’s a wall, you’re trapped and you’re going to drown and now you’re cornered—

“Logan? Logan! Can you hear me, kiddo?”

Yes, I can hear you. Who are you, though?

“Are you okay? Logan?”

Please, stop pestering me with questions. I need to think of how to escape this torturous flood.

“We’re gonna go to the couch now, okay, buddy?”

He was abruptly pulled upright, his one arm draped over someone’s shoulder. Shuffling forward, he eventually dropped onto something soft—and dry.

Dry? Soft? No water, no flooding, no walls, what—?

“Can you hear me, Lo?”

Logan looked over to see a gentle face, with worried eyes peering behind a thick pair of glasses.

“Pat-Patton?”

“Yep, I’m here.”

Logan leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. He was slowly coming back to reality, but everything still felt wrong. He was the logical side! He wasn’t supposed to succumb to irrational fears! A flashback, of all things...

But it felt so real.

“I thought I was back...in the place, the one where Parker put me when he was getting out of his own prison...”

Patton’s brow furrowed, and he placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it? Now, I know you don’t like all this ‘emotional crap’ stuff, but I’m always here for you. As your dad.”

A small smile crept out against Logan’s will. “You’re not my dad. And no, I don’t need to talk about anything. It’s stupid.”

“Kiddo, it’s not stupid. I know you think you have to be 100%, all the time, but all of us know you have emotions. Especially me. I know you, Lo.”

Logan shook his head. “I dropped the coffee pot—oh no, it probably made a mess, I should go—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s fine, we’ll get it later. No use crying over spilled milk—er, coffee, right?”

At that moment, Logan realized how much his feet hurt. “I think it burned me, and I need to go remedy that now.”

“No, let me! Be back in a jiffy!”

Someone else suddenly appeared in Logan’s line of vision.

Patton spoke up. “Oh, Parker’s here, too,” he said as he raced up the stairs

Parker looked distraught, then pulled off the hood on his dark sweater. “I’m-I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

Logan nodded mutely, regretting opening up and being so vulnerable, not only in front of Patton, but Parker, too (though inadvertently). He felt slightly remorseful about having Parker hear what he’d said, but he was still trying to pick up the pieces.

Parker sunk out, leaving Logan alone for only a moment before Patton popped up with a first aid kit. While he could’ve easily summoned one on his own, Patton liked to have some realism in the mindscape. Said it “made things interesting”.

He flipped the top open, bandaids spilling all over the couch. “Nice socks,” Patton said, before shimmying them off.

Logan’s feet were bright pink. Patton looked them over, but it was all superficial. He slathered on some aloe vera, and put Logan’s socks back on.

“That was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever experienced.”

“Are you talking about my first aid skills, Lo?”

“Of course. But putting my socks back on after? That was low.”

“-gan.”

“Stop.”

---

Parker reappeared back in his own room, which was still almost blank, and he threw himself on his bed. Was he being selfish, making Logic’s breakdown all about him? Of course he was. Logic was the one struggling right now, all because of him.

Guilt washed over him. Even Logic was crumbling because Parker had decided revenge was better than compromise or forgiveness. At the time, he had wanted to break them, but now...

Parker knew what he did was wrong. He wished for some way to undo all the damage.

But what’s done is done. He just has to keep trying.

A couple days later, Patton was laying in bed, looking up at the fairy lights on his ceiling. The little patterns resembled stars, which usually relaxed him. He had designed his room entirely for comfort. Patton was a homebody, and his room reflected that.

However, tonight was different. His mind was replaying Logan’s little breakdown on the kitchen floor. He’d said it was a flashback.

“Triggered by dropping the coffee and getting liquid all over my feet. Roman also might’ve helped with the intensity—he had some trouble a few days ago. My best guess is dissociation. I suppose that was on my mind, distracting my focus.”

That prospect was terrifying. The most logical, grounded side falling victim to the mind’s whims? What chance did the rest of them have?

The lights dimmed as he closed his eyes, falling into an uneasy slumber.

---

Several hours later, Parker awoke to screaming coming from down the hall.

Even with Anxiety, Thomas was a pretty chill guy. Screaming in pure terror was not a very common thing heard around the mindscape, especially not this late at night.

Heart racing, Parker leapt out of bed and threw open his door.

Morality. It was coming from Morality’s room.

Parker burst in, catching sight of Morality thrashing about wildly on the bed, tears streaming down his face from his scrunched-up eyes.

“Morality, wake up!”

Parker rushed over and began desperately shaking Morality’s shoulder. “It’s just-it’s just a dream!” Tears began to flow from his own eyes.

The Heart’s eyes flew open, and he gasped in horror, shoving Parker away with a choked gasp.

Virgil appeared behind them, pushing past Parker in an urgent, but not unkind way, and gathered Patton in his arms. Usually, he was vehemently against physical contact, but he couldn’t leave Patton like that. The moral side needed comfort, and judging from how clingy—er, loving, he always was, it was safe to assume physical contact was what he needed at the moment.

Patton clung onto Virgil, bunching up the darker trait’s shirt in his hands and sobbing into his shoulder. Virgil tentatively wrapped his arms around Patton while Parker stood off to the side, looking distraught.

“Um, I got this...I think. Can you, uh, make sure Logan and Roman are still asleep? I don’t want to overwhelm Pat right now.”

Parker left gracelessly, stumbling into the doorframe on his way out.

“Hey, Parker?”

The side reappeared at the door.

“Thank you, for trying to help him.”

Parker gave a meek nod, then disappeared from view.

Virgil turned his attention back to Patton. His tears were still coming, but his breaths were at least slowing down. “I’m s-so sorry you have to see me like this, kiddo...”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, you’ve seen me during some pretty rough times, and you’ve always helped me through it. Least I can do is return the favour, y’know?”

Patton sat back up, and Virgil summoned a glass of water. He handed to Patton, who drained half the glass in one go. “Thanks, Verge.”

Virgil gulped a little, then nodded. “So, what happened? Was it, like...a nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Patton said softly after a beat of silence.

Nightmares were nothing new to Virgil. Heck, Patton knew that. Ever since he became more comfortable with the other sides, he had still really only opened up to Patton about the nightmares. He was sure Logan and Roman knew about them, but they never brought it up. But Pat said his door was always open for Virgil, any time. So Virgil had taken to going to Patton for comfort after night terrors.

Virgil leaned back, waiting to see if Pat would open up or not. Oftentimes, all Virgil wanted was some comforting after a nightmare without having to relive it. He wondered if Patton was the same.

Eventually, Pat sighed and looked up. “It was about Parker.”

Virgil’s interest was immediately piqued. “Parker?”

“Well, not Parker exactly,” Patton rushed to clarify. “Just...going through that prison again, and the others’, too. Like a mix of the nightmares Parker made for all of us.  Logan and Roman told me about what they went though, so it was like a...mega-terror-extravaganza thing. I can’t really figure out why theirs were in there, I don’t exactly have the same fears as them or anything.”

“It’s because you’re an empath, Dad.”

Patton smiled at him. “Thanks, son.”

“I’m notcha son,” Virgil said, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Ok, whatever you say.”

The tension was broken, and even though Patton still had drying tear tracks on his face, the twinkle that was usually in his eye had returned.

But not everyone could recover so easily from emotional turmoil.

Stupid. You should’ve done better. Helping people is easy when you’re a good person, which is why you’re still struggling with it. You only ever bring bad things to the table. What’s even the point in trying to help if everyone’s just trying to push you away?

Parker curled up as his mind realized how hopeless he was. No matter how hard he tried, he would never measure up to the other sides. That’s why they locked him away in the first place, wasn’t it? He contributed nothing. Even Anxiety had a purpose, to keep Thomas safe from harm. Thomas definitely didn’t need another side helping with that.

What exactly was Parker’s purpose now? How could he make it up to the other sides and prove he belonged?

Virgil was having a bad day.

This in itself wasn’t unusual. With him being the embodiment of anxiety, he was always feeling as if his emotions were heightened in a negative way—which is why he was almost always on edge. Then there was the messed up sleep schedule, unhealthy eating habits (whether it was a “physical” feeling or just a placebo effect, the sides all felt happiest when they stuck with somewhat healthy eating, along with cookies where Patton’s involved), and a reliance on caffeine.

He was not exactly a role model regarding self care.

Since a few months ago, after they did “Accepting Anxiety,” he did feel like he belonged with the group more. They made an effort to make him feel welcome, and it did help.

However, that didn’t mean Virgil never had issues anymore.

Today was one of the days his “issues” were making themselves known. He hadn’t slept in over 36 hours, and in that time, had been drinking coffee almost non-stop. Even his body, ever used to being heavily caffeinated, was struggling. His pulse was racing and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The worst was that Virgil’s mind refused to stay focused, and turned to negative or intrusive thoughts rather than the task at hand. He had been flitting around all day as a result of the caffeine, but he still felt completely drained.

He remembered how Patton would cook or bake while stressed, as a way to take his mind off things.

And that’s how Virgil ended up standing at the counter, trying to slice up a red bell pepper with a giant santoku knife for his homemade ratatouille (alright, yes, he was thinking of the movie the entire time).

But shaky hands and large knives don’t mix. One wrong move, one second of attention being elsewhere, is all it took for Virgil to miss the pepper and instead slice straight into his thumb.

Blood began to flow out of the wound, dripping onto the counter. Virgil stared at it, fixated on the deep red colour.

He looked like Thomas, in a demonic sort of way. His hair was dark, yet paler than when they were young. His skin was tinted blue and the shadows danced around him like a hazy mirage. His nails were long and black like they belonged on a monster’s hand, not his. His eyes were the scariest: black where the whites were supposed to be, the pupils a deep red instead of black.

The same crimson colour that currently flooded out of Virgil’s hand.

Panic overtook him, spiralling him into the all-too-familiar anxiety attack. This one was worse than any he had ever experienced. Along with the rapid heart rate, the growing pressure on his chest, and his throat closing up, he began to feel lightheaded at the sight of the blood.

The red that looked so much like Parker’s eyes when they first met again after fifteen years...

Tears pricked at his eyes, and every time he tried to catch his breath, it was knocked out of him again as if he had been punched. He collapsed to the floor, wheezing, desperately trying to breathe. When he couldn’t, that just made him more distressed.

It was a never-ending cycle when he got like this. Alone, Virgil was powerless to stop it. His breathing would become more useless until he passed out and his body reset itself. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except when his attacks were that severe, it usually incapacitated him for days while he tried to recover.

Passing out never did seem like a good option in these times of distress. His primordial reaction was to get out of the situation, which would make sense except he couldn’t move, he couldn’t escape the situation, he was helpless on the ground. Thoughts of death always crossed his mind because he couldn’t breathe...

A slight whimper came out against his will, using up what little oxygen he had left. He was truly, undeniably going to die like this.

“Anxiety, please, breathe!”

A voice. A voice belonging to a person. Someone familiar, maybe.

Virgil turned over and was greeted with the face of Parker.

Despite Parker’s appearance being drastically different than when they first saw him a few weeks ago, it was still him. And at that moment, him was a threat.

Rather than hyperventilating, Virgil’s breathing screeched to a dead halt. A tiny part was saying Parker’s fine, Parker’s safe, Parker’s changed for the better, the larger, instinctive part was screaming danger. Absolute danger.

“No, no, no, no, no, please breathe, don’t stop, don’t—”

“What’s happening?” a new voice boomed.

“He—he—”

“What did you do to him?! Never mind, just get out and let me deal with this!”

A face appeared in Virgil’s line of vision, close to the ground. “Verge, bud, I’m gonna wrap this towel around your hand and I need you to take some deep breaths. What’s that little pattern you do? 4-6-8?”

Virgil jerked his hand away as...Roman? Roman bundled up Virgil’s hand, holding the towel in place.

“Sorry, but I need to stop the bleeding, and...Ah! 4-7-8! We’re gonna do that, okay, Finding Emo? Copy me; in for four...”

Roman counted as he took an exaggerated breath, and Virgil followed, choking a bit at four.

“Good, Verge, now hold,” Roman said, silently counting.

“And out.”

They repeated it several more times, and Virgil slowly sat up. He clutched his hand with the towel still on it close to his chest, blood soaking through the fabric.

With a flourish of Roman’s hand, a first aid box appeared next to the pair. Roman popped it open, pulling out some antiseptic, gauze, a butterfly bandage, and the medical tape.

He held out his hand, and Virgil hesitantly placed his own in it.

Roman got to work, applying some antiseptic and the butterfly bandage to hold the edges together. He wrapped it in gauze and finished by taping the edges down.

As he was putting everything back in the kit, Virgil spoke up for the first time.

“You shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“Who?”

“It’s ‘whom’, and—”

“Ok, I’m going to have to ask you to stop hanging around Logan so much.”

“Anyway. Parker. You shouldn’t have yelled at him. He didn’t do anything wrong; he just wanted to help.”

The Prince huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go apologize to him in a bit.”

Looking displeased, but too tired to argue, Virgil nodded his assent.

After being shoved out of the kitchen, Parker had sprinted up the stairs back to his room. His knees buckled and he pitched forward onto his bed, his weak resolve crumbling. Great, heaving sobs made their way out, his chest clenching painfully.

Everyone hated him. He made everything worse, and everyone was suffering because of his actions.

The grief was too overwhelming, and Parker didn’t know what to do. His body shut down, and he fell into a deep sleep.

---

As soon as he was unconscious, Parker’s mind flashed back to all the damage he’d inflicted.

Not only on the other sides, but his host, too. He had almost gotten Thomas killed because he couldn’t control his fear. Then, after escaping his prison, forced him to go though those horrible hallucinations when Thomas had done nothing wrong.

Pitting Creativity against an unbeatable enemy, making him think Virgil was in danger, coating the prison in blood.

Giving Logic a problem with an impossible solution, drowning him in cold water with no escape.

Putting Morality through emotional turmoil, which would be so much worse for the Heart, then falling for eternity.

And Virgil...

Virgil had stood up for him. He had refused to put up a wall, and the other sides had just thrown him in with Parker. Torturing him for five long years, going through unimaginable horrors. Virgil escaping, then having to go through that same hell again to rescue the other sides.

They all hated him now. His purpose, originally to protect Thomas and give him courage, was abolished. He had changed, going from Fear to Sadness.

In reality, he was a traumatized kid that didn’t know what he did wrong, so he was punished for it. His revenge for that had been petty and cruel.

No wonder they never wanted him around.

Parker awoke with a jolt, an unbearable pressure on his chest. He wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t deserve to breathe.

In his mind, he was straddling the border between sleep and consciousness. Enough that he could see is surroundings, but not make sense of what was happening.

He couldn’t feel his arms, or his legs, and even the vice on his chest began to seem less important than before. It was like he was floating away from his body, back into the prison, reliving all the pain he had inflicted on himself and others. The hellish hallucinations swirled around him in his mind, feeding his panic.

It was as if he was still in a dream—no, a nightmare. He wanted to disappear, and he already felt like he was fading away, being stretched too far by regret.

A voice permeated his thoughts, but they sounded muffled for some reason.

“Parker, can I come in?”

He gave no answer. He could give no answer.

“I know you’re in there, I just wanted to, ah, apologize for my un-princely behaviour. If you need your space, I’ll go, but—”

Parker let out a gasp as he choked on air, he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t think, and suddenly his door was being pushed open by the frantic hands of Creativity.

It was like Parker was watching things happen from an outside perspective. He could hear Creativity calling his name and shaking him, but he couldn’t respond.

“Parker, c’mon, stay with me here—Pat!”

Someone thumped down the hall, and Morality appeared at the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I walked in and he was like this!”

Tears poured out of Parker’s eyes and he was trembling even harder. His mouth open and closed like a fish, but nothing came out.

“Oh, crap, Parker, honey, can you hear me?” Patton grabbed one of Parker’s hands. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

Parker continued to heave, making no move to squeeze Patton’s hand.

“Shoot. Can you get Logan, please?”

Roman raced off, then returned with a slightly dishevelled Logan in tow. “What’s going on?”

Logan caught sight of Parker on the bed. “Oh dear. No, that’s not good.”

“What do we do?”

Suddenly, Virgil popped up at the door. “Geez, Princey, you were just supposed to say sorry to him, what could you have possibly done—”

He was cut off when he saw the situation. Parker was spasming in bed because of how hard his muscles were shaking, his face turning blue (due from lack of oxygen, not as an illusion), and he was barely breathing. The other sides were huddled around him, with Patton holding one of his hands.

“Guys, what the heck?” Anxiety said as he rushed over. “Parker, listen if you can; we’re gonna sit you up because, believe me, laying on your back makes it harder to breathe when you’re like this.”

Parker couldn’t respond, he still felt as if he was dying, and no one was trying to do anything to help. They were going to let him die.

Two pairs of hands gently hoisted him up so he was against the headboard of the bed. The pressure eased somewhat, but his body began falling forward.

“Verge—”

“I’ve got him,” said Patton.

The emotional side wormed his way in next to Parker and slipped an arm around his shoulders, holding him up. Morality’s thumb moved back and forth in mini circles, attempting to soothe Parker’s distress. Creativity grabbed one of Parker’s hands and squeezed it, trying to ground him. Logic did the same on the other side.

Slowly, Parker came back to himself, fresh tears spilling from his reddened eyes. He sobbed, utterly exhausted and full of loathing. He took his hands away and buried his head in them, his shoulders shaking with every cry. He mumbled something through the noise, then curled in even further.

“What was that?” Anxiety asked softly.

“I-I’m so sorry. F-for everything. I was h-horrible to you, to everyone, to Thomas,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry.”

Morality wrapped both arms around him. “We forgive you, kiddo. Always.” Logic and Creativity both nodded in agreement.

Anxiety grabbed both of Parker’s hands, gently pulling them away from his face. “Look at me.”

Parker glanced up, fear in his eyes.

Anxiety placed his hands on either side of Parker’s face, and brought their heads together. They rested for a minute as Parker continued to cry silently.

“We forgive you, alright? All of us. We’ve all made mistakes, we’ve all done crap we shouldn’t have. Hell, it was a mistake on these guys’ part to lock you away, and mine for not helping you get out when I did. It’s in the past, okay? And we’ll work things out. Got it?”

“Got it,” Parker sniffled.

“And we’ll always need you. You’re not unnecessary, you’re not evil, you’re not a burden. You’re you, and that’s all we could ever ask for.”

Parker began crying harder, and Anxiety placed a kiss on his forehead. The other four wrapped themselves around them, forming a cocoon of safety.

Creativity, Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Sadness.

Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, and Parker.

Wanted. Good. Loved. Safe.

Enough.

[moiraineswife]

Hey, hope you are well :) 13, 14, 28 & 36 for the ask thing x

13) Any theories about where Amren came from and what her real form is?

The short answer is ‘no’ because....well I suck at theories to be honest with you (really) and I just...I feel like firedrake might be a bit too easy? Though I know that’s a popular theory. I see her more like a force than anything else but that’s not...entirely helpful. WE WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT AND SEE. 

14) How do you view Rhys’s actions UtM?

Fascinating tbh. I get it and I will stab anyone who calls them ‘abusive’ this kind of details most of my thoughts about it (through a lens of criticising it as abusive but, still, most of it is there.) 

28) Thoughts on Fenrys and Connall?

See my thoughts are kind of confused....to the point that sometimes I wonder whether or not I’ve hallucinated half of EoS but...I’m not sure it’s the healthiest?? We obviously haven’t met Connall yet but..I don’t know I think this dynamic just makes Fenrys even more tragic as a character? I mean, idk the way I read it Connall sort of...worships Maeve. In a similar way to Lorcan except, unlike Lorcan, she let Connall into her bed. Which...when you consider that Fenrys took the blood oath in order to protect his brother..is kinda messed up given the fact his brother seems utterly devoted to her. It’s an interesting dynamic, definitely, but I also don’t think it’s the healthiest thing in the world? Fenrys is trapped in this hellhole, bound to a woman he despises, forced to do her bidding - all to protect his brother from her but his brother embraces her and reveres her. It’s twisted af and I’m..curious to see how it plays out in EoS. 

36) Do you forgive Nesta and Elain for how they treated Feyre?

No. Because I never felt they needed forgiveness in the first place. I’ve ranted about this six thousand times, if I want anything in ACOWAR I’d like maybe acknowledgement and gratitude...not grovelling or apologies or forgiveness. But I was having New Thoughts on it this morning (god help you all) when I saw this message again so...here we are, now you have to suffer them. (This’ll wander for a minute but just bear with me)  

I was actually thinking about Elain/Nesta with regards to Lucien. And I...understand why people assume Nesta would be protective and wary of Lucien and why she might not want him to approach Elain but...I feel like she’d yield depending on what Elain wanted. I think the only time she’d protect Elain would be if Elain was uncertain/didn’t want anything to do with him but if Elain chooses to get to know him/be with him Nesta’s not going to block that. 

Wtf does this have to do with Feyre??? you’re probably asking but...I find it interesting to..compare and contrast things, which you may have noticed, and I started thinking about Nesta/Tamlin (I have no idea why it just happened) I’ve seen people claim that Feyre’s sisters/family were abusive towards her (which was the moment I decided to write to the makers of the English language to demand they did a full recall of that word because :) no) But the fact is that Nesta respects Feyre’s choices, her abilities, her agency and independence to the point that she’s actually envious of them. 

Feyre has Issues with regards to independence and, most importantly, value. She needs to feel like she’s doing something, she has to feel like she’s contributing, she needs purpose (and actually so does Nesta. These two are actually...a hell of a lot more similar than people give them credit for and this dynamic FASCINATES ME OKAY SO SUE ME) 

Point is, Feyre and Nesta understand one another. On a fairly deep level, actually. Can you imagine Feyre being happy if Nesta had tried to coddle her? Tried to tell her that she couldn’t hunt, that she shouldn’t, she should just sit at home and let herself be taken care of? Yeah Feyre’s really good at that, she really excels under those conditions so she does, they do wonders for her mental health and well-being. When Tamlin tried that it worked out SO WELL didn’t it? 

Look, I’m not saying that this was entirely Nesta’s purpose here (or Elain’s) but...certainly from a Nesta/Feyre perspective I think it’s interesting to consider this aspect, this understanding; 

Not me, because Nesta had always known and hated that she andI were two sides of the same coin, and that I could fight my own battles.

and: 

 Icouldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that.

These are interesting to consider, (I’ve probably done so before but idc) especially if you flip it on its head and reverse their situations. imagine Nesta did her ‘older sister duty’ (I...dislike this idea but...anyway) Imagine that she was the one who was capable of hunting instead of Feyre, imagine she’d done that, imagine Feyre had been left alone at home all day, every day with the constant knowledge that she was failing her family over and over and over again, that she was nothing but a burden that had to rely on everyone else to take care of her....

I think she’d actually have reacted...very similarly to Nesta.  She resented Tamlin for this after less than three months. She was taken care of, she had everything she wanted, everyone was waiting on her hand and foot, and she had nothing to do, nothing to contribute. She was desperate for that, enough to defy Tamlin and risk his anger several times for the sake of that. And the thing that finally made her snap was Tamlin locking her in the house and refusing to let her go out and do things. 

 Nesta’s lived like that for years. Nesta has in fact, lived like that pretty much her entire life. Her mother died, they lost their fortune, were driven into poverty, her youngest sister was forced to care for them, over and over and over again she’s had this shoved down her throat and I think she hates it. Multiply Feyre’s agony in ACOMAF by five years with the added knowledge of being an older sister and I think Feyre would come out somewhere damn near Nesta in ACOTAR if she’d gone through that. 

...I kinda forgot what the point of this was beyond ‘Feyre and Nesta are actually super similar and it fascinates the ever loving fukc out of me’ OH NO WAIT I DO. I don’t think people pay enough attention to the way Nesta respects her sisters’ and their choices. 

Perhaps she should have paid Feyre more heed, should have shown more gratitude and support (though Nesta’s difficulty verbalising her emotions is...interesting but that’s a meta for another day) But I think she understood her sister and what she needed. (As evidenced in ACOTAR when she tells Feyre that they don’t need her, that she doesn’t have to carry that weight any more, that she can be free. She understands what motivates Feyre, what divides her and upsets her - she just...demonstrates that more through action than anything else. And Feyre ain’t that good with people either but that too is a meta for another day) 

THE ACTUAL POINT is that...I don’t think either sister (I focused on Nesta because....she seems to get the most direct hate on this point) needs to apologise to Feyre...and I don’t think Feyre feels any need to...forgive them either? In saying that I...can’t wait for their scenes in ACOWAR like I need more Archeron sisters scenes more than life itself especially Feyre/Nesta (because what we all need is more content for me to meta on. ahem. anyway) I just...I think that the dynamic between the sisters is a lot richer and more complex than anyone really considers? Everyone just...talks about Feyre forgiving them for what happened but there’s a lot more to it than that, the parallels and the dynamics and the way they work and feel about each other it’s....fascinating. anyway. this concludes my incoherent meta ramble for the day, carry on. 

questions from here