#internalised arophobia

[conhivemindcent]

Oh yea it’s pride month.

So uh… I think I’m aromantic. Maybe. I already know I’m asexual but I’m just afraid to say I’m also aromantic

Because from what I’ve seen on tumblr, so much of aromanticism is people expressing their pride of not feeling romantic love but I kinda want to. I want to feel that security and comfort in a relationship, to feel as though I can fully open myself up to my partner.

I want to read cheesy fanfictions where characters just spend a lot of time smushed together in love. I like notoriously-hated-by/aromantic tropes like soulmates. I feel afraid to say I am aromantic and turn out to be wrong. I feel like saying “hey I’m aro” and still liking romance will be seen as wrong. I don’t want to label myself as something that ends up being wrong for me, and then feeling like I’ve betrayed a community that is pretty close to mine.

Maybe it’s because I got very stereotypically into the asexual cliche (disliking sexual content) and thus my brain is tuned in to me being a cliche, so when I fall out of it it thinks I’m wrong. I’m not sure

What I am sure of is if any of my friends or someone online expressed this, I’d say it’s fine and you can identify how you like. But for me I can’t do that. Because I feel as though I need to be 100% correct. Like being aromantic is the final pit stop and if you leave you were a phony all along.

I just… idk. I think I’m aromantic but I still want love. And I think that makes me a horrible person. Even if it doesn’t, I still feel that way cause I’ve seen so many people on here who are aro who feel so antagonistic to love. And I’m aware that’s a me issue, I’ve never been good at social cues, especially online

This is definitely internalised fear. But idk I feel like I can’t say it despite thinking it’s true. I’m sorry

[wings-of-angels]

Seeing several friends get into relationships when i dont know if i'll ever even want a relationship

[aroaessidhe]

2025 reads / storygraph

Something Extraordinary

historical platonic-romcom

an aromantic woman tired of feeling unworthy when the people closest to her leave her behind for romance, and a gay man in unrequited love who is planning on giving up and marrying a woman in misery and drunkenness

she kidnaps him the day before the marriage to stop him ruining his life, suggesting that they get platonically married instead - and on the ridiculous journey to scotland to elope, they have to convince each other if it’s what is best for them, and what they want out of life/love/and friendship

[walkingstackofbooks]

Mikoshir ficlet where sometime after they get together, Julian realises he's aromantic, and has Many Many Feelings

cw: internalised arophobia

(Keiko and Miles are having none of it though - for once, this is entirely comfort!)

--

His first week of dating Miles and Keiko is just as wonderful as he'd ever imagined, and Julian's not sure if he's ever been happier. The hugs, the laughter, the unrestrained affection – Julian knows he's a lucky man, and desperately gives as much as he takes. But although he never stops enjoying it all, at some point he starts to notice that the way in which the O'Briens love each other seems very different to the way in which he loves them. Little things they mention off-handedly about their feelings sometimes seem worlds apart from how he views his own feelings, and while at first he puts that down to his relationship being new and Miles and Keiko being married, and so on and so forth, he can't shake the feeling that it's not just that.

Over the next few months he becomes increasingly convinced that even though he definitely loves them, he's not actually in love with them. He begins wondering if he's ever really been "in love" with anyone, now that he's properly paying attention to his feelings, and after a lot of lonely soul-searching – lonely because he doesn't really want to involve Miles and Keiko in this unless he's sure, and that means not confiding in his other friends, either, just in case it got back to them – he comes to the conclusion that he's maybe, probably, aromantic. Which is... well, it's fine, he supposes, but he really wishes he could have figured it out far, far sooner.

The worst of it all is that, now he knows – and god, he really doesn't want to admit it – but now he knows, it wouldn't be fair at all on Miles and Keiko to carry on with their relationship. He really, really doesn't want to lose what they have, but if he's never going to be able to love them the way they love him, it's better to end it sooner rather than later, right? That's just what you're supposed to do when you realise you're not in love, isn't it? You're meant to break up.

When he tells them – sitting on the sofa opposite them one evening, forcing himself to look them in the eyes – his quiet explanation is so full of apologies that the O'Briens initially struggle to make sense of what he's trying to say. But eventually they get there, and Julian finds that he's not met with any of the reactions he's feared. There are no scoffs of annoyance for having wasted so much of their time, no sarcastic eye rolls – not even a gentle-but-firm dismissal. Instead, they both move to sit next to him, expressions somewhat sad but still full of fondness. Which only makes it harder, because of course they'd never be anything less than kind, that's one of the many reasons he loves them, and he's going to miss them just so much...

Keiko puts her hand over his. "If that's what you want, Julian, then of course you've got to do what's right for you. But..."

"But what?"

"Well, it kind of sounds like you're only doing this because you think it's what we're going to want."

Julian frowns. "I don't understand."

"I think we're maybe going about this the wrong way," says Miles, the 'we' sounding as natural as ever, as though they really are all still in this together. "I get that it's never going to be romantic for you, sure, but what do you actually want to change? Is there anything we do that you don't like, that makes you uncomfortable..?"

Before Julian can reply, Keiko moves her hand away, shuffling a couple of inches back. "I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't even think to ask."

Julian shakes his head, bewildered. "No, it's fine, it's – I liked it!" he assures her. "There's nothing you do – I told you it wasn't your fault, you've always been wonderful. It's just me, and my stupid feelings."

It seems they believe him, at least, because at that they both move in even closer, their bodies pressing up against his, arms wrappinh around his back. "Is this okay?" Miles asks, and Julian nods miserably.

"I still think you're being far too nice to the person who just broke up with you."

"Probably because I'm not really convinced you have," Miles replies, causing Julian to stare at him in disbelief. Is this reaction all just... denial, then? "I mean, don't get me wrong – like Keiko said, if you don't want to be with us anymore, or need things between us to change, however that might look, we'll accept that. But you know you'll always have a place in our bed – I assume?" he adds hurriedly, glancing at Keiko to check.

"Always," she says. "If you want it, of course. We're not trying to pressure you into changing your mind, Julian. It just seems like you haven't considered any other options."

"I— You... But bed sharing – that's what people in a relationship do."

Miles shakes his head, the roll of his eyes softened by a small grin. "He's a smart one, our Julian," he teases, still looking across to Keiko. "Look, Julian... All we're saying is that it's been nice – uh, more than nice, I guess – you being around these past few months, and if you liked it and we liked it, then it doesn't matter what your feelings are, we don't have to stop—Wait, no. Shit." He pauses for a second. "That came out wrong, of course they matter... What I meant was, if you still want to be doing the things we've been doing, then really, we don't care about your feelings—"

Neither Keiko nor Julian manage to hide their amusement. Miles scowls. "You know what I was trying to say!" he grumbles.

"He's a smart one, our Miles," Keiko smiles, nudging Julian. "But he's right. I think what Miles meant to say, is that we're not worried if your feelings for us are different to what you thought they were. We want you in our lives in a way that makes you happy – and if that means you want to put emotional or physical distance between us, then you can, but if you don't want things to change, they don't have to! Does that make sense?"

It does, in a bizarre, upside-down, counterintuitive way. They're both deadly serious, and even if Julian hasn't quite worked out why, he can tell that all his worrying seems to have been for nothing. He sighs, sagging against her. "I should have told you about this weeks ago," he mumbles.

"Maybe," she replies, running a hand through his hair. "Or perhaps it was something you needed to work through for yourself. But you've told us now, and whatever comes next, we'll support you. You do know that, don't you?"

He does now, he thinks, feeling more than a bit rotten that he'd ever doubted them. But then, how could he have guessed that they'd be this fantastically illogical about their relationship?

"You're both amazing," he says earnestly. There's a part of him that wants to say more – to check and double check and triple check they really mean it, to get explicit confirmation they're still in a relationship, and what it even means for a relationship to be half-romantic and half-not. But he needs some time to work up to all that – and besides, it still feels strange to be quite so emotional around Miles – so he opts for the safer route: a joke.

"Well – you are, Keiko. Miles doesn't care about my feelings."

"Hey!"

Who needs romantic love, when you can have this? he thinks, as the familiar sounds of Miles' outrage and Keiko's laughter fill him with warmth. It's an unsteady thought, hesitantly finding its feet among the recent ruins of his belief that without romantic love, he couldn't have this. An hour ago he'd have laughed in its face, but it's there and it's hopeful – and, what's more, it might even be true.

[our-arospec-experience]

being cupio just sucks

.

[unrelaxing]

menstruating and my ass has pmdd so these are just hormones, but -

I was reading through a family's old insurance. It was a couple with one daughter. The couple was born in 1990; their daughter was four. As I looked at this two page .pdf - very similar to the twenty other .pdfs I'd looked at before, I felt a really deep sense of loss about the person I didn't become.

It was a strange feeling, because it wasn't about wanting a husband and a child. It was about not wanting a husband and child. The loss wasn't about what I didn't have, but about not having the desire to have it.

Why didn't I want this could-be-perfect thing? If I could want it, I could work towards it, and I could have this neat little unit that's easily digestible. Neat little one word descriptors. SELF, HUSBAND, CHILD.

I don't even know why I wanted to want it, in that moment. It sounds like a desire for something I felt was easy to want. It wasn't the actual achieving of the thing - a cohesive family unit is actually hard to achieve, and my desire of absolutely nothing is the easiest thing to achieve of all.

Actually, it's not just that I wanted it because it was easy. I also wanted it because in that moment, I wanted to just want something, period. That was the sense of loss I was experiencing. I was mourning something I was missing that a lot of other people weren't.

I feel like in a lot of online spaces, the people I see have already gotten over this stage of their queerness. They're already at pride and acceptance and joy at their identity. I accept it, and I'm open about it, but now I realise that I don't always feel joy, and that I feel like who I am is not just difference, but lacking.

When I thought I was bisexual, I felt different. I could celebrate that difference. Realising I was aromantic and asexual feels less like a difference and more like being incomplete.

[adaines-furious-feast]

Is it healthy for my favourite character to be the personification of a fear I very much have? Possibly note. But they're adorable so...?

[bugwolfsstuff]

I'm sorry I'm not being proud enough the little girl inside me is still clinging to the idea of getting married and kissing on beaches and stuff and being someone's everything because she was told true love was everything and without it she is pathetic.

[confusedsiewmai]

I hate being a romantic at heart, but also being aromantic at heart.

I'm like hehehehe! Romance! Dates! Falling in love! Holding hands! I get giddy at the thought of marriage and having a lifelong partner (in both romantic and queerplatonic way). And then when I have to deal with dates irl, I have to grapple with the fact that I won't ever feel romantic feelings for the person. I hate how I feel almost... analytical, and evaluating the best possible route and weighing pros and cons like a machine.

[twyisontheline]

What if Alastor did try to fall in love with Vox

Thought to share an old radiostatic fluffyangsty headcanon... features internal-angst-about-his-aromanticism!Alastor

CW internalised arophobia

Alastor has never felt romantic attraction or feelings towards someone, in life or death. Now, with how strong amatonormativity is, he did try. He knew (thought) he was supposed to. It never worked. He reached the conclusion that he is fucked up. When he starts killing people, it almost makes sense - he's a psychopath, a monster, it must be related to not being able to love how other people do, how he should. How his mom would want him to love. He feels shame and guilt, even if he tries to push it all back down and tell himself that others are weak because of their feelings and it is something he would never want.

And it is something he doesn't want. But society tells him it makes one's life complete and makes you happy and fulfilled and he wonders. Is he broken in a way that prevents him from experiencing something so important and special?

Then he dies, and overall, life gets kinda easier. In the whole depravity and fucked-upness of Hell, there isn't an ideal happiness to wonder about. There isn't a society wanting you to marry and have kids and be normal and quaint. He can embrace being 'fucked up'.

Then he meets Vox. And slowly, the TV Demon finds a place in his heart. It's not unusual - Alastor does feel affection and platonic love, he knows he is able to feel that. And it has never been an issue that he doesn't feel romantic love, since none of his friends has ever wanted that kind of relationship with him.

Until it becomes an issue. When he realizes that Vox has feelings for him. Feelings that are romantic. That kind of love that he, Alastor, is not able to feel. And this opens the wound again. His fucked-upness could very well make him lose Vox. He doesn't want to lose their friendship - Vox gets him and spending time with him is pleasurable in an unique and special way, and he is not risking it. (He has found something special, regardless of it not being what society says it should.)

So he thinks: "I can make myself love him." He forced himself to be many things in his life and death, he won't let a weakness, a fault, a lack-of-ability, be an obstacle. He is not the weak powerless boy he once was in life. He is the Radio Demon. He takes what he wants. If learning to feel romantic love is what he needs to do to obtain what he wants, he'll do it.

So he tries, and lies to himself a bunch of times in the process, but eventually, he realizes that he is failing. And he sees it as that: a failure. So the mix of shame and guilt is back, like an emotional flashback from his human days that mixes with the shame of not being able to do something. Of being powerless in front of his own faults.

Fluff ensuring after all the angst could be that he finally confesses all this to Vox in a mental breakdown scenario - cause we know Alastor loves to freak out dramatically when he feels powerless - and Vox is like: "Man, calm down, it's not that big of a deal. I am not exactly thrilled at the idea you don't reciprocate my feelings but the idea you have to fake stuff with me and you tried so hard to be something you are not is even more upsetting. ...Plus kinda flattering, honestly, but let's not digress. What i am saying is, you don't have to do it. I am not going to end our friendship over it." And actually, realising that Alastor did all that just not to lose him, it’s more than flattering – it is proof of how deeply Alastor cares for him and loves him, even if his love is platonic. Vox doesn't need more.

And also, while Alastor has no idea that being aromantic is something that exists as a queer identity, Vox, unlike Alastor who doesn't pay attention to most of Sinners cause he lists them as not-entertaining-enough and avoids any place that has a even remotely sexual-relatedness, actually goes out and talks to people and did talk to people while figuring out he was queer. So we can insert here a speech by Vox about sexual/romantic orientation not being an illness etc etc with a bit of backstory about Vox being queer in the fifties and then dealing with his internalised homophobia after his death.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Psst. Hi

Opinions on homophobic Dreamtale? The concept of dream and nm growing up in a gendered, homophobic society. Dream gets internalised homophobia and Nightmare has little opinion about it bc he's already as disgraced as a gay person would be.. the icing on top is Dream being gay, just for the discovery trips sake

That could be interesting if it’s written or done well, given how dream was more “involved” and welcomed into the village (being used and manipulated of course.)

Dream could’ve adopted the villagers beliefs to avoid being rejected or abandoned, especially if any of the villagers showed disdain or disapproval whenever Dream did or said anything “wrong” or “bad”—and approval if he did or said anything the villagers agreed with.

he could very well go on a journey of self discovery and unpacking that internalized homophobia as he grows—when he eventually ventures out into the rest of the Multiverse.

Especially since I’ve heard around that it’s a common view that one of the first people Dream meets is ink, aroace he/they ink lmao. which would definitely help dream, considering dream is canonically demiromantic asexual himself and unless it was changed somewhere, it makes me sad how that is ignored by the fandom.

Dream could go through a journey of unpacking internalized ace and arophobia too.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Needy

A 5 + 1 fic where it’s 5 times the other sides suspect Roman is touch-starved, and 1 time they do something about it. – monkeythefander

Thomas is having a really bad executive dysfunction/burnout day, and it's affecting Logan & Roman the most as his executive function Sides. Everyone ends up in a giant cuddle pile to rest with each other as Thomas learns some self-care. Maybe some gentle bullying into said resting by Janus. Some Remus-classic hug attack & him comforting Roman bc brotherly love. They're all too tired and foggy to care about what they're supposed to be doing (sans Logan & Roman, bc. self-worth issues). Maybe a kinda loopy/tired Janus or Virgil gets possessive over Thomathy like a Mama Hen. No pressure to write this! (/gen) Remember to take care of yourself & rest when ya need to <3 – anon

Hey so if you're doing request and would like to, I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something with aro Roman who still wants a 'romantic' relationship? Maybe with him struggling with internalised arophobia about it and one of the other sides helping him overcome that maybe? Showing that he's still able to have relationships like he wants without feeling romantic attraction and stuff? This might be worded really badly and for that I apologize -w- Even if you don't do this (which is completely fine feel free to ignore me) you should know your writing is absolutely amazing - never fails to make me smile <3 - Princey

Read on Ao3

Warnings: touch starved, internalized arophobia

Pairings: none

Word Count: 5377

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with. But after this morning… Or, five times the Sides thought Roman could be touch-starved, and the one time they did something about it

 

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with.

But after this morning…

It had not been a good morning, admittedly. Thomas had little to no executive function, leaving both him and Roman metaphorically drowning in their own issues. He'd gone over every single notebook he could find, trying to locate some guide to dealing with this, surely this could not be the first time such a thing had occurred, and therefore he must have made some note about what was happening and how to fix it. But tearing his room apart—figuratively speaking—hadn't yielded anything more than a ball of frustration in his chest that refused to unwind and a torn notebook cover. Then, of course, Janus and Virgil happened upon him as he struggled to refill his water bottle and the rest, as they say, is history.

Never let it be said that the two of them aren't determined, he'd thought as he was unceremoniously sunk into the living room to be surrounded by pillows and blankets. A slightly loopy Patton had beamed at him, holding his arms out for cuddles and Janus had none-too-gently hinted that he'd be forced into relaxing whether he liked it or not. And yes, he could admit it felt nice to be held, especially when the others had so quickly joined them on the couch to watch mindless animal documentaries and game show episodes.

But then…well, then he'd noticed that Roman was missing.

Struggling upwards through the fog in his brain, he'd managed to mumble something along the lines of where's Creativity, for Remus was missing too, and Janus had quickly stood up to go look. Logan had tried to get up as well, only for Virgil and Patton to flop on top of him and render him quite motionless. Then Virgil had begun to card his hand through his hair and he lost all ability to focus on anything other than the gentle scratching sensation. He'd only managed to rouse himself from his daze when three more bodies appeared.

"Hey, it's okay, Roro, just come lie down."

"But I have to—we can't just stop, I can't—something's wrong with me—"

The genuine hurt and panic in Roman's voice had cut through the worst of Logan's brain fog and he'd sat up, looking over to see Remus barely restraining Roman with a sheet wrapped around him. Janus was on his other side, trying to reach out too, only for Roman to jerk and whimper every time his hands made contact with the sheet.

"Sweetie, it's okay," he murmurs instead, "one day off isn't going to make or break anything. You need to rest, pushing yourself more now won't help anything. No one's going to be angry at you for taking some time to rest."

Roman's gaze had darted around frantically, finally landing on Logan in the midst of being swaddled by Patton and Virgil. Something had undone itself then, his shoulders sagging as Remus finally coaxed him down to lean against the base of the couch. He'd bent close to mutter something, his hand reaching up to brush Roman's cheek, and Roman had flinched.

It hadn't been large enough for Janus to notice, nor did Remus seem to be surprised by it, but it was there. And for the life of him, Logan hadn't been able to figure out why. Not until he'd noticed that after that, Remus was careful to only touch him through the sheet, and that he never ventured close enough for anyone else to lay a hand on him.

That afternoon, when the worst of the fog began to lift, he'd thought about it again. He'd reached a conclusion that surprised him, so much so that he began to doubt it almost immediately.

Roman couldn't be touch starved, could he?

 

Virgil won't ever claim that he's the nicest to Roman, but he doesn't always go out of his way to be a jerk to him. Case in point: when he notices Roman starts getting scared every time one of them except for Remus gets close enough to accidentally bump into him, he doesn't start trying to get close to Princey on purpose.

He's concerned as hell, though, don't get him wrong. Roman's not exactly what you'd call a shy person, nor is he immune to the general theater kid-ism of getting swept up in dramatic monologues to the point where he's willing to drag people along with him. And most of the time if he's going to touch one of them, he's the one initiating it. Hugs, slaps on the back or the shoulder, high-fives, all of it. It's not like Princey's suddenly gone and declared a no-touchy zone around himself.

But Virgil knows what he's feeling.

He knows the stab of something icy cold in his gut when Patton runs at Roman to give him a hug. He knows the prickle of his skin when Janus leans close to whisper in Roman's ear. He knows the momentary lurch when Logan sits close enough that their arms brush. He knows the tensing of shoulders and the drop in his chest when he goes to ruffle Princey's hair. He knows the shudder when Remus knocks against him. Roman is scared, and what's worse is that Virgil has no idea what he's scared of.

Roman isn't the type of person to just take something lying down, not when it's actually, truly scaring him. Sure, he doesn't speak up all the time when one of them hurts his feelings, and he's long since stopped pretending he can tell when Roman's being honest about whether he wants to do something or Thomas wants to do something—honestly, he's not sure J can tell anymore either—but if something's really, honestly scaring him? Virgil's been sat down and told he can't hide in certain caves in the Imagination because it makes Roman freak out that he might've been gotten by something, or that he can't jump off the cliffs by the ocean anymore because the depth isn't always constant and it gives Roman a heart attack. Not in that way where it's like he's being scolded by a parent—no offense, Pop Star—but in that genuine way of hey, please don't do this, you're scaring me, and he'd said yes every single time.

Which is why this is so confusing. It's not like it's just one person, it's all of them. It's not like Roman's handling it well—well, he might be, if none of the others have noticed what's going on—and it's especially not like he's getting any better. The only thing he can think of is that Roman's suddenly developed this aversion to being touched, but that can't be it either.

Why would Roman have problems with being touched?

 

Patton's been feeling cold lately.

Not himself, not in the way where he needs to go put on his fluffiest sweater and huddle under the blankets with a cup of hot chocolate, but there's a part of his chest that's never really warm anymore. It's beginning to worry him, because that's the part that feels when one of his kiddos is upset.

But who would be cold? Janus is the obvious guess, but he's always wearing at least three layers, gloves, and spends most of his time alone under his heat lamp being a happy little snake puddle. He's also been seen scolding the others for not wearing enough outside or for letting themselves forget to do things like move and ask for help if they need it. So it's probably not Janus.

Logan, then, because for as much as he claims to be sensible, he has a terrible habit of believing himself impervious to some of the things in the Mindscape. Object impermanence, he says, when he's about to walk into a freezing Imagination without a coat. Roman helped scold him out of the worst of that, though, especially when Logan got hurt that one time he tried to look for Roman during a brutal rainstorm.

Virgil? Not likely either. He's never seen without that big hoodie and he's always scrunching himself into little corners and huddling under blankets and making a show of how warm he is. That could be a cover for how cold he actually is, but they've come such a long way from those days. He can still remember what it feels like when Virgil's not comfortable around them, and it's not the same.

Remus, then, but that doesn't feel right either. True, he doesn't have as good a handle on Remus's feelings as he does some of the others, but there's something achingly familiar about this cold. Something that makes it feel like he should know it, or at the very least, know what to do about it.

Which leaves Roman.

As soon as he puts name to it, the cold pulses. He puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, feeling the dull pain of swallowing an ice cube make itself at home in his ribs. He lies back on his bed, pulling the blankets over himself, trying to figure out why Roman feels so, so cold. Is he upset about something? Did a project not go the way he wanted it to? But Roman wasn't the type to be silent about things going wrong with his work, not like this. And it wasn't like him to be quietly cold either—he can still vividly picture the look on Janus's face when Roman came and flopped down next to him under the sun on the Imagination's rock plateau, or snuggling up under the blankets during the winter. Sure, he was a bit of a furnace himself, but that didn't mean he didn't get cold too. But this wasn't that type of cold, this one was deeper, in his bones, in his soul. As though he could be snuggled up under every kind of blanket, in the hottest desert in the world, and still, he might shiver. The kind where being inside a bonfire wouldn't help at all.

Why was Roman so cold?

 

Janus is concerned about Roman. That sentence has run the full circle of 'being concerned that Roman will mess up his plans' to 'something is wrong with the Mindscape's dear little prince and that's concerning.' Right now, however, he's a little too preoccupied to consider the irony.

Is he proud of the fact that he's snooped in on Roman while he's working on his own projects? No. Is he willing to admit that he's done so to someone like, say, Remus, who's already threatened him half a dozen times against doing that very thing? Not likely. Would he risk it anyway because what he's found out is making him worried?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He's not stupid enough to go intrude while Roman's actively in the Imagination, but he is willing to use the trick Remus taught him to investigate further. For the double doors leading into the Imagination, there's a little button on the underside of one of the handles that takes you to wherever the last person went. So, it's a simple matter of waiting for Roman to come back—through his own door, which is difficult enough to recognize—and then going to see where he went last.

He opens the door into a quiet forest. Fireflies twinkle in the dark green leaves, a deep blue sky opening up just above the treetops. A little ways down a dirt path, he sees a simple wooden cabin with a porch swing out front. He walks towards it slowly, footsteps crunching along the path. Just as he gets to the base of the steps, the door opens and a young man looks out.

"Evening," he says, "you're an awfully long way from the village, stranger."

"My apologies for intruding. I only saw a friend come this way and wondered where he'd gotten off to."

"Friend? Ah, you must be a friend of the prince's. Yes, you've just missed him, sorry to say, he's gone off that way."

"I see." Janus looks him up and down. A perfectly ordinary man, bearded chin turning up as he smiles. "I'm sure you can understand my unwillingness to just take your word for it."

"No, I understand. I can assure you I mean your friend no harm." He closes the door and comes down the steps, taking a seat and motioning for Janus to do the same. "He's been coming here for, oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Quite a while now."

"And what is it you do?"

"Talk, mostly. He helps me tend to the garden around the back—I told him it wasn't my place to accept the help of a prince and he told me not to think of him as the prince, then." He huffs a laugh. "He's a very thoughtful man, your friend."

"He is."

The man looks up at the stars for a moment, before he turns to Janus. "Forgive my questioning, but as his friend, I must confess, I am worried about him."

Janus sits up. "Oh?"

"I offered him payment, of course, or some form of compensation for helping me, but he refused all except for one thing." Here he shifts. "Tell me, if it's not too much, has the prince always been…cold?"

"Cold? How do you mean?"

"The only thing he would accept or request from me is touch. An embrace, or something so small as a hand on his shoulder. I have offered him a seat at my table for a warm meal and he treats it as though it is the finest of offerings from a neighboring kingdom." The man's expression grows more worried still. "In the winters, when I can hardly send him off into the night, he knows he has a place in my bed, but he—"

"Oh, he does, does he?"

The man gives him an almost scolding look. "Not like that. My dwelling is humble but the bed is warm and we are not creatures to deny the warmth of another. But he reacts as though I had given him riches when they are but simple touches."

Janus is quiet for a long moment. Roman sneaks in here to…what, to cuddle? To be touched? To enjoy companionship so simple and pure it belongs in some fairy tale? And then to have to be coaxed into it, reassured that it is freely offered, even if under the guise of huddling together for warmth.

"I didn't know it was like this," he says eventually, "and I thank you for being able to provide him some comfort. Stubborn man often refuses to take it."

"That I know. Would you permit me, if it is not too rude, to ask if you could see that his needs are better met?" He gestures around them. "There is only so much I can do."

"I will do my best."

"Thank you, stranger," the man says and rests his hand on Janus's shoulder.

And Janus wants to weep. Because this isn't touch. The man's hand feels scarcely more substantial than a piece of tissue paper resting atop his cloak. There's no warmth, no solidity, hardly anything more than a whisper of a promise that comes from seeing the hand there and knowing there must be some form of sensation to go with it.

If all Roman is subsisting on are touches like this, what must an actual touch feel like to him?

 

Remus knows his brother is touch starved. He's furious about it.

Because there's only so much he can do by himself, only so many times he can tackle his brother to the bed and smother him with cuddles, and Roman doesn't let him do it where anyone else could see. Why? Because Roman's terrified of being needy, that's why, and apparently letting himself be comforted in the way he needs to be comforted is a bad thing all of a sudden. Doesn't matter that Virgil needs to be squished back into his own body sometimes, doesn't matter that Logan keeps reminding them that they're social animals who need to spend time together, nope, none of that matters. What matters is that Roman is scared of letting them know he actually wants something and that means Remus has to bully his brother into letting him cuddle him because hey, guess what, he loves his brother and that means he's gonna take care of him.

He's not actually mad at Roman. No, it's not Roro's fault he's scared. It's not his fault that far too much of the meetings and Thomas working through things has come off as Roman not being allowed to want things just for the sake of wanting them. Ro's too good for that. He's too good at being quiet about stuff he actually needs, never mind the fact that if Roman actually told them what it was he really wanted, they'd never believe him. Because come on, a hug? A cuddle? Just the ability to say I need a hug and get one without any sort of teasing or mocking? Since when did Roman dream so small?

It wasn't small. That was the problem. To Roman, it's everything.

He didn't end up following through on his promise when Janus confessed what he'd done, only in part because he already looked so distraught that anything else wouldn't have done anything. No, Janus telling him about the cabin with the sweet man who just wanted to make sure Ro was okay made Remus cry out of sheer frustration. Because he's all too familiar with how insubstantial Imagination creations can be, especially when it's to supplement something like actual physical contact. And Roman, his sweet, stupid, sappy brother, was never going to be able to get by with Imagination touch alone.

Not to discount the man in the cabin. Remus has met him a few times, he's really a sweet guy. But that's partly because the Imagination knows Ro, the same way it knows Remus, and so it tries to give him the things he needs in between giving him all the things he wants too.

And apparently, what Roman needs is someone kind, patient, sweet, and caring enough to give him the physical affection he won't dare tell anyone else he's starved for.

So yeah. Remus is pissed.

+1.

It's the most humiliating thing in the world, to want to be special.

To want to have someone look at you out of everyone in the room and say that one, you, yes, I want you. To be the exception. To just be something a little bit different from everything else. To be the one for whom they have a soft spot.

A single room. A bed or a chair or a rug on the floor. A window or no window at all. A fireplace, lit or unlit. A door in the back, open or closed. Quiet footsteps or loud footsteps crossing the room, a blanket or a coat draped over shoulders as another body lowers itself. There you are or you look cold or a soft hum or nothing at all. Arms wrapping gently about shoulders or waists or just brushing against each other. Gentle kisses to the crown of the head or the temple or the cheek, or no kisses at all. Murmurings or soft worried questions or knowing silences. Warmth, always warmth. Warmth and solidity and endless unspoken affection.

Cuddled in a too-big bed with gentle whispers and firm touches. Surprised by a hug from behind, a teasing kiss pressed to a shoulder. Spotted across the room and a smile, arms opening, the come here spoken or unspoken and no less clear in either.

Yes, a humiliating thing indeed.

How can you ask to want to be special? How can you look someone in the face and tell them you care not for the work it takes to grow so close? How can you ask them to give you a place in their hearts when you don't want to give them one in yours, not in the same way? How can you want something that you could never fully appreciate, because you could never see yourself giving the same to someone else?

Give me this, you say, I want it. I want to know what it feels like.

Will you give it back to me, they say, if I give it to you?

You can't. You don't know how. You aren't capable of it. That's for other people, people who do know how to do it. It's better for them to be that for each other, after all, and not for you. You don't get that. You won't ever get it. How could you ever hope to be that kind of special? How could you ever hope for someone to choose you? What do you have that they couldn't get, a thousand times over, in someone else?

You can be liked. You can even be loved. But you will never be chosen.

It is easier, then, a voice whispers in the back of your head, to not have at all. Why would you chase crumbs when you could eat by yourself? You needn't hide under their tables. You could eat on your own. You could have your own food.

And so you do. You make your own and you smell the aromas wafting from their tables and you bite down on your own bland creations. You like them, you do, but sometimes you get a glimpse of what sorts of things they eat and your mouth waters but your stomach never grows any hungrier. You fill your mind with the thought of how good it must taste, what you imagine it to taste like. You wrap your arms around yourself and imagine a full, content stomach. You imagine someone noticing when you get a little hungry and bringing you something they think you might like to eat. But you will never be someone's first choice of dinner companion.

You watch the hugs and touches and kisses and you imagine what it might be like to be a vessel for such affection. You do not position yourself close enough to catch the runoff from the fountain because that will only make it clear how empty you are. You sit bone dry on a nearby shelf and take comfort in the shade for it reminds you of how cool the water must feel. And when it is dark and the fountain has shut off for the night, you think of how it would feel to have someone pour in the cool, gentle water until it laps against the lip at the top. Perfectly filled, just for you. It won't be, it won't ever be, but in the cool of the dark you imagine it could.

You will only be special to the things that you make to treat you as special. They give you some relief, the flat words on pieces of paper describing how badly you wish to be cherished or nourished. The phantoms you conjure in your own imagination whose only purpose is to love you, absent of the realities of touch and only there to give you the idea of it. You tell yourself a thousand stories of being loved, being cared for, being chosen and that never makes it any more real.

You take the humiliation of wanting to be special and bundle it into a cloak, wrapping it about your fragile chest as though the shame of it would deign to warm you.

***

"Is this really how you feel, Ro?"

Roman doesn't look up, the choked voice coming out of Remus enough to let him know how his brother is feeling. He shrugs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as Remus sniffles. "I just…yeah."

"You're allowed to want stuff, Ro, especially if it's how you want to be cared for."

"But it's not—it's not fair. I can't—I can't do that, so I can't—how can I ask someone to give me something when they're not gonna get anything out of it?"

"Because it's not like they wouldn't get anything out of it." Roman turns away, face burning with shame, humiliation, a cocktail of the two, and the paper rustles as Remus puts it down. "Okay, okay, think of it this way: I ask you to do stuff for me to help ground me and pull me out of spirals, right?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't do that for you."

"Yes, you do."

"Right, but I don't do the same thing. I love you and support you in the way that you need it."

"But I can't—how can I ask someone to get into a relationship with me when I'm never gonna feel like that for them? That's what most people talk about! They feel unloved and it makes them sad and they—and then they break up and I can't hurt someone like that, Re, I can't—"

"Shh, shh, hey, hey, Roro." Remus is up and out of the chair and Roman's shrinking back before he even touches him. "I'm not—okay, I won't touch you."

He relaxes a tiny bit.

"You care about people," Remus continues, "you care a lot about people. And you're really good at making them feel cared about. You know how many times one of the others comes up to me because they can't find you to tell you how much they appreciate you? 'Cause it's a lot, Ro-bro, it's a whole hell of a lot."

Roman peeks out at Remus. He's on his knees near Roman's chair. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. They care so much about you, Roro. They want to care about you. So badly. Do you have any idea how much we've—god, no, you don't. You don't know."

"Know what?"

Remus sighs heavily. "Janus followed you to the cabin a few weeks ago."

Roman freezes.

Then he panics and because he panics, Virgil shows up. And because he can't tell Virgil the truth, Janus shows up. And because the two of them just disappeared out of nowhere, Patton and Logan show up to see what's going on. And now all of them are here and his soul is scrawled out on a piece of paper right there and Remus is reaching up to try and touch him and—

Everything stutters to a stop when warm, solid, real hands cup his face.

"Ro," comes Remus's voice, past the muffled everything of the world, "it's okay. I'm telling you it's okay. We're all worried, Roro, that's all this is. See? Everyone's just worried."

He blinks through the panicked fog to see concern written plainly across each of their faces. But the warmth won't let him think and soon he's squeezing his eyes shut again, a mortifying noise leaving his throat.

"Come let us help you," Remus is saying, "come get cuddles and kisses and everything, okay? It's okay, Roro, it's okay."

And because Roman is weak and stupid and already humiliated, he nods.

"Thank fuck," he hears distantly before there are strong, solid arms around him, hefting him up out of the chair like he weighs nothing, "hey, Princey, shh-shh-shh, it's just me, it's just Virgil."

Virgil carries him over to something soft, something else warm opening its arms to meet them. He's lowered against something else warm and solid and smelling faintly of sunflowers and there's a real kiss against his cheek.

"Sweet prince," he hears, and his mind belatedly supplies Janus, "sweet, dear prince, oh, you poor thing…you're so cold, sweetie."

"Come here, come get him under the blankets." Patton, his fading brain gives him as the faint smell of fresh cookies surrounds him with warmth, "hey, baby, it's okay. We're gonna look after you now, okay?"

Everything is too much. Everything is too much and too warm and too real and too good and Roman can't have this, he can't have this, he's being selfish, he's being awful, he's going to end up hurting someone, especially himself, and then something cool and dark falls across his face and another kiss brushes the spot just behind his ear.

"Breathe," Logan's deep voice instructs, a hand running up and down his back, "breathe, Roman."

His breath comes in great, whooping gasps, but he's breathing. A hand slips down to rest over his stomach and he near sobs with the relief of it.

"Hush, it's alright, we won't go anywhere until you're feeling much better. Just focus on us, alright? Can you do that, my dear?"

Roman will do anything if Logan keeps speaking to him so tenderly. He does his best to block out the thoughts swirling around and around, instead trying to feel the puff of Logan's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his hand on his stomach, the weight of Patton adjusting the blanket, the way Virgil's hand cards through his hair, one of his hands held in several of Janus's. He takes one deep breath in, then another, then another, and the sobs leave him with a foreign softness.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Patton murmurs, "so well."

"It's bad," Virgil says, more to the others than to him, "he's really out of it. He's gonna need a lot of support going forward."

"Oh, no," Janus teases, "whatever shall we do? Cuddle our sweet prince until he feels better? Tell him how much we care for him? I couldn't imagine a worse fate."

"Shush," Logan scolds, far too fond to be a true indictment before he kisses Roman's forehead, "now's not the time for jokes. Roman needs our help still."

"He's overwhelmed." Remus shuffles up close to him, pressing his side against Roman's. "Let him go to sleep about it."

"Do you need to sleep, little one? That's alright, shh, yes, that's it, close your eyes, now…sleep, my dear, we'll be here when you wake up."

Deep in the Imagination, a bird carries a letter to a little wooden cabin. A man opens the door and takes the letter, smiling as he reads what's written upon it.

He will be taken care of. Thank you.

"It is my pleasure, as always," he says, and he knows somehow the prince will hear it, "and you are always welcome to come back."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[the1970sdeadgaywizard-regulus]

I will be cursing in this post, fair warning

Fucking moots, man.

They have witnessed some of my worse moments

Moments I don’t dare talk about irl

Moments I barely talk about irl

These fucks don’t care

They don’t

They are such loving people and I cannot believe that I have them

They have heard of friends (close one, at that) deadnaming me

They have heard about that fucking jerks I used to call my friends (the ones who said sexist things, then told me I was childish for having boundaries)

Today, they heard of worse things. My fucking identity crisis that has been going on for a long fucking time. Is it internalised arophobia at myself? Probably. Is it internalised transphobia at myself? There is a chance

These idiots (/aff) do not care

They have heard wonderful things

Of my marriage

Of me changing my name. Finding my name

Of me adopting a fucking family

I do not know how they deal with me. I barely deal with me. Not in a bad way, I just am a fucking person with a shit ton of stuff to work through

I say shit about myself

They do not care

Fuck

I fucking love my moots, man

[our-arospec-experience]

i'm aroace and have bpd. my friendships can be so intense and i've had many people in my life i retrospectively call "crushes" or "people i was in love with". i always tell people i'm aroace in roundabout ways with a bunch of disclaimers and "maybe it'll change! just not right now!"s because otherwise they'll talk to me as if i'm demi or just jaded and haven't found the one. but i know how i feel. i've always felt this way.

still, i crave intense relationships and become incredibly attached to people, who i can't pursue romantically because i don't love them romantically. it's heartbreaking to love someone the most i could ever love someone but to them it'll likely never be worth as much as a romantic relationship. hearing stories of aroace people in happy relationships that respect their aromanticism gives me a lot of hope, but i just don't hear those stories a lot.

I'm sorry you've had such a tough experience, I hope you have people in you life who support you for who you are.

[mlm-blues]

internalised arophobia going crazy romance repulsion going crazyyy but idc i did just write a really sappy love letter to him

[aliilaa]

TW Internalised Arophobia, Vent/Vent Art

"Why must my heart be like this?"

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of being on the aromantic spectrum (demiromantic to be specific). But being chronically lonely also makes me yearn for the romantic feelings my peers feel so easily, so that I can easily find my 'special someone' or whatever. I know QPRs exist, and it is something that I wouldn't mind, but I go to a school with very little knowledge on LGBTQIA+ topics, so no one would understand what that means. I don't work and I have no third-place social life so I'm stuck. I love love but I can't pursue something fulfilling until I'm an adult because of limitations in my life and my own romantic orientation.