#spirals into self deprication and self doubt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonusite · 6 months

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Absolutely no one asked but here's my headcannon for nerd!shua x cheerleader!yn's first I love you to each other:

You and Josh have had a fight, the biggest one you've had since you started officially dating, though you had been seeing and getting to know each other for a good while before then under the pretense of being a casual hook up. Maybe it started off as something small, but whatever it was that started the fight, it escalated and words were thrown, feelings were hurt and you stormed out of his appartment that you were steadily becoming more and more familiar with.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad had you run off, slamming the front door in your wake (Mingyu had always said that you had a terrible temper), but after chasing the nerd of your dreams and finally getting him where you want him, maybe you were feeling a little tired of the constant chasing. Maybe, for once, you wanted him to be the one that chased you, wanted him to make you feel special, feel wanted, feel like you were worth being more than a good fuck or a pretty face. Sure, there was no reason for you to be insecure, especially when Josh has done nothing but shown you that he's very much attracted to you, but there's still that little voice in the back of your head that says he's just like everyone else, that he doesn't see past the external beauty, that he doesn't actually care for who you are beyond the hot cheerleader with a hot body, that maybe, just maybe, if he actually gave a damn about you and your relationship that he wouldn't have given up so easily, that he'd fight to keep you around. But he didn't. So here you are. And that's where you guys are at the moment.

It's almost like a scene from a movie, it's absolutely pouring outside, the air is chilly, it's a dark winter evening. Nothing in the day has gone right and it seems like the weather is reflecting that. At first, you're bitter. You're angry that even after everything, Josh still maintains his cold and stoic persona. You thought that maybe you had started to chip away at the cold exterior he always puts up, but the second things started going south, it was like all the work you had done to get Josh to open up to you was undone in an instant. Your first instinct is to be angry and lash out. Despite having left his appartment hours ago, it's like you can't get the fight out of your system, throwing (soft!! And non breakable let's be responsible guys) things around and screaming into your empty apartment, doing anything you can get rid yourself of that burning, that itch that seems to fill your entire being.

After the anger comes the sadness, the loneliness. You begin to doubt, yet again. Was it your fault? Was there something that you did to cause it? Were you just not good enough? The self-loathing, the self-deprication, it all fills you up all at once and you cry. You begin to spiral, wondering why every one of your relationships seems to end in a similar fashion, why no one has ever cared enough to stay. Josh certainly isn't your first boyfriend, and though you'd never admit it (not in that moment at least) there's a part of you that wished he would've been the last. You wallow in self pity for a bit, finally getting all the pent up emotions from the day's events out of your body, finally waiting for the release of acceptance and you to finally start moving on.

Except you never get there. Try as you might, you can't stop the gnawing feeling at your chest, the weight your feel on your shoulders, the way your left hand twitches, longing for something that feels suspiciously like Joshua's right one. Unlike past relationships, you're not able to move on, put on a brave face, keep your head held high and move on like you never even hurt in the first place. At first, you're confused. You've never had a problem moving on quickly and efficiently before, there's no reason for there to be a problem now. You try to convince yourself that this is just the same as it's always been, and that maybe you just need a bit more time this time. But not, there's that annoying little voice in the back of your head, saying 3 little words that absolutely terrifies you, telling you that you can't shake Joshua because he means more to you than the guys in the past, that your affections for him are no longer just teetering into unknown territory, that you've already jumped into the deep end.

You know yourself better than anyone, and that's precisely why you know the budding feelings you have for your the cute nerd from your calculus class are more than just a simple crush. You know what you're feeling goes beyond that, that once you started dating and he started playing the part of the doting boyfriend, that you were a goner, completely at his mercy. You knew, and despite all of it, you were okay with it. You were okay with being vulnerable, with being weak, with having all your cards on the table because for him, you'd do just about anything.

It hits you that the morning might've been your last time to ever hug Joshua, to ever kiss him, to see that brilliant smile of his directed at you. You swallow, a lump in your throat that never seems to get any better no matter how much water or tea you've had. There's a heaviness that weighs down on you, and you know it's not just the blanket you have wrapped around you. It's the inexplicable feeling of a loss that makes the room heavy, makes your head hurt and makes you feel like you're drowning. You've lost the person that's made you the happiest you've ever been, and for what? Because of some stupid fight that you can't even remember the cause of?

With that, you stand because no, you won't let this be the end of things and no, for once, you're not going to just move on and let go. Joshua means something to you dammit, and you're going to make sure that if this is really the end, you've done everything in your power to at least try to fix things and make things better.

Marching your way to the door, you pull it open just to find the exact person you were looking to hunt down, a raised fist to knock and a shocked expression on his face. He's soaked, seeming to not care about bringing an umbrella on his walk from his appartment. Even in the dim light of your appartment hallway, you can see that his face is blotchy and red, his eyes swollen and irritated. Whatever turmoil you've put yourself through, he seems to have had a similar experience. Wordlessly, you open the door just a bit wider, stepping back to let him in. He walks in, but doesn't walk far, opting to simply turn and look at you, a desperate pleading look in his eyes.

There's silence for a moment, nothing but the weight of the tension between you. He takes a shaky breath and you can barely hear the words "I'm sorry" and "I love you" leave his lips before you're pouncing on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips together in a desperate attempt to convey all your feelings into on action. He kisses you back with the same ferocity, pulling you tight against his body as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go for just a second.

When you break for air, he rests his forehead on yours, taking your presence in. You manage to choke out an "I love you too" in the middle of your crying, clinging to him tightly, loving the familiarity and comfort that comes with his scent, his touch. He hushes you, pulling you into another kiss again. You still have a lot to talk about and work through, but you suddenly feel a million times lighter, knowing that everything is gonna be okay again.

Oops I realize I kinda just ,,, threw this at you but this idea has been kind of eating away at my brain for a while and I feel like I needed to just get it out of my brain LOOOL

#you devoured once again #no crumbs left behind #brb gonna go sob #this was everything #ask #thatgirlfromwindsor

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justageektoo · 1 year

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What is your worth?

I struggle sometimes to see the worth of what I'm doing, or of what I am. Sometimes both at the same time. Currently I am sitting in the computer lab of the university I'm attending, working yet another day on the seismic profiles of my Master's Thesis, thinking "what makes your work 'worthy'". I don't mean it in the sense of some grander sociopolitical sense, but rather what makes your life generally or in this very moment, worthy?

The first thing that comes to mind is a distant but gentle voice saying "To be kind," but what if by virtue of me sitting in this lab pulling lines from one side of the screen to the other in Petrel I don't meet anyone. What if there is nobody to be kind to?

I'm currently working on this project on a weekend, a saturday, and I intent to sleep on the couch in one of the anjoining meeting rooms. I have to, because the deadline is a few months away and I haven't been working as hard as I should have. Working two hours away from the work station makes it harder to get out the door, so I have started to stay the night.

I tell myself it's because I've been struggling mentally, but on bad days (or good depending on how you look at it) I know I could have done more. I feel like I SHOULD have done more. Nobody else are working weekends so I don't get to talk to someone to be kind to. On week days however the lab is full, but I try to look inconspicuous so as to not be disturbed. I know I wont get any work done once I start to have conversation since I cannot multitask even if my life depended on it. Maybe if I brought cake it wouldn't matter as much because I had brought something for them to enjoy. Is my worth cake?

I get to university by train, so I can be kind on the way to and fro. I can and have helped new parents get their baby carts down the stairs of the train, or helped carry the walking aid of an elderly. Is that kind enough? Is that my worth?

On some days it feels like its all I can do and therefore it must be enough, but on some days like today it doesn't feel like it. Sometimes a thing happened during the day that feels like it counteracted the kind things I did. But does a negative experience counteract a positive? If I'm an ass one moment and kind the next does it counteract the kindness? Is your worth the sum of your deeds and should I be keeping a tally so that the next time I ask myself about my worth I'll have a definitive answer.

What if your real worth is to be kind to yourself? To not let the voice in your head talk your down and to give yourself some slack from your own inherent sense of worthlessness... of loneliness from sitting in a computer lab all day.

What if that's just an excuse to not think about that time you definitely shouldered someone on the way to work because they were in deep conversation with someone else and didn't realise or care to make space for you on the walkway. You were an ass then, for sure.

I think this is technically what they call spiraling selv doubt. One question, replaced by a statement, replaced by a self-depricating rant, replaced by yet another question. What is your worth?

#introspection #self worth #reflection #my posts #diary

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thosefookinavacados · 3 years

Text

Guilt is the worst thing you can feel.

#Specially when hurting them was the last thing you wanted #and you didn't do it on purpose #spirals into self deprication and self doubt #and the inescapable fear of losing them

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Not So Serious

Prompt: ayoooo I’m like-obsessed with your writing style omg if your requests are open I’d love to see some good good logince hurt/comfort where Roman has a crush on Logan and gets this idea that he’s not serious enough for Logan to like him at all so Roman completely changes himself only for Logan to wonder where the man he’s in love with went.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: logince, as on the tin

Warnings: roman’s a little bit of a self-doubting and self-depricating boi but other than that none! we are happy now!

Word Count: 5340

Roman knows he’s the least important of the Light Sides. Or at the very least, the one that Thomas listens to the least.

That’s okay.

It’s not, not really, but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that most of it can be chalked up to the fact that he’s the least serious Side. He’s the dreamer, the fanatic, the one whose head is permanently in the clouds. He sings, he dances, he acts, he plays. And that’s his job! He’s Creativity, for Shakespeare’s sake, and if he’s not, well, what good is he?

Well, he’s not much good when he is Creativity, but that’s beside the point.

But Thomas needs him to be serious. Patton, for all his lightheartedness, knows how to be serious when the time calls for it. And behind all those jokes and smiles and corny lines that make all of them want to cringe a little, he’s talking about, arguably, the most serious thing there is. What’s right and what’s wrong. No matter how you slice it, that’s serious. And he’s Thomas’s heart! How can you not take that seriously?

Then there’s Virgil, who Roman considers a Light Side. Virgil demands to be taken seriously. Not verbally, but come on, he’s Anxiety. Mental stuff is no joke, and they’ve had enough close calls to know that for sure. Virgil’s a snarky bastard, but he rarely says something he doesn’t actually mean. He keeps them safe when none of the others know what to do and honestly? That’s serious stuff. Virgil’s got enough on his plate.

Then there’s Logan.

Logan.

Roman could go on for days about Logan. He won’t, but he could.

Logan is Logic. Perhaps more than anything else, Thomas needs Logic. And Logan. Logan is always present, whether he’s there physically or not, and his voice is always going to be heard in the conversation sooner or later. He breaks down the biggest problems Roman’s ever seen until they’re manageable chunks, so much so that it’s ridiculous that they were ever big in the first place. He talks them through everything, slowly and surely. He makes everything look easy.

And that’s all the more impressive because Roman knows it’s not.

It’s not easy to do what Logan does. It’s not easy for Logan to always make himself heard. It’s not easy to carry the single brain cell in any given conversation.

But he does and it’s wonderful.

Logan is serious. His job is serious. That doesn’t mean he’s serious all the time, no, Roman’s seen him snap a quip faster than anything with a smirk on his face, and their bond over Crofter’s is legendary. And he knows the gleam that means Logan is immensely satisfied with whatever insult he’s come up with to shut Roman down. Even through the hurt of a new bruise forming on Thomas’s ego, he has to smile because it’s so satisfying to watch someone just be very good at something.

He’s also incredible at calming them all down. He’s so sweet and kind and gentle in all the right ways and you will never convince Roman that Logan knows nothing about emotions. Come on, he’s the most intelligent Side, that extends to emotional intelligence too. The amount of times he’s been able to rip them out of some horrible spiral with just a simple touch or a word is too high for Roman to count. And he never asks for anything, he just does it. Because he’s good like that.

Roman would be an utter, utter fool if he didn’t take Logan seriously. He doesn’t dare underestimate him, never again, not after that rap battle. He doesn’t try to speak over him, not once everyone’s actually paying attention and Logan’s clearly trying to say something. He listens, he tries, he takes him seriously.

But sometimes Logan needs to not be serious! He can see when the strain gets a little too much and he needs to cut someone down to size.

Well, here’s Roman!

And yes, it’s worth it. It’s always worth it. Logan smiles and it’s like the sun comes out. Yes, that’s a cliché but we all know clichés are cliché for a reason. Logan smiles, the sun comes out, and Roman wants to bathe in it. Wants to sit and listen to Logan talk about anything just so he’ll keep smiling, keep talking, keep being Logan. Logan is serious, but serious isn’t always Logan.

Isn’t always.

Most of the time, though…

Most of the time, it looks like Logan is thrilled to not have to stand next to Roman.

Most of the time, it seems like every time Roman opens his mouth, Logan’s trying not to roll his eyes or is just listening out of politeness. And every time he pitches an idea, it seems like Logan’s getting just as much enjoyment out of leaving the meetings as he does when he doesn’t find anything wrong with it.

Most of the time, that 0.5% hangs in the air between them like a moat.

Roman doesn’t want that. Roman doesn’t want Logan to view him as a diametrically opposed foe, he doesn’t want to be Logan’s other side of the coin, he doesn’t want Logan to think he’s only worth 0.5% of a day.

But 0.5% is all he gets if he stays Roman.

It’s not big changes, nothing that would compromise Thomas, but they’re noticeable. At least he hopes so.

He stops singing out loud in the common areas and instead has a headphone in when he wants to listen to something. He reads in the chair—sitting properly, not with his limbs haphazardly thrown about like he’s a newly made life form with no idea how muscles work—and keeps his comments to himself, written down in a notebook or in his head. He asks politely if Logan wants to come on a walk through the Imagination and conjures up something simple. A forest path, or a garden, or a small town road. None of the fantastical woods, magic castles, or treacherous mountains that he’s so fond of, because those are daydreams.

He’s quieter outside of videos. Sure, he’s still as obnoxious as ever when the cameras are on, but they tend to exaggerate themselves when they’re being filmed anyway. So it won’t be too much of a surprise when he’s not like that when the cameras are off. He doesn’t speak as much—well, he doesn’t monologue as much. He speaks when spoken to, he’s as courteous as he knows how to be, and he tries to be serious. Even if his job is anything but.

He could tell you it’s exhausting what he does for the videos and he’d rather not do it when he doesn’t have to.

He could tell you it’s because it would be better for Thomas if they all got along well.

He could tell you it’s because he wants a healthier and more productive working relationship with Logan.

He could tell you all of these things.

Whether or not you believe him is up to you.

…because Roman might be the actor, but he’s never been a particularly good liar. And deep down—not that deep down—we all know why he wants to be more serious, don’t we?

Logan doesn’t like fantasy. Logan doesn’t like excessive noise. Logan doesn’t like someone who can’t be serious.

Logan is kind and perfect and wonderful and smart and so many things.

And above all, Logan is serious.

Roman can work with that.

———————————————————————

“Hey, Specs! Do you have time to brainstorm?”

“It will have to be quick, Roman, I’ve not much time to spare.”

“Oh. That’s alright, then, we can do it later.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course! I know how important your schedule is for you, please, don’t worry about it.”

“Ah. I see. Well, thank you, Roman.”

They never do end up having that brainstorm. Not alone.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“Would it be alright if I played music? I’ll keep it low.”

“…we can try, though I usually prefer working in silence.”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll just go—“

“Let’s try?”

“If you’re sure.”

Roman ends up getting his headphones after a few minutes.

“Roman?”

“Yes, my d—Logan?”

“…were you going to say something else?”

“No, no, I got lost in my head again, I thought you were…someone else.”

“It may be worth practicing getting out of your head, Roman.”

“I know.”

He never quite manages, but he’s trying.

“Ro—oh.”

“Logan? Is something wrong?”

“You’ve changed your room. Your…your paintings, your drawings, they’re…where did you put them?”

“Oh, I got rid of them.”

“Got rid of them?”

“Yes. Surely you know how difficult it can be to work in a crowded space?”

“…yes, I suppose I do.”

Logan doesn’t comment on the fact that Roman’s room isn’t quite so red anymore either.

“Roman?”

“Yes?”

“This idea, it seems…quite…realistic.”

“Is that not the point, Sp—Logan?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“Besides, from a practical standpoint, we’re operating with a limited budget here. The scope of the videos has to be adjusted accordingly.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re correct.”

Logan doesn’t mention that it doesn’t necessarily feel like Roman’s idea.

“Roman?”

“Yes?”

“Care to comment?”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly content.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.”

Logan doesn’t ask again.

———————————————————————

Logan is really confused.

Something’s wrong with Roman, that much is obvious, but he can’t figure out what. Roman’s been quiet lately, outside of the videos, but even in the videos, he’s been different. He’s not talking as much anymore, not going on his incredibly passionate rants that one can feel if they just listen hard enough. He’s not risen to the bait for weeks now, preferring instead to…talk. Or listen. His room is suspiciously absent of his paintings and drawings that make Logan want to sit and stare and lose track of time.

And he’s stopped singing.

That’s a definite indicator that something’s wrong.

But he can’t figure out what.

None of them are fighting; Patton and Virgil have noticed that something is different, certainly, but they don’t know—they can’t figure out exactly what. They would have told him if they had a disagreement with Roman, but they haven’t.

Thomas isn’t being affected by it. In fact, he hasn’t noticed that anything’s wrong.

And on the surface, Roman seems fine, but Logan knows better.

He stops in front of his whiteboard, staring hard at the pieces of information he has written down.

Roman is no longer singing or playing music out loud outside of his room.

Roman is changing the ideas that he brings to the brainstorming sessions. He claims they are meant to be more ‘practical’ and easier to budget.

Roman does not insist that we spend time with him anymore.

Roman is quiet and no longer engages in ‘banter’ exchanges with me.

Roman no longer brings me to the elaborate places in the Imagination.

Roman no longer gives me nicknames.

Has…has Logan done something to Roman?

He doesn’t think he has. He hasn’t—he hasn’t shot down any ideas lately, and certainly none so much as to trigger such a drastic change. There have been no arguments. There have been no big changes for Thomas.

He finds himself twisting the cap of the marker back and forth as he focuses on the period at the end of the last sentence written. Perhaps…perhaps Roman is simply going through a rough patch? Occasionally the prince will lapse into a ‘grayer’ state, for lack of a better term, where he exhibits fewer of his energetic tendencies, but none have gone on for such a duration. Additionally, his behavior in videos has not altered as significantly as would indicate this as the cause.

Perhaps I should try to talk to him about it.

Logan nods sharply to himself and turns, walking out of his room toward Roman’s. The red door looms there, slightly ajar. Frowning, Logan raps on it gently with his knuckles.

“Roman? May I come in?”

No response.

“Roman?” Logan eases the door open. “Roman?”

No sign of Roman. The bathroom door isn’t locked, his laptop isn’t open, his phone is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Roman simply forgot to close his door all the way. Logan shuts it carefully and turns to head downstairs.

“Virgil? Patton?”

Virgil glances up from his phone. “What’s up, L?”

Ignoring the little flutter in his chest at the first nickname he’s been called in a while, Logan adjusts his glasses and glances around. “Have you seen Roman?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Pat? Have you?”

“I think he said he was going into the Imagination but he’d be back for dinner?”

Logan nods. “Thank you both.”

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Can you, uh—“ Patton wrings his hands for a moment— “can you ask him what’s wrong for us?”

“Princey’s been off for a while, we wanna know why but he won’t tell us.”

Logan blinks. “Considering I was on my way to ask him the same thing, I take it he’s been as…hesitant to share any information with you as he has with me?”

Their nods make something twist in his chest.

“If he’s gonna tell anyone,” Virgil mutters as he turns to go, “it’ll be you.”

Logan pauses. “Excuse me?”

Virgil shrugs. “You’re his favorite, L. He thinks the sun shines outta your face.”

Despite himself, Logan feels heat rush to his cheeks. “I’m quite sure you’re confusing me for Patton, Virgil.”

“Oh, no, Princey’s got it bad f—“

“Virgil!”

“Oh come on,” Virgil groans, his head lolling on the couch as he turns to look at Patton, “you’ve noticed it too.”

“But that’s not our secret to tell!”

“Shit. Yeah, you’re right. Oops.”

“Wait, wait,” Logan stammers, quickly trying to get a grasp of the situation, “you—Roman what?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry, Logan. I already fucked up. You’re gonna have to ask him. And hey, you were on your way to do just that!”

Logan narrows his eyes but Virgil shrugs, undaunted. He turns and pointedly does not run up the stairs.

The door to the Imagination is ajar. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open, expecting to meet some fantastical landscape, a village, or a castle, perhaps.

He doesn’t expect to wander into what looks like the grand foyer of some Victorian mansion.

The door shuts behind him with a thud that echoes gently around the room. His shoes aren’t particularly loud but his steps make resounding clicks as he walks through the halls. The walls are elegantly crafted, with artful splashes of color here and there. He comes to a grand staircase and has to swallow heavily at the richness of the wood under his fingers as he climbs slowly, slowly up.

There’s something here, he decides, that’s not been here for a while. Not since he started accompanying Roman more often. He remembers the first time, where he’d wearily said he didn’t have the patience for an adventure and had been pleasantly surprised by Roman’s offer of a simple walk. Each walk after that had been lovely, truly, but it was always painfully obvious that it was in the Imagination.

Now, though? Now the walls seem to curve about Logan as he walks, like petals of a flower curve about its center. The house seems to hold him, cradle him almost as he walks slowly through it. He can almost feel a gentle hand at the base of his spine, between his shoulder blades, under his chin. It takes no effort to keep walking, to discover more and more of this truly beautiful house, to look and look and look without fear of his eyes hurting or his head growing weary.

It feels like Roman, he realizes with a giddy bubble in his chest, this is Roman’s work. Roman is here.

That realization gives him enough courage to call out.

“Roman? Roman, are you here?”

“Logan?”

“Roman!” He turns around, trying to trace the echoes to their source. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the library, keep walking toward the back of the hall.”

Logan’s steps beat out an eager pace as he begins to hurry towards Roman’s voice. He meets a wide set of mahogany doors and pushes them open, looking for—

“Oh,” he murmurs as the doors swing wide, “oh, this is…magnificent.”

If he were—well, if he were Roman, he’d compare this to the library the Beast gifts Belle. The shelves tower over his head, two full floors of books stretching out almost as far as he can see. As he looks closer, he realizes this is a theatre, with the seats replaced with shelves. At the back of the library stands the stage, converted into a seating area with as many plush couches and overstuffed armchairs as one could ever want. Curtains drape themselves across a vast window, golden sunlight streaming inside. And on the window seat, standing as the doors fly open, is Roman.

“Roman, my goodness—“

“Whoa, easy, Logan,” Roman chuckles, catching Logan carefully by the elbows as he rushes through the library, “you’ll knock yourself over at this rate.”

“This is magnificent,” Logan manages, still looking around in awe—goodness, there are some books here that he’s only seen in passing— “how—how did you do this?”

“I’ve always had it,” Roman says, guiding him to sit on the window seat and crouching in front of him, “it’s my library.”

“This—this is yours?”

Half of Roman’s mouth tugs up into that crooked smile. “Yeah, Logan. This is mine. You didn’t think I just let my books lie around, did you?”

“But you—you—you’ve never shown this to me. To anyone.”

The smile falters. “Well, no.”

Logan takes a moment to actually look at Roman. Roman quirks his eyebrow as he notices the questioning gaze. His costume is a little less pristine than normal. There’s something slightly different about his expression. And his sword is nowhere to be seen.

“May I—can I ask why not?”

Roman smiles ruefully, glancing over Logan’s shoulder before dropping his gaze to the ground.

“When I need to think,” he says after a moment, “or just…sit for a little, I come here.”

He rests his hand on the seat next to Logan.

“I sit right here, and I think. I look outside into the garden. I watch the clouds. Or I stare at the shelves, and think about the books.”

He gestures behind him.

“Sometimes I’ll see people bustling through them, or characters diving in between pages.” The smile becomes a touch more wistful. “Or I’ll hear water rushing, or wind howling.”

He looks back. Logan’s mouth drops open at the openness of Roman’s expression.

“But mostly,” he finishes in a near whisper, “I just sit. And think. Because I can.”

“…this is your space,” Logan mumbles as he puts it together, “that’s…that’s why you haven’t shown anyone.”

Roman nods.

Logan should apologize. He should apologize and leave. He should never have expected that this would be alright.

But the thought of leaving this library, this house, Roman feels…so, so heavy.

“It’s alright, Logan,” Roman says patiently, sitting on the floor, “what did you need? Am I late for dinner?”

He shakes himself, sternly reminding his brain that he’s being rude now. “No, no, nothing of the sort, I simply needed to find you.”

Roman spreads his arms wide. “Well, you found me. Congratulations.”

It’s so close to the banter Logan misses that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you. Shall I assume to claim my prize now, then?”

“Mm, and what prize would that be?”

Roman blinks up at him expectantly when he doesn’t answer right away. There are several questions on the tip of his tongue and they war with each other.

What’s wrong?

Are you alright?

Did something happen?

The others and I have noticed changes in your behavior, could you explain them?

Did I do something wrong?

Can I stay here?

What did Virgil almost tell me?

“I’ve lost something,” Logan blurts instead, swallowing the lump in his throat when Roman blinks again, startled, “and I need you to help me find it.”

“Oh. Well, that should be easy enough. Where did you last see it?”

“Wait!”

Logan catches a startled Roman by his sleeve as he’s in the middle of getting up. He sits back down slowly, still staring at Logan.

“I don’t know where I lost it,” he says, because it’s the truth. Even for all his immaculate time-keeping, he can’t pinpoint the moment he lost Roman.

“That does make it more difficult,” Roman muses, tapping his fingers on his chin, “well, can you tell me what it is? Maybe I’ve seen it.”

I’m sure you have.

Logan takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t realize it was gone, at first,” he begins, “only that it—something changed. It was quieter. Rooms felt less…I believe ‘alive’ is the only word I can use to adequately describe it.”

Roman catches on to the fact he’s speaking about something abstract quickly. Though, of course he did, he’s very intelligent. He sits up a little straighter and takes Logan’s hand in both of his. That in itself is enough to make Logan swallow again.

“It was more difficult to continue working,” he says after a moment, looking at the ground, “because I didn’t know what was missing. I didn’t know whether the fault lay with myself or with Thomas or how to go about fixing it. I couldn’t think of anything.”

Roman makes a noise of sympathy, squeezing Logan’s hand.

“Of course, once I realized it was missing, I did all I could to find it.” He adjusts his glasses. “I gathered all the information I could to see what had gone wrong.”

“And,” Roman prompts gently, “what did you find?”

“It’s not in my room. It’s not in the kitchen. It’s not in the Imagination, or at least it wasn’t when I was there.”

Logan closes his eyes.

“It doesn’t make me fight back a smile every time I see it, because I am only concerned. It doesn’t make me look forward to seeing it, because it doesn’t seem to be happy to see me. It doesn’t make me want to say how important it is to me, because it doesn’t—“

“…doesn’t what, Logan?”

“…it doesn’t even give me a nickname anymore.”

Roman freezes.

Logan opens his eyes and looks at Roman, seeing his face turn pale.

“I’ve lost the one I love,” he confesses, “and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

———————————————————————

Roman’s heart stops.

Logan—Logan—L—

Logan loves him?

“Please,” Logan says in that soft, soft voice that makes Roman want to combust, “can you help me find him?”

“Wait, wait, Logan, you—you what?”

Logan shifts forward, cupping Roman’s hand. “Where did you go, Roman? Something happened, you left.”

“N-no, Logan, I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You did,” he corrects, “you…you’ve been different. You’ve been quieter, you haven’t taken me on any adventures—“

“I’ve taken you into the Imagination!”

“—and you stopped singing,” Logan finishes. Roman’s chest throbs with the way Logan’s voice cracks on the last word. “You left, Roman, where did you go?”

“I—I was trying to—to—“ Roman swallows heavily. “Wait, you love me?”

Logan blinks, tilting his head. “Of course, yes, I love you, Roman.”

Roman’s face flares. “You can’t—you can’t just say that, Logan.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll believe you. I’ll—“ the urge to bury his face in his hands burns but he can’t, can’t pull away from Logan—“I’ll believe you.”

Logan hums. “And why shouldn’t you believe me?”

An incredulous laugh forces its way out of his throat. “Because you can’t love me.”

He slams his eyes shut as Logan starts to move away. He’s ruined it. He’s ruined so much of his hard work. He’s destroyed it. He’s hurt Logan. How could he?

“And why can’t I love you, Roman?”

He laughs again, though this one might be technically considered a sob. “Because I’m loud! I’m obnoxious, I want to spend all my time daydreaming, I’m so out of touch with the real world, I never want to be serious, I’m—I’m—“

“Passionate,” Logan interrupts quietly, something still cupping his hand, “optimistic. Hardworking.”

Roman huffs. “That’s not special.”

“Intelligent.”

Now he does laugh. “Not compared to you.”

Logan’s stifled noise is enough to make him open his eyes. He frowns up at Logan. He looks…heartbroken.

“Roman,” he murmurs, “do you honestly believe that?”

He squirms uncomfortably on the floor. “…it’s not like it isn’t obvious. El principe es estupido.”

“It’s far from obvious, Roman,” Logan insists, “why do you think I enjoy our verbal sparring so much?”

“You what?”

“I respect and admire your intelligence. You’re—well, not to insult the others when they’re not here to defend themselves, but you’re the only one who really keeps up with me.” Logan smiles at him. He smiles at him. “And you’re kind, Roman. Relentlessly so, sometimes.”

Roman can only gape at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed everything you do,” Logan chides gently, “I do notice. And I am so thankful for it. But this…” He gives Roman’s hand another squeeze. “This I don’t understand. Where did you go, Roman?”

“I—I…” Roman swallows. “I thought I was doing it for you.”

“For me?”

“Y-you like serious things! You don’t want to be seen as a joke and I’ve never seen you as a joke, Logan, you have to believe me, and I thought that—that I—“

“Roman—“

“I make fun of the things I love, Logan!” Roman’s throat almost aches from the strain of saying it out loud. “And you—you don’t like it when we’re not serious and I’m not serious so I—I thought if I—if—if—“

“You changed so I would…love you?”

Roman shakes his head shamefully. “So you would tolerate me.”

“Oh, little star—“

Roman lets out an oof as Logan tugs him forward, his knees hitting the ground roughly as he pulls Roman into a hug. He’s warm, he’s so warm and so Logan…the frames of his glasses are cool against the side of Roman’s face, the knot of his tie pressing into the hollow of his chest. And he’s being so sweet, so tender as he holds Roman on the floor of the library.

Roman clutches him back. It’s been agony, not being able to touch him, not even the barest brush of shoulders or knocking their elbows together. But now Logan is here and he can have this.

“I don’t want serious,” he hears Logan murmur, “not from you. Alright, sometimes, yes, I want you to listen but never to be that serious. You’re—you’re you, Roman. That’s what I want.”

Oh.

He laughs as the tears start to fall onto Logan’s collar. “You found me, Logan.”

Logan just gives him a squeeze. “I did, little star.”

Oh, Roman was not prepared for that. Instead, he can hear Logan chuckle as he tenses for a moment.

“No?”

“Yes,” Roman blurts out quickly, fumbling with his clumsy tongue, “yes. So much yes.”

“Yes, it is then, little star.”

He hums contentedly, burying his nose in the crook of Logan’s neck. “You found me,” he whispers, rocking them back and forth, “and I found you.”

“Yes, little star, you found me.” Logan pulls back to cup his face, a comforting noise escaping him at the evidence of drying tears. “And now…please, don’t leave me?”

“Never, Logan,” he swears, “never again.”

He gets to see that wonderful soft glow on Logan’s face for a moment longer before that gleam—oh, that wonderful gleam—comes back as he arches an eyebrow.

“No? Then why am I still ‘Logan?’”

Oh. So that’s how this is going to go, hmm? Roman lets a little more darkness slip into his smirk than he normally would. It only grows wider as Logan looks a little surprised.

“My dearest darling nerd,” he purrs, “if you wanted me to lavish you with pet names, you know you need only ask.”

“That is not what I meant,” Logan says firmly, undone a little by the blush now fanning his cheeks.

Roman chuckles. “Oh, what’s wrong, my sweet little pi, is this not what you wanted?”

“R-Roman!”

“Goodness, Logan, your face is so warm.” Roman’s arms come up to hug him as he buries his face in his neck. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

“You’re one to talk,” comes the slightly muffled reply, “you were blushing from my pet name too.”

“Ah, yes, how could I forget? ‘Little star,’ well…” Roman cups the back of Logan’s neck and brings that darling face back out to smile at. “If I’m the star, then you must be the whole galaxy.”

Logan tries to frown. Bless him, he tries, but he’s so flustered that it turns into this adorable pout as he leans back to get up.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Roman chuckles, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him, “you stay right here in my lap.”

“Roman!”

“What?” He tilts his head. “Can you think of anywhere better to be than right here, in my lap…with me?”

He can’t help the note of vulnerability that slips in at the end. Maybe Logan doesn’t want this, maybe he is too much, maybe he just ruined it…

“No,” Logan murmurs after a moment, “I guess I can’t.”

And really, it is marvelous, there on the floor, golden sunlight streaming over them, in the library, surrounded by the quiet shelves and safe hallways of the house.

———————————————————————

“I have to ask,” Roman says, giving Logan a little shake after a moment, “how did you…?”

“Find out?”

“Mm.”

“Well…” Logan toys with Roman’s collar. “I was coming to ask you about it anyway, but Virgil—“

“Virgil?” Roman raises an eyebrow. “He said something now, did he?”

Logan squints at him. “…why do I have a feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

Roman shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, not really.”

“Now that I don’t believe for an instant.”

“It got me my Logan,” Roman says softly, leaning forward to rub their noses together, “didn’t it?”

“…well yes, I suppose it did.”

Roman hums contentedly, cuddling into Logan like a lazy cat, sprawled out in the sunlight to nuzzle its kitten. A…surprisingly sweet image. The Imagination—Roman’s Imagination must be affecting him.

There are worse fates.

“But I can’t imagine,” he says after a moment, “that a prince such as yourself can allow such a slight?”

The grin on Roman’s face is priceless.

“Virgil,” Roman sings as they fling open the door to the rest of the Mindscape, and goodness Logan can’t tell you how much he’s missed that voice— “I have a question for you!”

Logan hears muffled cursing coming from the living room.

“What’s up, Princey?”

“Well our dearest Specs here just told me something very interesting—“ he winks at Logan— “and I would love to hear your side of the story.”

“Oh, uh, really? Well, that’s cool. On an unrelated note, I’m gonna be in my room for the foreseeable future.”

“Hmmm…not if I get there before you!”

“Shit!”

“My darling,” Roman says softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Logan’s hand, “will you excuse me one moment, please?”

And what is Logan supposed to do but agree? Roman is back.

“I’ll be with you shortly.”

Roman tears off down the hallway after Virgil, their shouts filling the Mindscape once more.

General Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @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 @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #virgil sanders #dragonbabbles #fic #logince

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (4/ ?)

word count: ~4k

content warnings: Geralt’s self-deprication

Read on AO3

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There was an itch in Geralt’s fingers, the need to take up his knife again and put it to use on a block of wood. Until now, he hadn’t known he could miss carving. It had all just been something he did to pass the time when he had nothing better to do.

But now, even though Jaskier made sure that Geralt didn’t ever get bored, he still felt the urge to create again, like a fire burning in his chest, threatening to burst forth.

Then again, the mere thought of wood carving while Jaskier was there to see churned his stomach.

If Geralt had never committed to that stupid lie that the figures were gifts from the fae, it could have been different. He could have carved while Jaskier composed a new song and they might have teased each other a bit about their lack of progress. But now that Jaskier treasured not only one but two of the supposed fae gifts, even though one was broken, he couldn’t come clean. He couldn’t take this from Jaskier.

Because that’s what he would do. If Jaskier knew that it was Geralt who crafted those things he loved so much, his shining eyes would dull with disappointment, maybe even anger at the lie. After all, Jaskier was a romantic. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to latch on to tales of fae. Believing and dreaming that he had gained the fae’s favour was a beautiful thing that he could even proudly tell people about. There was nothing romantic about a witcher’s gifts. Nothing beautiful. Nothing Jaskier would ever want to tell others about.

So Geralt kept quiet. He could do without carving. It wasn’t a bother to restrain for a while. It wasn’t as if there were any silences that needed to be filled now anyway.

But something was different. The urge to create no longer only came from his restlessness. There was more to it. The moment that Jaskier had picked up the bird figure was etched into Geralt’s mind and he couldn’t let it go no matter how hard he tried. Whenever he saw Jaskier smile at someone else, all Geralt could think about was how Jaskier had beamed at him after unknowingly receiving his gift. Something ugly writhed in Geralt’s chest at the thought that there would come a day that he wouldn’t have the comfort of that memory any longer. The images of Jaskier’s joy being directed at Geralt would fade with time and Geralt would be left cold and alone without that smile.

He wanted to see it again. He needed to.

So he started carving again when he was sure Jaskier couldn’t see. Sometimes Geralt retreated to their room while Jaskier was still making eyes at a pretty person in his audience. Sometimes Geralt would take more time than he strictly needed on a hunt he went on alone, just to get a few minutes to himself in which he could take out his knife and carve away.

It was too little time to create anything worthwhile and he felt bitter frustration rise in him. What use was this secrecy, if he wouldn’t be able to make something pretty for Jaskier again?

So Geralt pocketed his not even half-finished creation and promised himself to not take it out again until Jaskier inevitably left him again, despite his words of wanting to stay with him till winter.

It wasn’t until they were once again camping in the woods that Geralt’s resolve broke.

Geralt was holding watch as he so often did, staring into the darkness surrounding them and keeping his ears open for any possible threat.

It started out small, with muffled noises coming from Jaskier’s bedroll. Tossing and turning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just as Jaskier chattered away during the day, it sometimes seemed he couldn’t keep himself from mumbling to himself even in his sleep.

Geralt turned his head slightly so he could watch Jaskier’s sleeping form. His arms were slung around his lute protectively and his mouth hang open, drooling a little. Nothing about him spoke of the elegance he put on display whenever he was entertaining a crowd. This was just Jaskier. Unguarded and without the mask he so often put on.

The sight made Geralt’s insides twist and filled him with the strange warmth that always seemed to appear these days when he looked at his friend.

But then Jaskier’s brows drew together into a harsh frown. His lips pressed into a thin line and no more soft snores and mumbled half-words tumbled from his lips. Instead Geralt could hear a soft whimper.

Geralt’s fingers twitched. He wanted to bend down, smooth Jaskier’s frown away with his fingers and stroke his hair gently until Jaskier relaxed again.

But Jaskier wouldn’t want that. Geralt didn’t want to imagine his reaction when he woke up to find Geralt so close to him. What possible explanation could Geralt give then? It was clear that Jaskier wasn’t having actual nightmares. At the most he had a bit of a restless sleep – nothing that wouldn’t fix itself in a matter of minutes. There was no reason for Geralt to comfort Jaskier from such a minor inconvenience, despite how much he wanted to.

If anything, seeing sickly yellow eyes and the sharp features of Geralt’s face that wouldn’t soften no matter how much he tried to look non-threatening, right after he woke up would distress Jaskier even more.

No. It was better if Geralt stayed right where he was.

His hand clenched into a fist and still he couldn’t shake the need to reach out, to touch, to comfort.

He needed something to do with his hands. He needed to distract himself. He needed –

Geralt’s eyes fell onto his bag lying next to Roach.

As quietly as he could Geralt stood up and creeped over to and rummaging through it, always listening for any signs of Jaskier waking up.

When he heard none, he relaxed slightly, until his fingers finally curled around the misshapen wooden figure he had stuffed into the bottom of his pack. With a hammering heart, he pulled it out.

A single night was not enough time to create an intricate design or detailed animal, but it was enough to distract Geralt until Jaskier’s breath evened out again and his frown turned into a slight smile.

Geralt averted his eyes again, focussing instead on the thing in his hand and turning it around, trying to figure out what animal it could become.

“Geralt...”

Geralt froze, the hand holding the wood tightening painfully around it. Slowly he turned to Jaskier, a hundred excuses for what he was doing on his lips.

But when his eyes landed on Jaskier’s face, they didn’t meet blue eyes. Jaskier was still asleep. One of Jaskier’s hands was lovingly caressing his lute in his sleep and his mouth formed unintelligible words once more.

Geralt’s heart jumped into his throat and he had to force himself to tear his eyes away from his friend. He had no right to watch Jaskier sleep. No right to read into his dream-influenced mutterings. No right to imagine what it would be like to lie next to Jaskier and be held so gently in the lute’s stead.

Maybe if Geralt asked, Jaskier would allow him to hold him during the night, when he was blanketed by the dark and Jaskier wouldn’t have to look at him. But come the morning Jaskier would wake up and see Geralt lying in his arms. A mutant. A witcher. A threat despite Jaskier’s reassurances that he would never be scared of Geralt. No night of closeness could be worth the cost of seeing Jaskier flinch back and have his face contort to a grimace when he realised who exactly he had allowed into his bed.

Swallowing thickly, Geralt tightened his grip on the knife until his hand stopped trembling.

With each purposeful slide of his knife against the wood, Geralt gave shape to the least menacing thing he could imagine Jaskier could wake up to.

Quietly, so as not to rouse Jaskier, he placed the sheep next to his head before abandoning his watch. Dawn wasn’t far and Geralt knew even as he laid down as far from Jaskier as he could that he would find no sleep tonight.

All he could do was lie with his back facing Jaskier and pretend not to wait with bated breath for the groan that was a tell-tale sign of Jaskier waking up.

No such groan came. Instead, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, Jaskier let out a small gasp. Geralt heard his heart speed up and it took all his strength not to turn around and watch Jaskier’s reaction to the sheep.

Those wooden figures meant so much to Jaskier, he didn’t deserve to have Geralt’s watchful eyes dampen his excitement. No one liked sharing their reactions to a gift with other people.

Geralt wasn’t going to admit to himself that the real reason he didn’t turn around was that he didn’t want to see Jaskier’s disappointment.

He knew that the figure wasn’t as well-crafted as the other ones had been – and they hadn’t exactly been masterpieces themselves. Still, whereas Geralt had put as much effort into the bird as possible, the sheep lacked any sort of detail or beauty. The mere idea that Jaskier could get excited over a sheep of all things was ridiculous.

Geralt’s stomach twisted into knots as the doubts kept coming. He should have thrown the sheep away. He never should have carved it in the first place. He should have –

A warm hand on his shoulder tore him away from his spiralling thoughts with the suddenness of a bucket of ice water being thrown over his head.

He hadn’t even noticed Jaskier approaching him.

With a lump in his throat, Geralt sat up to face the inevitable disappointment he would find in Jaskier’s face.

Nothing could have prepared him for the radiant smile on Jaskier’s face and the way he was bouncing slightly where he kneeled on the floor, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. It was the very same expression Geralt had feared he would forget some day. Seeing it again now, made the thought that he could ever not remember it sound utterly ridiculous.

“There were here, Geralt!” His words came out rushed, too excited to take the time to form them fully. “The fae were here and they gave me a gift! Did you see them? You must have!”

The tightness around Geralt’s chest loosened with every word Jaskier spoke.

“I didn’t,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jaskier and the sheep he was cradling close. “Must have already been asleep when they came.”

For a second, Jaskier’s face fell in disappointment, before he perked up once more. “This never happened before. The fae never give their gifts to people directly like this. They always leave them in some secluded place.”

Geralt huffed. “Maybe they just wanted to make sure the right person got it. Or they wanted to give it to you during the night to protect you from bad dreams.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest and he regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them. It was reckless to reference Jaskier’s disturbed sleep. He shouldn’t say such things and risk Jaskier getting suspicious of him. But it was worth it for the way Jaskier’s eyes widened and his lips twitched in response to Geralt’s words.

“Do you think the fae do that? I never heard of fae influencing dreams.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh and lifted a brow. “Are you telling me you know more about creatures than a witcher?” he said in a teasing tone.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “You, Sir Fae-expert, didn’t even know the fae left gifts at all. And I just so happen to collect all sorts of tales I hear and I say I never heard of fae appearing in the night like that.”

Geralt’s heart dropped. Jaskier didn’t seem to notice it, for a mischievous sparkle entered his eyes. “The only cure I know for bad dreams is being held in the arms of a loved one. So if the fae want to help me sleep, they might want to consider doing that.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry and his mind very much didn’t jump to the image of him holding Jaskier close and burying his face in his neck. He wasn’t a loved one. Not anyone’s and especially not Jaskier’s.

He turned away sharply, praying Jaskier hadn’t noticed the way Geralt had tensed at his words.

“If you don’t like the gift, maybe you should just give it back to the fae then.”

“Absolutely not!” Jaskier shouted in indignation and clutched the sheep to his chest. “I am never giving it back. It’s mine now. And I never said anything about me not loving it.”

Geralt hummed in amusement, the warmth returning to his chest with a vengeance. He couldn’t have ignored it if he tried.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to Geralt’s chest and his smile widened. When Jaskier reached out, Geralt’s breath hitched. For a foolish heartbeat he thought Jaskier was going to embrace him. Geralt very nearly opened his arms to welcome it.

Thank all the gods that he hadn’t done it.

For Jaskier didn’t hug him – of course he didn’t – but brushed something off of Geralt’s shirt.

When Geralt let out a surprised sound, the tips of Jaskier’s ears turned read and he quickly took his hand back.

“You got something on your shirt,” he explained, gesturing awkwardly at Geralt’s chest.

Geralt followed the motion with his eyes. Wood shavings clung to him. Harshly, he brushed them away, praying that Jaskier didn’t question where they had come from.

His pulse slowed down to normal when all the reaction he got from Jaskier was a bemused snort and a pat on his shoulder as he stood up again to put his newest treasure away safely.

Geralt’s shoulders sagged in relief. He needed to be more careful next time. Because as he watched Jaskier give the sheep one last adoring look before stowing it away, Geralt knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that there would be a next time. He would do anything to keep that expression of pure happiness on Jaskier’s face. Even if Jaskier would never know it was Geralt who put it there.

---

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#how much of this are you willing to read?#cause i can either write two or up to six more chapters #but i don't want to bore you #I'm just terrible at getting to the point quickly #this was supposed to be like one paragraph instead of a whole chapter #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier #geralt #fic #witcher fic #my writing #wood carving

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