#also shout out to heel Roman. can’t believe it takes years for him to turn heel again.

[alternativeproject]

Hall of famers love starting shit with beefed up , slightly damp, heel factions.

[blogging-time]

When I Kissed The Teacher

Dialogue Prompt List – Long List My Fic Masterlist

Prompt: “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.” - Logan and Roman. (Friendship) - Submitted by @louisthewarlock

Summary: Roman Crowne has just been dumped by yet another co-worker. Logan Sanders makes it his personal mission to console the heartbroken Spanish teacher while also convincing him to turn off that godforsaken ABBA soundtrack.

Warnings: Post Break-Up (Not Logince), Alcohol Mention.

Pairings: Platonic Logince/Foreshadowing Romantic Logince, Past Royality, Past Prinxiety, Past Roceit, Background Intruality.

Word Count: 1,688

~ ~ ~

“Well this seems like a perfectly healthy and not at all counter-intuitive way to conduct oneself post break-up,” Logan remarked as he slowly entered the almost vacant looking Spanish classroom.

The sight awaiting him was that of his co-worker – Roman Crowne – sitting slumped over a rather busy looking table, his unusually messy head of hair tucked uncomfortably between his hastily folded arms. Surrounding him were various pages that Logan couldn’t quite decipher, as well as some familiar looking textbooks that Roman would use to teach his sophomore classes when the school board once again forbid him from making “Pan’s Labyrinth” an official part of the school’s curriculum. The most notable item at Roman’s disposal however had to be his mobile phone, as it was currently playing “When I Kissed The Teacher,” repeatedly on Spotify.

“You know most people actually knock before inviting themselves into a colleague’s classroom, right?” Roman half-heartedly muttered against the cheap plywood.

“Well you should know that most teachers actually prefer to work at their own desks instead of downgrading to a small student’s table. I guess we’re both just feeling a little unconventional today.”

With a heavy sigh and even heavier limbs, the Spanish teacher finally mustered up the energy required to pry his face off the aforementioned table. As soon as the pair made eye-contact, Logan couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at Roman. No matter how many times he found the man in this heartbroken state his tearstained face simply never failed to upset him.

“There’s a window,” Roman responded vaguely before Logan could even make an awkward attempt to console him. Then, upon recognizing the science teacher’s confusion, he unenthusiastically waved his hand and explained, “There’s a window embedded in the door to this classroom – I’m sure you’re well aware of it. Had I chosen to lay about and wail over my lost love at my own desk then surely any old passer-by could have caught me in my moment of lament.”

As sympathetic as Logan was towards his friend’s situation, he still couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how dramatic the man was being.

“Janus Marshall merely terminated his relationship with you, Roman. He himself is not deceased.”

“Hark! For his love for me is dead at least – dead and buried beneath the heels of some younger, prettier thing! Its ghost takes the form of the man I once danced with, and it taunts me as I pass him by in the corridor on my way to lunch.”

“Would you kindly stop and think rationally for five minutes instead of writing another soliloquy?” Logan may sound exasperated, but in reality, he simply hates seeing his friend’s thoughts spiral out of control like this. “Janus made it abundantly clear to you months ago that he would be migrating to England at the end of the year in order to teach Psychology at Oxford. Since neither of you were ever interested in long-distance relationships, I thought this break-up would seem inevitable to you.”

Roman visibly deflated upon hearing such a logical argument, yet somehow Logan didn’t feel victorious.

“I know… I suppose I just got a little carried away again. Deep down I’d honestly hoped we’d be able to make it work.”

“But why?” Logan asked, “Why would you allow yourself to get your hopes up time and time again? Every time you’ve dated a colleague your relationship has ended within six months or less.”

“Now hold on just a moment, Charles Rush-In! Just because I happened to date – and consequently was dumped by – a few of my colleagues doesn’t mean having a relationship with one is inherently flawed and destined to fail.”

“While your current statistics would highly suggest otherwise, that isn’t the part that concerns me the most. What concerns me the most is that you’re clearly upset or made to feel uncomfortable every time you’re forced to work with an ex-partner.”

“Name one example.”

“Patton Hart.”

“You mean the Home Economics teacher? I love Patton! Well… not in that way… not anymore at least… Yeah things were a little awkward at first… and then things got awkward again eight months later when he asked if I would be okay with him dating my brother… but both of us are on very good terms now!”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, but ultimately decided it was Remus’ responsibility to tell Roman about his current engagement plans.

“Okay then, what about Virgil Rae?”

“Ah yes, the English teacher who never stopped reading too much into things.”

“You and him seem to argue a lot.”

“To be fair we also argued before and during our relationship too.”

Logan clicked his tongue in perfect time with ABBA before naming, “Janus Marshall.”

“That’s a fresh wound! It’s hardly fair for you to twist the knife in that!”

“I can’t help but disagree considering you’re currently spending your lunch break marking papers and crying in your classroom just to avoid encountering Janus – something you wouldn’t have to do if he wasn’t your colleague.”

Roman couldn’t deflate anymore, so instead he was forced to sink further down in his admittedly rather uncomfortable plastic chair. Mentally he made a note to stop by the thrift store and his aunt Dot’s place after work to see if he could somehow acquire twenty-six cheap cushions that would make hour long lessons in these chairs more comfortable for his students.

“Why are you so determined to prove the successful office romance trope is unattainable?” he asked in a voice that already sounded so defeated.

“Why are you so determined to prove me wrong?” Logan countered.

Roman met Logan’s eyes for just a moment before completely averting his gaze. Logan coughed into his elbow for just a second in a manner that conveniently covered both of his cheeks. A minute passed, and neither man acknowledged either his or his co-worker’s sudden actions.

Eventually Logan decided to break that uncomfortable minute of silence with a sigh of his own.

“Do you have another class immediately after lunch?”

“Not today. I was supposed to be teaching Freshman Spanish for the next hour, but apparently Principal Sanders has called in a public speaker. I won’t have a class again until last period. How about you?”

“It appears I’m in a similar situation. I typically have the hour free after lunch on a Thursday until my Juniors come in for their Chemistry class at 2PM. If the circumstances today were any different then I would undoubtedly use this time to either grade my students most recent homework or to formulate a lesson plan for next week.”

“If the circumstances were any different?” Roman asked with a raised eyebrow and an only slightly watery eye.

“I have a bottle of Chardonnay in my car,” Logan answered. Then, upon recognizing the Spanish teacher’s concern, he quickly waved his hands and explained, “Your brother gifted it to me a few weeks ago, stating that it may help me to ‘loosen up around handsome men,’ - only he used far more vulgar phrasing than I. I can assure you that I would never drink and drive. I’ve simply never felt the need to consume alcohol since receiving the gift, and so I let the bottle sit forgotten in my car until now.”

“What? I haven’t driven you to drink already have I?” Roman joked, but Logan didn’t miss the way another silent tear disobediently slid down his still reddened cheeks.

Again, neither man acknowledged the sudden presence of emotion.

“Believe me, Roman, if any Crowne were ever going to drive me to drink then it would most certainly be that unfathomable brother of yours. My idea was more along the lines of… well…” The science teacher paused for a moment as he remembered how much more important Roman was to him than his reputation. “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.”

Upon proposing the idea, Logan let out a nervous breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Despite the simplicity of their plan, inviting Roman to share a glass of wine with him during work hours just so that they could say negative things about their generally very respectable colleagues to him felt so deeply personal and borderline exhilarating.

Roman must have recognised how much the offer meant to Logan, as he too seemed shocked that the usually oh-so calm and collected science teacher would propose something so unorthodox.

“You want to share a drink with me now?”

“Well encountering your colleagues won’t be an issue after work hours – Perhaps if we start highlighting all of their potential flaws now, you’ll be less inclined to test fate and pursue another doomed relationship with one of them later.”

“Hey!” Roman shouted incredulously, but he was genuinely laughing now.

The sound was so infectious that his co-worker soon found himself chuckling quietly to himself.

“I’ll ask the canteen staff if they can spare two small cups so we don’t drink too much,” Logan offered, “Plus I keep more than enough spare change in my wallet at all times to ensure we can afford a cab ride home. We won’t be stranded here at school if you accept. All I ask in return is that you turn off that infuriating song – I’ve heard it more than enough times now, thank you very much.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr Berry,” Roman responded, his lips forming a playful smirk as he pretended to mull the proposition over. “What album would you suggest we listen to in its place?”

“How about ‘The Wall’ by Pink Floyd? I believe I still have that cassette sitting in my car right now, along with ‘The Dark Side of the Moon.’”

“Oh, wow…” Roman drawled as he blinked his eyes rapidly in only semi-feigned surprise. “I think you just aged ten years for every word you just said, Lograndad.”

“Of course, you can always just sit here and listen to the sound of Janus’ voice instead.”

“On second thought-” Roman announced, standing up rather quickly as he grabbed his nearby coat and bag, “-Pink Floyd sounds like an excellent choice. Why don’t you lead the way?”

~ ~ ~

General Tag-List:

@sholaghhh (Formerly @lunamay2006) @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @saphael-malec102 @anastasialestina @seraphlies 

Additional Tags:

@sympathetic-deceit-trash

Note: It’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic, so this tag-list may be a little outdated. If at any point you want to be added/removed from my tag-list then feel free to let me know!

As always, feedback is much appreciated! I was pretty out of practice here, so I’m sure I’d benefit a lot from constructive criticism!

For spelling, punctuation and grammar I followed Microsoft Word's English (UK) rules. Feel free to correct any errors you may find in the comments, but please keep in mind that some words are spelt differently here in the UK! 

I hope you’re all have a fan-der-tastic day!

~ ~ ~

[duskowithapen]

Day Six: Ocean

Fandom: The Librarians

Pairing: Platonic Eve Baird and Ezekiel Jones

Part One of Five Times Eve Baird Said Jump

Read on Ao3

Read on Fanfiction

JONES

Ezekiel thought Jenkins was just joking – if Eve Baird jumps off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff – but it turns out he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. Writer’s Month 2020 Day 6: Ocean. Inspired by a tumblr post I cannot find again.

“It’s just not fair Jenkins!”

Ezekiel paced around the Annex, fingers flying over his phone. He was double checking and updating the firewalls on his personal systems – a trick he’d taken up years ago to help him calm down when frustrated. “I’m not a child, she can’t ground me!”

Jenkins hummed from his desk, using a pair of tweezers to turn the pages of some old manuscript. “The way you are acting suggests otherwise.”

“It’s not like anyone got hurt,” Ezekiel continued, ignoring Jenkin’s completely incorrect statement. “Yeah, okay, we may have given Cass a heart attack, and knocked over a couple of the Greek artefacts – but it’s not like the Roman ones are in there anymore, so nothing was going to blow up – and, okay, I accidently flooded the hallway of doors, but how was I to know that the blue door led to the Endangered Undersea Creatures Room? I thought that it meant, you know, stuffed models or something, not an entire freaking ocean – but that was partly the Library’s fault too, they should have better signs – and I closed the door! Almost made me lose to Stone too!”

“I believe Colonel Baird’s annoyance stems from the fact that you were using temperamental flying carpets to race around the Library,” The caretaker said dryly, “And that, at the end of your race, you were flung over the banister and into the card catalogue.”

Ezekiel waved a hand. “I was fine. Baird worries too much! No one even got hurt!”

Raising a judgemental eyebrow, Jenkins said, “I believe the card catalogue would disagree with you. Aren’t you meant to be cleaning that up?”

“C’mon Jenkins. It’s not like it was all my fault! Stone was flying around too – why isn’t he helping clean up?”

Jenkins pierced him with a stern look. “Mr Stone did not damage the Library. And I do believe the words ‘he dared me’ passed your lips earlier.”

With a groan, Ezekiel plopped to the ground beside the pile of cards. The Library had magically fixed the cabinets, but for some reason the card catalogue had to be resorted and replaced by hand (he was sure Baird had put the Library up to it). “Don’t you start Jenkins! Baird’s already given me the whole ‘if Stone jumped off a cliff, would you’ spiel.” That had been embarrassing. The last time he’d heard that, it was from his mother, asking him ‘if your friend handed back someone’s wallet without emptying it first, would you?’ “I think my ears are still burning…”

“I do believe the entire Library heard her, Mr Jones.” Jenkins said with a barely there smirk.

“And it’s not like Baird’s never done stupid things before!”

“I trust Colonel Baird’s judgement over yours, Mr Jones. While her plans and ideas can err on the side of… self-destruction for other’s sakes, she does have the experience and knowledge to come out the other side mostly intact. You, however, do not.”

Ezekiel huffed. “So, what? Are you saying that if I see Baird jumping off a cliff, I should just swan dive?”

Jenkins gave a sigh that seemed to encompass centuries worth of patience with utter stupidity. “If Colonel Baird was to jump off a cliff, she would have done her due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry. So yes, if you see Eve jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.”

Flopping onto his back with a sigh, narrowly missing a teetering pile of cards, Ezekiel groaned, “You jump off a cliff.”

“Gladly,” Jenkins said offhandedly. “As long as Colonel Baird does it first.”

(When Jones continued to just lie there, grumbling, Jenkins decided to go and grab his enlarging glass from his lab. If, as he left, the tail of his coat barely brushed a card, resulting in a landslide of paper right on top of a certain Librarian’s face, well… there had been many accidents in the Library today.)

Later that day, Ezekiel cursed Jenkins for jinxing him.

“Are you fucking serious?!” He screamed at his Guardian, who was easily keeping pace with his less-than-elegant sprint for his life.

“Less shouting, more running!” She shouted (the hypocrite) before ducking under the rudimentary arrow that flew from behind.

Ezekiel chanced a glance back – nope, they were still being chased. While the Jarawa people had largely become regular visitors to settlements, entertained tourists and had adapted in many ways to modern life, some off the smaller tribes still shunned all outside contact. Personally, Ezekiel didn’t know why he was the one pulled along for this case. If you’re trying to convince paranoid tribesmen, no, you shouldn’t try praying to this artefact for a vengeful god to come and wipe out the foreigners because you might get wiped out with them, perhaps someone who could speak the language would be useful.

But no. Stone was already dealing with something on the other side of the country with Flynn and Cass was at some conference that Eve hadn’t wanted to pull her away from. So, Jones was the one who had to sneak into a temple and steal a pretty ugly looking statue off the alter while Eve distracted everyone else. Even priests (maybe holy men?) would come running if someone let the cows out.

Unfortunately, the cows also managed to knock down the barn – and their entrance to the Back Door. So Ezekiel and Eve were now running.

Just another day in the life of a Librarian.

Which brought him back to now.

“No, Colonel, more shouting! I’m not jumping off a freaking cliff!”

Baird had the balls to smirk at him, even as she pulled him out of the way of another arrow. “Glad to see you’re learning, Jones, but maybe right now isn’t the best time!”

They had been following the coastline for a little while now, hoping to come to another settlement, or possibly even find a boat to commandeer, but apparently neither of them had been paying attention to the fact that the earth was going up. There was a distinct lack of ground some distance away, and Ezekiel dug in his heels. There was some forest further along and down – maybe they could hide in there.

“What happened to not jumping off a cliff if your friends do?”

There was a terrifyingly strong grip on his upper arm. Another hand grabbed his opposite shoulder. Suddenly Ezekiel was no longer freaking steering. That cliff was getting awfully close.

“Fine,” Baird said lightly, “No jumping off a cliff unless I’m there to make you. Now jump!”

Just before their feet left the ground, he heard Baird laugh. “This is just like Hawaii!”

“What the hell happened in –”

The impact drove all air from Ezekiel’s lungs. He flailed for a moment, the ugly statue pulling him down, before a strong arm was wrapped around his chest and he was pulled up, bursting through the water to take in sweet, fresh air.

Until a wave crashed over his head.

Spluttering, panting, coughing – Ezekiel didn’t know how the hell he just survived jumping into the freaking ocean from a freaking cliff. When his feet came in contact with sand, he swore that he was never visiting the beach again.

A warm hand came down on his back once, twice, before gentling into a soothing rub. “Still with me Jones?”

He glared up through his sopping wet fringe. “Yeah, no thanks to you! I know Jenkin’s mentioned it, but I didn’t think it would actually happen!”

“What did Jenkins say?” Baird asked, squeezing the water out of her hair before flicking it back. He winced at the heavy thud.

“Just that if I ever saw you jump off a cliff, I should follow. Because apparently you’re the most responsible out of all of us.”

Her mouth twisted, just a little. “Let’s just leave it at we all get into strange situations, and sometimes they require strange actions to resolve them.”

“Yeah. Let’s go with that.” Ezekiel flopped onto his back, ignoring the sand that itched under his clothes. “How did you even know this was here?”

Baird sat beside him and dropped her jacket over his face. “I did look at maps and stuff before we came Jones.”

They sat in easy silence for a little bit. Baird certainly didn’t seem in too much of a hurry to move.

“So,” Ezekiel began, “What happened in Hawaii?”

Baird just laughed and stood up, brushing sand off her legs. “Remind me to take you and Stone BASE jumping. Considering what you guys were doing with those flying carpets, you might just enjoy it.”

[perspective-series]

Kingdom Perspective (12)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, kidnapping, keeping/treating people like pets, threats, and unwanted touching/grabbing

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

—————————————————————————————————-

“AH!” Virgil screeched, quickly pressing himself up against the wall, his heart pounding as the giant wolf came barreling in his direction, eyes tracked on his every movement.

 The dog came up close to Virgil, tilting its head at the strange creature. He sniffed Virgil.

 “Bad dog! Get away!” Roman tried but the dog wasn’t listening to him.

“Nonono-” Virgil began to hyperventilate, feeling the dog’s hot breath waft over him. He looked at that huge muzzle, that could fit him inside so easily. Sure, giants here wouldn’t eat him, but nobody said anything about giant dogs.

 “Starbucks! Where are ya girl!” Remy shouted as he turned the corner. As the sound of her owner’s voice, however, the dog seized forward and grabbed Virgil by the shirt before taking off running.

Virgil screamed again, desperately trying to yank his clothing from the dog’s grasp. 

 “Virgil!” Roman called out as the dog ran. “Remy! Control your dog, she has Virgil!”

 Remy blinked. “Wait, what?” Roman groaned and grabbed Remy’s hand, pulling him along.

 “Come on!”

“Bad dog!” Virgil yelled, hoping his human voice would help the dog actually listen. “Stay! Heel! Drop it!”

 “Starbucks! Sit!” Remy called out as both giants turned the corner and continued to run after the dog.

 Roman grit his teeth. He swears if anything happened to Virgil he would be giving Remy a piece of his mind for not controlling his dog better.

 They came to a crossroads and as the dog continued forward, Roman stopped them briefly. “Remy, you keep going straight, I’m gonna try to cut them off.” Remy nodded and they went their separate ways.

“Eugh!” Virgil let out a noise of protest as dog drool began to dribble down the back of his shirt, specks of it flying everywhere as the dog continued bolting down the hall. “Stop it, you stupid mutt! I’m not a chew toy.”

 Remy was catching up but his dog was still just out of reach. But it was then, as they came across another crossroads, that Roman jumped out in front of her. “Gotcha!” He grabbed the dog by the collar to stop her and held her still until Remy was able to take the collar from his hold. He then wasted no time in opening the dog’s mouth and letting Virgil fall into his hand.

 “Virgil! Are you okay?” Roman looked him over worryingly.

“Yeah.” Virgil felt as though his heart might leap out of his chest it was still beating so fast. “Just...just shaken up.” Virgil lifted his arm, looking at it with disgust as a string of drool hung from it. “And grossed out.”

 Roman made a face. “Yeah, that is...ew.” Roman shook his head. “We’ll take care of that in a moment but first.” He turned to glare at Remy.

 “Seriously!? What was that about!” Roman yelled at the tailor. Remy put one hand up, the other still on Starbucks’ collar.

 “She just ran out of my room, okay? It’s not my fault. Besides, what was Virgil doing on the ground anyway?” Remy asked and Roman bit his lip.

 “He wanted to walk, so I let him walk.” Roman explained.

Virgil glared at the tailor and his pet. “I didn’t even know there were giant dogs.” Virgil muttered. He certainly had nothing against normal dogs, but Virgil wanted dogs that big to stay as far away as possible.

 “Just, please keep her more secured.” Roman asked, though he meant is more as a demand and Remy knew this. He rolled his eyes but nodded.

 ��Fine.” He turned to his dog. “Come on girl, let’s get going.” Remy left with his dog and Roman started towards his room once again. He took a deep breath, glad to have Virgil back and safe in his hands. 

 “I am so sorry about all that.” Roman felt the need to say.

Virgil felt a mix of residual adrenaline and a wave of self-deprecation churning inside him. He couldn’t even walk between rooms, how pathetic. 

“It’s my fault, I guess.” Virgil shrugged. “I shouldn’t have been so cocky.”

 “Yeah...though to be fair, I did not know a dog would be running around the palace.” Roman said. He entered his room and placed Virgil down on the desk. “Do you...want another bath? Or maybe just a wet cloth?” Either way, Virgil just really needed to get clean. He could see the drool dripping off of him. He wiped his own hands on his pants in disgust.

“Eh…” Virgil held his arms out, trying to make as little of the fabric touch him as possible. He wasn’t eager to take another bath, but he didn’t want to stand around in wet clothes all day either. Not to mention his clothes would need to be properly cleaned if he ever wanted his hoodie to be free of dog drool.

“I guess a bath.” Virgil admitted.

 Roman nodded and went into the hallway to stop a maid to get a new bowl full of warm water. Thankfully, they still had the curtains and things in the room. The maid was back in a minute, handing the bowl back to Roman. He nodded in thanks and then went back to Virgil, setting the bowl down.

 “There we go.” He started to set up the curtain around the bowl. “So, do you want me to leave again?”

“I certainly don’t want you to stay.” Virgil’s views on basic privacy had certainly not changed in the last few hours.

 Roman nodded. “Well, while you bathe, I’ll go send your clothes to get washed.” Roman suggested. He stepped away once everything was set up. “Just, throw your clothes out onto the desk and I’ll grab them and go.” 

Virgil looked like he wanted to do anything else, but the faster his clothes got washed the faster he could have them back. “...fine.” Virgil relented, ducking behind the curtain. A couple minutes later the clothes were tossed out into the open, and a moment later a splash was heard as Virgil jumped into the tub.

 Roman gathered the clothes and headed towards the door. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes!” He called out, before leaving.

Virgil scrubbed at his skin, wanting to get out as soon as possible, before slowly realizing that there was no rush. He had no clean clothes yet, anyways. Virgil might as well take full advantage of this time alone and take a proper bath. Of course, it’d be a lot more relaxing if he didn’t smell quite literally like a wet dog.

“Stupid Starbucks…” Virgil muttered, only to pause. Was that dog’s name seriously Starbucks? Virgil certainly didn’t think a Starbucks would exist in this magical realm.

 Roman actually came back a half hour later, since the clothes took a bit more time to dry then he thought they would but he entered his room again at last. “Virgil? I’m back with your clothes.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil looked down at himself, slowly dripping dry as he lacked a towel, and then back to the curtain. “...how are we gonna do this?” After all, Virgil didn’t want to run out there naked, but if Roman reached in he might see something as well. Ugh, the idea of either made Virgil cringe.

 Roman looked between the curtain and the clothes, thinking. “Alright, I’ll put the clothes near the curtain and then turn around so you can grab them?”

“Okay.” Virgil agreed, stepping forwards slightly. “But if you peek, I’ll…” Virgil realized there were very few threats he could actually make, so his sentence dwindled off.

 “I won’t, I promise.” Roman put the clothes near the curtain like he said and then turned around. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

Virgil peeked his head out of the curtain, making sure Roman was telling the truth before he grabbed his clothes and went back inside. Virgil’s skin was mostly dry, if a bit damp, but Virgil felt he was dry enough to at least put his clothes back on.

“Okay, you’re good.” Virgil called out, zipping up his hoodie.

 Roman turned back around and grinned. He undid the curtain once more and then sat at the desk. His eyes glanced over to the cage and he frowned. “...I would like to apologize again.” Roman said. How could he have thought putting Virgil in a cage was okay.

“I mean, it was Remy’s dog.” Virgil shrugged. He knew that tailor was trouble.

 “No, not for that. For...well, everything. But mostly for that.” Roman motioned to the cage.

“Oh.” Virgil turned to face the cage as well. Honestly, Virgil didn’t care that much about the cage itself. It was more of the principle. Well, okay, and also the fact that his back ached from sleeping on a cold metal surface for a few nights.

“Well, I mean, I’m still trapped here.” Virgil admitted. “The cage is really just an aesthetic thing.”

 Roman looked down. “R-Right.” Of course, the cage was just a small part of the overall problem. “Well, hopefully you will not be trapped here much longer.” Roman said, putting on a smile. But behind the grin he was sad. He didn’t want to see Virgil go, even if it was the right thing.

“Yeah.” Virgil certainly hoped so. He almost couldn’t believe it. “Thanks for that, by the way. This would be a lot harder if you were still...y’know.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

 Roman glanced up at Virgil before quickly looking back down. He shook his head. “Don’t thank me...I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Well, yeah.” Virgil admitted. But if Roman was gonna be self-deprecating, this was going to be a long couple of days.

“Wait a second, hang on.” Virgil frowned, realizing something. “If Patton’s been here a year, how come none of you ever came around and realized he’s, oh I dunno, a person? Because it only took a couple days for me to get it through your thick skull.”

 “Uhh…” Roman was at a loss of what to say at that. “Well, I was never really around Patton much. He always stayed in Logan’s room, so I suppose, since I never spoke to him, I didn’t realize it?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

 “As for Logan, well...I can’t really speak for him.” Though, he had to wonder why Logan, the smart one, hadn’t seen it yet.

“I think I might’ve convinced Logan, his exit was kinda weird.” Virgil thought back to his time in Logan’s room. “I hope I did. Pat really needs out of here.”

 “Really?” Well, Roman hoped so, at the very least. “Well, in either case, I...I don’t think Patton wants to leave. How are you going to convince him?”

“I mean honestly at this point I’m just gonna force him to come with me.” Virgil shrugged. “That dude is messed. Up. He needs serious help, and hopefully he’ll thank me for it later.”

 “I...suppose there isn’t much else you can do. If Logan is difficult, I’ll do my best to help as well.” Roman promised.

“Yeah…” Virgil put his chin in his hand. For some reason, no matter how it played out in his head, Virgil ended up feeling guilty. He’d feel guilty if he left Patton behind, alone here, but he’d also feel guilty if he had to drag Patton back screaming against his will.

 “I think it’s been a long day.” Roman said, after a moment. “Are you ready for bed?” He asked. As he did, his eyes went to the cage and he suddenly wondered where Virgil would sleep now. He couldn’t very well make him sleep in there, after all.

Virgil followed Roman’s gaze. “Does that mean I get an actual bed now?”

 “Yes, well, I mean...your bed never actually came.” Roman admitted, sighing. “Though…” He looked over at his own bed. “My bed is certainly big enough?” He offered.

“Oh.” Virgil raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty forward of you, Princey. Didn’t know you liked me that much.”

 Roman’s cheeks tinged pink. “Shut up.” Roman huffed. “Is it okay or not? Because I could always find some, like blankets and make like a...nest, maybe?” 

“...A nest.” Virgil repeated. “So now I’m a bird.”

 “No! That isn’t what I…” Roman sighed. “Look, you decide. Where do you want to sleep? I’ll try to accommodate for anything that you choose.”

“The bed’s fine.” Virgil smirked. “I was just giving you a hard time.”

 Roman pouted. “How dare you.” But his lips twitched upward. He held out a hand for Virgil. “Well, let’s get going then because I am exhausted.”

“Same.” It really had been a long day. Virgil could hardly stay on his feet as he climbed into Roman’s palm.

 Roman walked over to bed, gently setting Virgil down on one of his many pillows. He then went to the closest real quick to change and then slipped into bed. “Need anything before lights out?” He asked Virgil.

Virgil shook his head, already getting comfy. The pillow was so soft it threatened to envelop him, but it was much more pleasant than the cage.

 Roman smiled. “Then goodnight, Virgil.” He blew out the candle and then settled in for sleep.

“Goodnight.” Virgil replied, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

***

Logan’s evening had been a blur. First the talk with the humans, then Remy had whisked him away for a coronation fitting, then a dozen attendants needed his input, and only now Logan had a moment alone. 

The crown prince sighed, his boots softly thudding against the stone floor as he wandered the aisles of the library. Through a window the full moon cast its glow. Logan found the silence of the room peaceful. Before Patton, this was the primary way he cleared his thoughts. Nowadays he would just talk out his problems with the human, but he couldn't exactly do that now. 

“Is your mind troubled, your highness?” 

The voice gave him pause, and Logan turned to face the advisor who stood at the end of the aisle.

“Forgive me, I did not hear your entrance.” Logan admitted.

“Very troubled indeed, then.” Picani frowned slightly, coming a step closer. “Prince Logan, you should not be awake at this hour. You should return to your chambers.”

Logan winced. I don’t think I can. “I’ll return shortly.” Logan lied, turning towards the windowsill. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, yes I do.” Picani gave him a teasing smile. “That is my job description.”

Logan let out a huff of air from his nose, a sure sign he was vaguely amused. Picani joined him at the windowsill, the advisor leaning forwards to put his arms down on the surface.

“I know this is a lot of responsibility to throw on you.” Picani finally spoke, clearly misjudging the cause of Logan’s stress. “But I’ve also watched you grow, Logan. You’re a capable young man. You are ready to fill your father’s shoes.”

“No, this is not about the coronation.” Logan interrupted.

“It’s not?” Picani tilted his head.

“It’s just…” Logan let out a long sigh, gazing out at the stars and trying to figure out how to word the mess inside his head. “...Patton.”

“Ah.” Picani nodded thoughtfully. “I understand, these past few days have been very busy. You’ve hardly seen your human at all, have you?”

“Ah, yes.” Logan tried not to become upset at Picani’s wording. Was Patton ever truly ‘his’ human? Could one have a person as their own?

“I know you care about him a lot.” Picani kept his tone steady, clearly not wanting to upset Logan. “But, the counsel and I have been discussing this. Do you think it’s possible that you care for this human… too much?”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked.

“It’s a...liability.” Picani winced. “For example, what would you do to keep Patton safe?”

“Anything.” Logan’s answer was immediate, followed by a pause. “...oh. I think I understand.”

Picani nodded sadly. “If our enemies were ever to gain hold of a single human, then our entire kingdom could be surrendered.”

“Surely you think I’m a fool.” Logan huffed.

“Alright, that scenario is admittedly unlikely.” Picani relented. “And we do trust your judgement, you wouldn’t be ascending the throne if we did not. However, your attachment to this human clearly possesses the ability to cloud your judgement. A few days away from him and you’re moping the night away in the library.”

“I’m not moping.” Logan shifted on his feet, adjusting his posture so it looked less like he was indeed moping.

“Emotions are a tricky thing.” Picani explained. “Because you’re so guarded, it’s the one thing you struggle with. I thought this bond was a wonderful thing, and it is, but now...perhaps it’s time you separate yourself to avoid temptation.”

“Well what would you suggest I do?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “There is not a soul here competent enough to take care of a human properly.”

“Your brother just got a human.” Picani reminded him.

“My statement stands.” 

“Logan, I’m sure he’d do a fine job!” Picani’s tone was only slightly scolding. “And he’d have more time available than you. Certainly you’ll need someone to assist you in Patton’s care. With your kingly duties you will not have enough time to attend to his needs as you have in the past.”

“I could bring him with me.” Logan offered. “Everywhere I go.”

“I hope I don’t need to explain to you why that would be a terrible idea.” Picani sighed.

Logan thought about it for a moment, agreeing. At best, it would terribly boring for Patton. At worst...well, it would certainly make the kingdom more aware of Logan’s ‘liability’. Besides, Patton had never really liked being around people- well, Giant people. 

“...I could send him back.” Logan said softly.

Picani raised his eyebrows, quite shocked by this suggestion. “I mean, you could.” Picani agreed. “But I really don’t think you should be making a decision that brash this late at night.”

“Of course.” Logan murmured, looking unsure.

“Logan, get some rest.” Picani suggested. “I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Logan sincerely doubted it. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, your highness.”

Logan walked out of the library, his head feeling no less muddled than when he entered. Regardless, at least the visit had been somewhat productive. This late at night surely Patton would be asleep, and Logan could gain some rest of his own before confronting the human.

Of course, Logan was granted no such luck. Patton was sitting wide awake in the cage, the door still swung wide open from earlier in the day.

 Patton, having waited all night for Logan to come back, perked up when he finally did. “Logan!” He exclaimed as he stood up, moving towards the entrance of the cage.

Despite himself, Logan felt his heart pump faster at the way Patton greeted him with such excitement. How could Patton do that? Why was he so pleased to see him after everything Logan had done?

“I thought you’d be asleep.” Logan gave him a sad smile, coming over to sit at the desk.

 “I stayed up to wait for you, though I thought you would be back sooner.” Patton exclaimed. He wanted to come closer but he didn’t step out of the cage just yet, knowing what to wait for. “You just...you were acting weird when you left. I was worried.”

“I...no, I know.” Logan put his elbows up on the desk, running his hands through his hair. “It was just...I had an epiphany about the content matter, and...it frightened me.”

 “Oh?” Patton furrowed his eyebrows. “What...What was it?”

“I…” Logan sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. He kept his hands over his eyes, not bearing to look at Patton. “Alright, this is going to sound quite odd, admittedly. I came to the conclusion that you were indeed a ...person. Which is not to say I did not know previously that you’re, of course, a sentient humanoid lifeform, but I just...I suppose because of the difference between our worlds I had never considered just how similar you are to...me.”

 Patton blinked. “Oh.” The human looked down for a moment. “I still don’t understand why you started acting weird when I called us friends though.” Patton bit his lip. “We are friends...aren’t we?”

Logan sunk further into his hands, quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”

Logan slowly pulled his hands away, forcing himself to look at Patton. “I’ve never had friends.” Logan admitted. “So I admit I’m unsure of the particular qualifications, but I’m certain I have not been particularly ‘friendly.’”

 “But you have!” Patton exclaimed. He gave the giant a smile. “You’re the best thing that could have happened to me in this place. And I certainly consider you my friend.”

“Why?” Logan pressed. “What have I done to earn such a title?”

 “Well, you saved me, for one.” Patton smiled. “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. You listen to me. Oh! And you didn’t even punish me for everything I did these past few days. There are more examples but we’d be here forever if I listed them all.”

“I doubt we would.” Logan frowned. “Patton, from my limited knowledge on relationships, I am beginning to suspect that this is...not healthy.”

 Patton frowned. “You’re starting to sound like Virgil.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Why?”

“I’ve kept you trapped here, Patton!” Logan insisted, looking at Patton incredulously. “I’ve treated you horribly, and sat to the side to watch the whole world here demean you. You’ve been alone, the only one of your kind, for over a year. Why do you act so indifferent to that?”

 Patton simply looked at Logan. “...I don’t know.” When Logan said it, it was harder to ignore. “Maybe...I’m just used to it? I mean, it was bad at first but not so much now. E-Either way, am I still technically trapped if I want to be here?” Patton gave Logan a hesitant smile.

“But why do you want to be here?” Logan paused, realizing he had never asked much about Patton’s past. Why hadn’t he done that? Logan was suddenly overcome with the feeling he didn’t know Patton at all.

“I’m certain a life in your world would be preferable to this.” Logan observed. “What…” Logan’s mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “That is to say, do...is there anybody we took you from?”

 Patton looked down at that. “...No. I was...all alone.” He said the same thing he had told Virgil before. He had no family and no friends. At least...no friends that actually cared about him.

“All right.” Logan’s conscience eased ever so slightly at that. “But, regardless, surely there’s things you miss from your world. Elements I could never hope to provide.”

 Patton thought for a moment, before shrugging. “I mean, I guess maybe TV, my phone or just...technology in general. But, honestly? I...well, it’s been so long, it’s almost like that was a past life. I don’t really miss it anymore. I mean, I do sometimes but I would much rather be here with you.”

“But you do miss it.” Logan reminded him.

 “...Sometimes.” Patton repeated.

“And if I understand you correctly, the main draw of this world is myself?” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Meaning that, if I were not here, you would rather be back in your world?”

 Patton looked down. “...Yeah.”

Logan watched Patton’s face carefully, anxious of the human’s reaction. “Then I have to send you back.”

 Patton’s eyes widened. “Wh-What!? No! You can’t!” At this, Patton finally ran out of his cage, stopping in front of Logan.

“Yes, I can.” Logan took Patton’s statement literally. “By the end of the week it will be my call, and I can order Dee to send both you and Virgil home.”

 Patton shook his head frantically. “No! Please Logan, I want to stay!” Tears started to fall and he moved closer to hang over Logan’s arm. “Please.” He couldn’t lose his best friend.

“Patton…” Logan turned his head, determined not to look at the human as his heart began to ache. “It’s for the best. Even if you stayed here, you cannot be around me anymore.”

 “But why?!” Patton asked desperately. “Was it something I did? I’m sorry! I promise I’ll do better!”

“No, Patton, it’s not that.” Logan insisted. “It’s not that I want you to keep a distance, it’s just, well, with my new duties I won’t have time to be with you as often, and there is also the issue of my care for you becoming a national threat. It’s considered a bad practice for a king to have such emotional ties.”

 Patton deflated at that. Somewhere deep down he knew that Logan was right...he also knew that Virgil was right. But that was deep deep down. On the surface, he still very much wanted to stay. “Please, Logan. I-I want to stay.” He said again, quietly.

“Patton, there’s no place for you here.” Logan looked down at Patton sympathetically. “This isn’t your home.”

 “This place has been my home for a year…” Patton said. “I’m...not even sure what I would do if I went back to my world…” It’s not like he had his apartment anymore...or a job.

“I’m certain Virgil will assist you.” Logan hoped the human would assist Patton, at least. “And surely with time you’ll... re-acclimate well enough.”

 Patton looked down, tears falling. “...I’ll miss you.”

Logan closed his eyes, wincing as he shook his head. “Please don’t do that.”

 Patton shook his own head, looking up at Logan. “I can’t help it! I’d miss you so much, Logan. How could I not miss the only person who...the only person who has ever really given a crap about me.” He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe up his tears but more just continued to come.

Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He scooped up Patton, holding him to his chest. Logan gently shushed him, rubbing calming circles onto the human’s back. Still, a lump seemed permanently caught in Logan’s throat.

“I’ll miss you too.” Logan said hoarsely.

 Patton buried himself in Logan’s chest, soaking in the familiar comfort. “Then don’t make me go back.” Patton said quietly, his voice slightly muffled by Logan’s shirt.

“I wish it were that simple.” Logan’s vision began to blur, the fact finally sinking in that he would be losing his best- his only- friend.

 “So, what?” Patton pushed himself away a little, just enough to look up at Logan’s face. “I...I only have a few days left with you?” He didn’t want to go but he had a feeling he would be able to change Logan’s mind on this.

Logan nodded, biting his lip and not trusting himself to speak.

 “And...you’re going to be so busy...we’ll probably barely see each other.” Patton couldn’t help but realize. “And then...we’ll never see each other again.” Patton couldn’t stand the thought. Let alone believe it was soon going to be his reality.

Logan felt his chest clench, covering his mouth with his free hand as he nodded again.

 Patton continued to wipe away his tears. “...Do you really think...this is for the best?” Patton asked, looking up at Logan with big watery eyes.

Logan hesitated, giving a small, third nod.

“Oh Patton.” Logan hugged the human tighter, feeling a couple stray tears escape his eyes.

 As Logan held him tighter, the dam finally burst and Patton was full on sobbing now. “I-I hate this…” Patton said in between his cries.

“I hate it too.” Logan assured him, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 Patton felt like he was there for hours, crying into Logan’s chest. But really, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Eventually though, his tears dried up. Didn’t mean he was any less sad about leaving though.

 “I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep.” If he slept, that meant even less time with Logan.

“I know the feeling.” Logan gave a dry chuckle, his very being aching with exhaustion. “But it is quite late. We should get at least some rest.”

 “...Okay.” He knew Logan was probably really tired from all his new duties. And, well, Patton was tired as well. It had been an emotional day.

Logan slowly stood, heading over to the bed with Patton still in hand. He was too tired to change out of his formal robes, instead laying down on the bed fully dressed.

 Patton yawned, snuggling more into Logan. “Goodnight…”

“Goodnight.” Logan murmured, rubbing his hand down Patton’s back and staring up at the ceiling. Despite the fact he was exhausted, Logan doubted he would get much sleep. But, eventually, sleep did overtake him and he allowed his thoughts to enter the realm of dreams.

[asterythm]

No Winning on Halloween

Title: No Winning on Halloween

Pairing: Nothing in particular. Mostly just platonic fun times with the buddies; maybe a tiny bit of Prinxiety if you squint hard enough?

Prompt: Costume Party

Word Count: approx. 3.4k

General Summary: The Sides’ annual costume party is going perfectly… right up until an unexpected guest shows up.

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit. Also, there’s a hint of Roman angst? I meant for this to be a fluffy story, I swear!!

Read this fic on AO3

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the abomination lying before him. It had been so beautiful, but now its very soul had been sucked out; the poor, helpless thing had been mistreated horribly and discarded without a second thought. It was awful — terrible — absolutely revolting. Swearing vengeance, Virgil opened his mouth to release a mighty war cry.

“Alright, which one of you absolute cretins had the brilliant idea to take a single bite into this Halloween Kit Kat, without breaking it in half first, and then just leave it on the table?” Virgil demanded.

Patton, who was the only one who heard him over the deafening sound of Spooky Scary Skeletons being blasted at full volume, gasped so hard his Fix-It Felix hat almost fell off and rushed over to where Virgil stood. “What? What kind of monster would do that?”

It wasn’t long before Logan took notice of the two Sides standing around the snack table, and made his way over, inquiring, “Are you two quite alright?” He adjusted his Sherlock Holmes scarf as he spoke.

“No!” Patton wailed, furiously waving his hand at the candy bar at the root of all this trouble. “Someone ate their Kit Kat the wrong way!”

Logan frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought it was merely a wafer chocolate; what about this particular confectionary makes it so special as to have a right and wrong way to consume it?”

“You can’t just bite into both halves of a Kit Kat without breaking it first! That’s… that’s like a crime!”

“But why does it matter? Either way, the Kit Kat gets eaten. I don’t understand what I did wrong—”

“It was you? Oh, Logan, how could you betray me like this?”

Virgil didn’t really care too much about the half-eaten candy, and, listening to their banter, he had to smile. Figures that Logan would know the entirety of Hound of the Baskervilles word for word, but wouldn’t know the proper way to eat a Kit Kat, he thought to himself, shaking his head as he quietly excused himself from the conversation. The anxious side made his way over to Roman, who didn’t seem to realize that he was now alone on the dance floor. Actually, he probably just doesn’t care. Virgil cleared his throat. “Hey, Princey.”

The prince in question turned around. “Virgil.”

“Gotta admit, this party’s actually pretty good. Still mad that you stole my idea to dress up as a Nightmare Before Christmas character, though,” Virgil teased. He didn’t really care how Roman dressed up — he just wanted to get a conversation going.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Well, how was I supposed to know you were going to dress up as Jack Skellington? And besides, I make a fantastic Sally, thank you very much.”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just wanted an excuse to break out your red wig again. You were a pretty good Merida last year, could’ve just stuck with that,” shot back Virgil.

“Excuse me?” Roman put a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “You expect me, the most creative Side of all, to wear the same Halloween costume twice? Never! Never, I say!”

“Okay. That’s what I was hoping you’d say, ‘cause I cut up your Merida dress to make the coattails for my costume. Glad you don’t mind.”

“You what?” Snickering, Virgil winked before running away as fast as his legs could take him. He didn’t need to look back to know that Roman was chasing after him. “Virgil, get back here!”

Dashing through the mind palace, Virgil found himself laughing, really laughing, for the first time in as long as he could remember. He loved fall, of course — how could he not? It was Halloween season! — but Thomas’ “autumn anxiety” had been acting up that year and he’d found himself working harder than usual. He had to admit that it felt great to be able to just relax at the annual costume party that Roman always held, even more so than usual this time.

Or maybe it just felt great to mess with Roman. That, too.

Either way, Virgil was… happy to have a worry-free day where he could just eat candy and drink bad punch and hang out with the other Sides. He had complained when Roman told him that the number one rule for the costume party would be “no overthinking anything” — But that’s what I do best! he’d whined — but he had to admit that he was glad Roman had made him promise. It was nice to know that Roman really did care.

Dashing through the halls of the mind palace, Roman hot on his heels, both of them shouting friendly taunts to each other, Virgil felt almost… carefree. Like nothing could stop him.

Moments later, something stopped him.

Virgil stopped in his tracks and stared. Roman came flying around the corner and crashed into him only moments later. “Hey, what’s the big… idea…”

Roman trailed off as he caught sight of the reason Virgil had stopped so suddenly. His eyes narrowed.

“Deceit,” Virgil hissed.

Indeed, before them stood Deceit. Virgil’s lip curled up in an automatic snarl, but a second glance told him that Deceit was not quite his regular self today.  Instead, he seemed to shrink in on himself. Virgil recognized a lot of Deceit’s body language as mirroring what usually was his own — hunched shoulders, hands gripping the container tighter than necessary, head slightly bowed, eyes darting. He seemed… nervous.

Not to mention his unusual outfit. He was dressed in an odd-looking robe; a colourful mishmash of many different fabrics that was at once regal and eccentric. In his hands, he held — was that a Tupperware container?

“What are you doing here?” Roman stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger. “What’s in the box?”

Roman was expecting a witty remark, a smug smile. He got neither. Rather, Deceit opened the container with a hopeful look on his face. “Er… I brought cookies.”

Virgil and Roman stared.

“Is it the costume? It’s too obscure, isn’t it? I’m dressed up as Prospero. You know, the guy from The Tempest?”

Virgil and Roman stared.

An awkward moment of silence.

Virgil and Roman stared.

Deceit held up the cookies to their faces, seeming to think that the two other Sides had somehow missed them.

Virgil and Roman stared.

“Did I mix up the dates? I thought today was the costume party.”

  xxx

  “Absolutely not.”

“Sure thing!”

Logan and Patton spoke at the same time. The other Sides turned to Patton, incredulous.

“How can you possibly think this is a good idea?” Logan asked him.

“Well, you said he didn’t seem like he wanted to cause trouble, right?” Patton addressed Virgil, who nodded. “And it is true that Roman sent out an invitation to all the Sides. That includes Deceit.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant all the light Sides! Not that two-faced treacherous toad!” Roman

protested.

Logan sighed. “His motif is that of a snake, Roman, not a toad.”

“I’m sorry, I had to make it alliterative.”

Virgil was losing patience. “Guys, can we please focus?” He turned to Patton. “I get that you wanna make Deceit feel included or some dumb nice thing like that, but we can’t trust him,” Virgil insisted. “What if it’s another trick? I don’t understand how you’re so okay with him joining us.”

“Agreed,” Logan chimed in. “Deceit has lied to us before; in fact, it’s at the very core of his being. It’s what he does best.”

“I guess, but… but that doesn’t mean that he always lies! Roman, you mentioned that he was wearing a costume,” Patton argued, “and he brought cookies! Cookies! You can’t possibly say no to cookies, can you?” Roman started to speak, but Patton talked over him. “I get it. You don’t exactly trust him. Honestly, I don’t either. I mean, he stole my identity — not cool. But Deceit just wants to have fun. Can you blame him? Everyone deserves to be able to take a break from time to time. We all know the Dark Sides aren’t the liveliest bunch. Can’t we just let him have this one day?”

Patton’s last words echoed in the room. The other Sides were silent.

Finally, Logan spoke up. “I… suppose… it couldn’t hurt to let Deceit join in on the festivities for a day.”

“What? Logan, you can’t be serious!” Roman objected.

Logan held up a hand, silencing Roman effectively. He continued, “You must admit that Patton has a point. All of us work hard to keep Thomas safe and healthy, and although Deceit’s way of doing so may be… counterproductive… he still ought to be allowed a day of amusement. I’m not saying we need to treat him like a friend, but perhaps we can consider setting aside our differences today and forming a truce.”

The most anxious of the Sides was still apprehensive, of course, but Virgil started to see what Logan and Patton were saying. Slowly, he nodded. “I guess it would be okay, just for today.”

Roman, on the other hand, could hardly believe his ears.

He’d worked so hard for this costume party! He’d put so much effort into making sure it was absolutely perfect. Everything had been carefully thought out, from the party playlist song order to the location and arrangement of all the fake cobwebs to the exact shade of orange icing on the chocolate cupcakes. He knew how excited Patton had been for October to arrive. He’d noticed how Logan had been staying up late to work on Thomas’s videos. He’d seen how Virgil had been even more stressed than normal, trying to keep up with all the unwanted negativity that had arrived with the cold weather.

He’d planned and planned so that they could have the best costume party yet, and then Deceit showed up and just had to ruin it for all of them. They’d been having fun! They’d been relaxing! They’d been happy! And now they just wanted to throw away all of his hard work… for what? To appease a filthy liar?

When Roman spoke, his words were sharp and dripping with venom. “Well. I suppose I understand what you’re saying.”

“Oh! Um, that’s great, but are you sure?” Patton asked, cocking his head to the side. He hadn’t expected Roman to give in so easily.

In fact, Roman wasn’t quite finished. “Oh, I’m sure, all right. I may have spent countless all-nighters pouring my heart and soul into organizing this party for you all, but if making a Dark Side feel good is your priority, well, don’t let me stop you! I completely understand. Who cares about all the hard work I did, right?” Roman laughed bitterly. “Well, go ahead! Go bring the good news to your new best friend! I won’t stop you.” And with that, Roman sunk out.

  xxx

  “Well, um, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Patton said to Deceit, who had been waiting in the halls where Virgil and Roman had left him. “The good news is, most of us are okay with you spending time with us today.”

“Most of you?” said Deceit quizzically.

“Yeah, uh, Roman… won’t be there, though,” Patton fumbled in response. “But you can still come and have fun with the rest of us!”

Deceit sighed. There was a nasty feeling gnawing away at his gut — guilt. He’d driven Roman away from his own party.

“You know what, Patton? I really appreciate it, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll be attending the party after all.” He gave the Tupperware container to Patton. “You can keep the cookies, though.”

Deceit pretended not to hear Patton’s confused protests as he disappeared from sight.

  xxx

  A series of gentle knocks on Roman’s bedroom door alerted him to another Side’s presence. Probably Patton.

“Leave me alone,” grumbled Roman. No, please come in. His ego would never let him admit it, but he’d been hoping that someone would come to check in on him. Patton had come faster than he’d expected, though. Usually, the other Sides gave him some time to mope before coming to cheer him up with compliments.

The door opened with a soft click, and Roman was surprised to see that the one standing on the other side wasn’t Fix-It Felix, here to give Roman a tap with his golden hammer and make everything better. It was Jack Skellington, coat-tails and all.

“Virgil?”

The anxious Side invited himself inside and sat next to Roman on his fancy four-poster bed, fidgeting a little bit. “Hey there, Sally.”

The two of them sat in silence for a couple minutes, until Roman heard a very quiet snort of laughter. He whipped his head around immediately. “What are you laughing at, Hot Topic?”

“I just… I can’t take you seriously with that bright red wig of yours.”

Roman flushed with embarrassment. He’d forgotten he was wearing that. He removed the incriminating hairpiece. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Okay, so did you come up here for a reason, or did you just want to laugh at my hair?”

Suddenly serious, Virgil’s smirk disappeared. “Yeah, actually. I just felt like I owe you an apology.”

  xxx

  Deceit sat, alone, in the darkscape. Stupid! the darkscape wailed in his own voice. So stupid! What on Earth were you expecting? For them to welcome you with open arms, just because you were all dressed up and baked some cookies? Ridiculous. You’re a Dark Side. They don’t like you.

He closed his eyes tight and tried to drown out the never-ending cacophony. He was used to the whispers that were always echoing through the hallways, but today they were so much louder than usual.

It was no use. Showing weakness had been a bad idea — the voices grabbed hold of him and pulled him down, down, down…

  xxx

  “...we didn’t really consider your feelings when we made our decision, and that wasn’t fair. All of us really do appreciate how much work went into your party. So… uh, we’re sorry,” Virgil finished. He finally made eye contact with Roman (he’d been staring at his hands for the entirety of his apology) and was surprised to see the Side who had previously seemed so downtrodden was grinning like a fool.

“How many times did you rehearse that apology?” Roman asked.

“Wh— huh?” That was not the answer Virgil had been expecting. He hadn’t even been expecting to be able to get through his entire apology (which, by the way, he had only rehearsed six times, thank you very much!); he’d been sure that Roman would cut him off somewhere in the middle with some kind of snarky comment. When Roman was silent, Virgil had gotten more than a little nervous. Roman was never silent unless he was either angry or touched. And yet, the huge smile on Roman’s face showed that he was anything but angry. So that meant…

Mistaking Virgil’s confusion for concern, Roman hastened to comfort him. “I’m joking. That was very sweet of you, Virgil, and I really do appreciate it. I have to admit that I overreacted a tad bit. It’s just been an exhausting couple of days, you know?”

Virgil listened and nodded. “It’s great that you wanted to take stress off our shoulders with this party, Roman — really, it is — but it seems like you ended up just taking that stress onto yourself. You mentioned that you pulled a lot of all-nighters, huh? I get that you were excited, but come on, Princey. You can’t do that to yourself.”

Roman hated to admit fault, but… “I suppose you’re right, Jack Smellington.”

“Hey! Come on! Again with the name-calling? I thought we were having a heart-to-heart here!”

Roman nudged Virgil playfully. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I suppose that I have some apologizing to do, as well. Come on.” He got up and crossed over to the door, Virgil following close behind.

The two of them walked side-by-side, Side by Side, down the mindscape halls. When they reached the living room, Virgil hurried in first and sat down on the couch between Logan and Patton, who had long since stopped the music and were now sitting in silence, expecting Roman to step in.

Virgil spent a full minute wondering what was taking Roman so long before he got up and went back to check. “Ro?”

The hallways were empty. Roman was nowhere in sight.

  xxx

  Time was a fluttery, doubtful sort of thing in the darkscape. It was a single silver ribbon that twisted and folded and, every once in a while, even stopped entirely. Sometimes, Deceit might just blink and weeks would flash by. Other times, he would lie down and sleep for what felt like an eternity, and wake to find that it had only been a few minutes he’d been unconscious.

Deceit didn’t know how long he’d been listening to the savage screams tearing away at his very core like vultures descending on a slab of dead meat. He didn’t want to know. At first, he’d wanted to escape to the safety of his room where the darkscape’s words were almost imperceptible, but to do that would be to admit defeat, and Deceit had had enough of that for today. So he sat and let the darkscape do its work, filling him up with bitterness and self-doubt.

Until, suddenly, there was someone’s hand on his shoulder — a grip that was firm and assertive, but not too tight. The whispers that filled Deceit’s mind disappeared with a puff of smoke as he turned to look at the unexpected visitor.

“...Roman? What are you doing here?”

The flamboyant Side spoke as if reciting words he’d already heard once before. “I just felt like I owe you an apology.”

  xxx

  “What’s wrong, Virge?” Patton asked, voice full of concern.

The panicked Side exclaimed, “Roman was right behind me, and now the idiot’s just run off to who-knows-where!”

Logan got to his feet, alarmed. “He didn’t give you any hints about where he was going?”

“No,” Virgil said. “I just went up to his room to apologize and then he said that he needed to say sorry to you guys too, so we came downstairs and now he’s just gone.”

“You’re quite sure that he desired to talk to us, specifically? Not anyone else who he perhaps may have hurt?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, who else would he need to…” Virgil trailed off as he realized what Logan was implying. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh does seem appropriate for this situation,” Logan agreed.

Patton blinked, not quite catching on. “What? What are you guys talking about?”

“Roman didn’t mean us. He meant Deceit. He’s gone to the darkscape,” explained Virgil. “Oh, man. Why’s he gotta be such a clueless moron all the time? What made him think it would be a good idea to go down there?”

“He’s gone down to the darkscape?” cried an incredulous Patton. “But that’s dangerous! We gotta go bring him back before he gets himself hurt, Virgil!”

“I know, I know, I just… really don’t want to go down there again.” Virgil shuddered, and Patton’s voice grew quiet.

“Oh, I’m— I’m sorry. Er, if you don’t want to, it can just be me and Logan...”

After a moment of quiet focus, Virgil said, “No, I’m coming too. I wanna give him a piece of my mind, anyway. And no one knows how to deal with Deceit better than I do.” Patton couldn’t deny the truth in that statement.

“Alright,” Logan said impatiently. “Well, then, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Taking a deep breath, Patton and Logan stood, Virgil getting up a second later. The three of them had determined expressions on their faces, and stepped out into the halls, ready to run into Roman and bring him back to safety.

They weren’t expecting for that to happen in quite so literal a fashion. As Logan turned the corner, he collided face-first with Roman, who stumbled backwards — right into Deceit.

Patton gasped. “Roman! Behind you!”

Rubbing his forehead, Roman cracked the slightest of smiles.

“Yes, I’m aware. I was just bringing him to the living room so that we could join you guys, but it looks like you decided to meet us halfway, anyhow.”

He lowered his voice. “We’re still not friends. But just for today, we don’t really have to be enemies either, you know?”

  xxx

(The cookies were delicious, by the way.)

xxx

A/N: This ended up being a lot longer and a lot more confusing than I intended. I wanted to write a cute little 500-word fluffy fic and post it the same day I wrote it, but then my hand slipped and before I knew it I was writing a 3k in ten-minute writing sprints in between all my homework. Since I wrote this for the SS Spooky Month, I threw this on here without doing.. uh.. any editing. So yeah -- definitely not by best work, but hey, this is my blog and I’ll post what I want, haha!

PS - Anyone who guesses the reference in the title gets a cookie :P

[today-only-happens-once]

Of Playgrounds and Proms

Title: Of Playgrounds and Proms

Word Count: 8329

Summary: High School AU. Nobody but Patton and Logan know that Roman and Virgil are dating. The night of their prom, Roman thinks back on his relationship with Virgil, and later finds himself with a decision to make. Romantic Prinxiety with a side of Logicality.

Warnings: fluff, angst, closeting, getting outed, homophobia, kissing, panic attacks, parental neglect, cursing, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: This was supposed to be a single scene, friends. Just one. It is now my longest Sanders Sides fic. Go figure. Shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff  for her help and encouragement through the long process of writing this. It might be really bad, tbh, but I’m kind of tired of working on it and reading it, so… here ya go. ^u^ Editing done by yours truly. All mistakes are mine.

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @ethospathoslogan, @pastel-patton123

…

“Patton, would you just hold still? I don’t want to accidentally stick you,” Logan Sanders says as he holds the lapel of his boyfriend’s gray tux, attempting to put a pin through the stem of the boutonniere: a light blue rose and baby’s breath. It compliments Patton’s white tux shirt and blue bow tie.

Patton Foster grins, his eyes bright and happy behind his thick glasses frame. “Sorry, Lo,” he says.

Logan finishes pinning the flowers to his lapel and gives his boyfriend of two years a fleeting, soft smile. He takes a step back, smoothing the front of Patton’s suit jacket before giving him a satisfied nod. Patton laughs and grabs his tie—matching Patton’s bowtie in color despite the fact that the rest of his suit and tux shirt were black—and kisses him.

Roman Prince—in a white suit with a gold vest and tie—smiles at the exchange from where he stands leaned up against the entryway to the living room.

“Get a room,” says a familiar voice coming up behind Roman. Virgil Shea moves to stand beside him, his arms just barely grazing Roman’s. It’s enough to send a flutter through his stomach. Virgil looks… exquisite, if Roman is being honest. Black tux jacket and a matching vest that lay over a violet shirt and a metallic purple tie.

Virgil’s hands ghost over Roman’s, their fingers entwining for a moment. Roman feels a familiar warmth in his chest at the touch. He remembers when they first met.

…

September. Second grade.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Seven year-old Roman frowns as he looks at the other seven year-old. Roman is hanging off the side of the upper level of the playset, a wooden stick he’d been using as a makeshift sword in his hand. The other boy is new to the class, Roman knows. What was his name again?

“Oh yeah?” Roman challenges, annoyed. “Why not?”

The other kid huffs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black zip up hoodie. “Something bad could happen,” he explains.

Roman rolls his eyes. “The ground is lava, you know. So… you’ve burned up because of the lava and I don’t have to listen to you.” He valiantly swings an arm out, now only holding on with one hand.

“What are you doing?!” the kid exclaims, ignoring Roman’s explanation. He sounds mad. Roman rolls his eyes.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m fighting off the lava monster.”

“That’s stupid.”

Roman thinks for a moment about throwing his stick at him. But then he’d have lost his sword, and it was his only defending weapon against the monster. Instead, he scowls at the kid below on the ground. “You’re stupid.”

The other kid glares at him for a long moment. “I’m going to tell Mr. Picani.” Mr. Picani was the recess monitor. Roman refuses to back down, staring at the other child intently until he eventually turns on his heels and storms off towards the adult over by the swingset.

Roman groans loudly before jumping to the ground, staring at the kid in the hoodie as he walked away. Why did he have to go and ruin the fun?

…

Present.

Virgil squeezes his hand, pulling Roman back from his thoughts. Roman smiles, bringing his boyfriend’s hand up and kissing his knuckles lightly. His heart flutters a little at the soft blush that spreads across his boyfriend’s cheeks at the gesture.

“Are you ready?” Logan asks. “We don’t want to be late for the reservation.”

“Right,” Roman says, not taking his eyes off of Virgil even as he lets their hands drop. “I’m driving, right?”

“I believe that was the plan, yes,” Logan replies. “But should the need arise, I would not mind taking on that responsibility.”

Roman shakes his head. “Not necessary,” he says, finally taking his gaze off of the curve of Virgil’s lips, the angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. “Shall we, everyone?”

Patton laughs lightly, slipping his arm around Logan’s. “We shall.” He grins. “This is gonna be so fun!”

Roman tries to not let the smile falter as he feels Virgil extract his hand from his own. “Most certainly,” he says. “Senior prom is going to be lit.”

“Lit?” Logan repeats, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Roman rolls his eyes. “Look it up on Urban Dictionary, School House Flop.”

Logan pulls out his phone to do precisely that as the four of them file through the doorway, waving to Logan’s dads as they remind the four of them to be safe, have fun, and call if they need anything. Roman feels a small twinge of envy as Patton and Logan keep their fingers entwined as they cross the lawn to Roman’s car on the street. Virgil sticks by Roman’s side, jumping into the front passenger seat, but they don’t touch one another.

Roman isn’t ‘out’ yet. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he might still be in the closet if it wasn’t for what had happened to Virgil. He remembers the day clearly. It was also the first time Roman had witnessed one of his panic attacks in person.

…

October. Sophomore year.

Roman feels his phone buzz in his pocket in the middle of Chemistry. He exchanges a quick glance with Logan across the classroom, arching a silent eyebrow. Logan nods almost imperceptibly. He’d gotten a text too, which meant it was probably Patton or Virgil. And Patton was in American History where he was giving a group presentation. As a general rule, the four of them rarely used their phones during school but after Virgil told them about his struggle with anxiety, they all had agreed to have them on their person just in case Virgil needed help.

If Virgil was texting them in the middle of class, it meant he needed help.

Logan seems to reach the same conclusion. He raises his hand, grabbing the teacher’s attention.

“Uh, yes, Logan?” the teacher says.

“To calculate the molarity of a solution when the solute is given in grams and the volume of the solution is given in milileters—“

Roman tunes out the question and uses the evident distraction to his advantage as he fishes the phone out of his pocket, glancing down. He’s right. It’s a text from Virgil, and one letter: “Q”. Any single letter from Virgil meant that he needed some help. In the few instances where it had been necessary, Virgil had always sent a letter on the edge of the text keyboard because his hands were usually shaking too hard to type out much else.

Roman’s hand shoots straight up in the air as he slips the phone back into his pocket. The teacher casts a faintly surprised look. “You have a question, Roman?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher gives him a tired look but nods. “Sure.”

Roman has to keep himself from sprinting out of the room. His mind is racing. Virgil has a free period, which he usually spent in the theatre working on sets even though technically he wasn’t allowed to. The theatre would be empty, so he’d probably stay there, right? He figures it’s worth a shot. Roman sends a quick text to the group:

R: on my way, V.

He hurries down the stairs around the corner, checking the hallway quickly before he pulls the door to the theater open and slips inside. It thuds heavily behind him. Roman’s wide, worried eyes scan the empty rows of seats and the stage—also empty save for the half-constructed set pieces. There’s no sign of the teen, and Roman wonders if maybe he guessed wrong.

“Virgil?” Roman calls, feeling his stomach twist with concern. He starts his way down the aisle towards the stage, seeing an abandoned screwdriver and set of paintbrushes next to a paint tray. The paint is still wet, and the only techie who worked on the set during the school day was Virgil. Even if he wasn’t still here, he had been recently.

Roman jumps up on the stage. “Virge? You still here?”

He hears soft fabric rustling, the curtains moving in the corner of his eye. Roman’s head swivels over instinctively. Virgil is looking at him with wide eyes, his hood pulled low and tight over his sweep of bangs. Even in the shadows of the stage wing, Roman can see he’s white as a sheet. Slowly, Virgil lowers himself to the floor.

“Whoa, Virge. It’s okay,” Roman says softly, crossing over to him slowly so as to not startle him. “You’re okay.”

Virgil shakes his head. “N-No, I… I…” As Roman gets closer, he can hear the other’s breathing. It’s fast and shallow.

“Hey,” Roman says, doing his best to keep his voice calm and quiet as he kneels in front of him. “Take a deep breath.” Though he’d known that Virgil had anxiety and occasionally suffered from panic attacks, he’d never actually been around to witness one. He tries to think back to when Patton and Logan had talked about their experiences in helping Virgil. What had they done? What had they said seemed to work?

Virgil shakes his head again. “I can’t.” His voice sounds tight and strained.

“You’re gonna be okay, Virge,” Roman repeats. What was that breathing exercise again? It clicks in his head a second later. “Breathe with me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together. In for four seconds. Ready?”

“Ro-Roman,” Virgil says, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“Just try, okay?” Roman says gently. “I’ll count. You don’t have to keep track, I’ll do that. Breathe in first. Okay? One…” Roman counts to four aloud, watching Virgil carefully. He tries, but he’s exhaling by the time Roman reaches three.

“Sorry,” Virgil grits out. “Sorry, it’s…”

“No, that’s okay.” Roman is about to encourage him to try again when a quiet zzzt interrupts him. Virgil’s breath catches slightly and Roman realizes suddenly that the teen has his phone in a death grip in his shaking hands. A small crease appears between Roman’s brows as he frowns. Virgil seems to be shaking even harder. And though Roman isn’t sure why, he has the vague feeling that he really should get Virgil away from his phone.

He remembers Logan saying something about how some people used their phone to communicate during a panic attack if they went nonverbal, or used it as a distraction to calm back down. Roman also knew Virgil sometimes used it in that way, too. But he can’t ignore the gut feeling that something is different about this time. Virgil isn’t using his phone so much as crushing it in his hand. And whatever notification had just came through seems to have made everything worse.

“Virgil,” Roman says, shifting tentatively closer. “Can I touch you?”

He hesitates, then nods. Roman holds his hands up towards him slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil says, nodding again with more certainty.

Roman moves slowly, reaching for Virgil’s hand that was wrapped around his phone. “Can you let go of this? Just for a moment.” Virgil’s fingers uncurl reluctantly from around the phone, and Roman smiles encouragingly at him as the phone drops into the young actor’s outstretched palm. He slips the phone into his own pocket. “If you need it,” Roman assures him, “I’ll give it back right away. Okay? But here.” He takes Virgil’s now empty hand and holds it against the center of his chest. “Let’s try to breathe together again, okay?”

It takes them a while. Roman breathes evenly—in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, out for eight seconds—with Virgil’s palm pressed against his heartbeat. He can feel Virgil’s phone buzzing every few minutes in his pocket. He ignores it. Eventually, though, Roman notices Virgil’s breath getting less shaky as he is increasingly more able to inhale, hold, and exhale for the same amount of time Roman is. His color starts to come back to him gradually.  Roman keeps the exercise going for a bit longer even after Virgil seems to have evened out, just to help ground Virgil a bit more.

“There ya go,” Roman tells him softly. Virgil swallows and leans his head back against the black brick of the wall behind him, his hand still against Roman’s chest. Roman doesn’t push it away. “You did great, Virge.”

Virgil scrubs a hand across his eyes, smearing his makeup. “God, you missed the rest of Chem, didn’t you?”

Roman waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was just exam prep anyway, and Logan can help me if I get confused.”

Virgil gives him a skeptical look but it’s overshadowed by a deep exhaustion and lingering fear that makes Roman frown. Virgil’s eyes fall to his hand against Roman’s chest. He feels some pressure let up on his chest as if Virgil is going to pull away, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, Roman,” he says quietly, averting his gaze. “I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?”

Roman feels Virgil’s phone buzz again in his pocket. He ignores it again and shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Unless you want to talk about it.”

There’s a long, heavy silence.

“I was outed.” Virgil’s words ring clear despite how quiet his voice is.

Roman stares at him. “What?”

Virgil’s eyes flash back up to Roman’s. He doesn’t repeat it, but he doesn’t need to. Roman knows what he said, he just can’t believe it.

Roman’s thoughts race ahead of him and the questions tumble out of his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Who to? Your parents? A teacher? The tech crew?”

“Pretty much everyone,” Virgil says, the bitterness overtaking the fear for a moment.

Roman blinks a few times. “Who outed you?” The only people who knew Virgil was gay was himself, Logan, and Patton. And he knows with absolute certainty that none of them would do that. Logan and Patton may be out already, but they’d never out someone else. Roman feels a cold, sharp anger settle in his chest.

Virgil looks at him tiredly. “Does it really matter who, Roman?”

“Yes,” Roman answers immediately. “It matters to me.”

“Why? Gonna beat them up or something?” There’s a faint note of amusement in his voice. Roman doesn’t understand it. There is nothing remotely funny about this.

“Don’t tempt me,” Roman growls.

“Roman.”

“I mean… shit, Virgil,”  Roman says, running a hand through his hair. “How’d they…?”

Virgil looks away again, the faint smile falling from his face. “Remember Jonathan?”

He does. It was a false name, he knew, but Jonathan was what Virgil had been calling the guy he was interested in. They’d been texting for almost two weeks. Texting. Roman’s stomach drops. Had someone gotten ahold of Virgil’s phone?

“Virgil…”

Virgil grits his teeth, then shakes his head. “The worst part is that he was in on it, Roman. The whole thing, right from the start, was a fucking set-up.” Almost as if on cue, Roman hears the zzzt of Virgil’s phone buzzing in his pocket. Virgil gives him a dry, vaguely pained smile. “Been getting notifications nonstop ever since they emailed it out to most of the student body. It’s been on Snapchat. Twitter. Hell, probably even Facebook by this point.”

Roman’s hand balls into a fist before he forces it to relax. He’s furious. But not at Virgil, and he doesn’t want to scare him. “We’ll get them to take it down.”

Virgil sighs, and this time he just sounds tired and defeated “It’s a little too late for that, Ro.”

A dozen and a half threats against Jonathan and his friends flashes through Roman’s mind, each more creative than the last. But he takes one look at Virgil—the tired eyes and anxious set to his jaw—and the fight bleeds out of him for now. Roman gently places his hand on Virgil’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, his voice suddenly softer. “You’ll get through this. I’ve got your back. We all do.”

Virgil nods. “Y-yeah. I know.”

…

Present.

Dinner, Roman has to admit, is a lot of fun.

Some of it is spent with Logan going on an admittedly amusing tangent about how slang was in itself ‘indicative of the ambiguity of language and its increasing complexity as a social phenomenon’. Somewhere along the way, Virgil and Logan get into a friendly debate about conspiracy theories. Patton makes, by Roman’s count, no less than eight food related puns before desert arrives. Roman laughs and smiles throughout the entire meal, his smile softening just a little every time he sees that rare, bright look in Virgil’s eyes.

God, he’s so lucky.

Logan scribbles his signature on his and Patton’s check, then glances at the watch on his wrist. “Well, it’s almost eight.”

“We should probably get going,” Virgil says.

Roman nods, finishing the signature on his own check with a flourishing pen stroke. “As you wish,” he replies, glancing up long enough to make quick eye contact with his boyfriend across the table.

“Was that a Princess Bride reference?” Patton asks, sounding surprised.

It was. Roman smiles and hums with feigned innocence. He stands up from the table, leading the way out of the restaurant and holding the door open for the other three. There’s something soft in Virgil’s eyes this time when they meet Roman’s as he passes through the doorway.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Roman has the sudden desire to wrap his arms around Virgil’s waist, pull him close, and kiss him. Kissing Virgil never failed to make Roman feel light, sending his stomach doing somersaults and his heart soaring. Even if those moments were rare and private, he’d always cherished them. That first night he kissed Virgil was still seared into his memory, signaling a permanent change between them that had led, eventually, to this moment right now.

…

May. Junior Year.

Roman’s hand brushes against Virgil’s, smiling to himself when his long fingers deftly fold between Roman’s. It sends a small flutter up through his stomach and he’s grateful for the cover of the dark. He takes in a deep breath of the warm night air, glancing at Virgil beside him. His eyes are trained on the lights of the city in the distance. They catch and twinkle in Virgil’s dark eyes even as he slowly leans his head against Roman’s shoulder.

“Gotta admit,” he says, “this was one of your better ideas, Princey.”

Roman snorts even as he leans his nuzzles lightly against the top of Virgil’s hair. “I’m glad,” he says with a faint note of amusement in his voice.

They lapse into silence, filled mostly with the sound of crickets and distant traffic from below. Up here on the hill overlooking their small town, Roman felt at once small and larger than life. Most of his attention, however, was on the warmth and pressure of the teen beside him. His heart skips over itself in his chest at his soft sweep of hair, the soft rise and fall of his breath against him, at the way his eyelashes move when he lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. Roman swallows and licks his lips, turning his gaze back to the city lights when he sees Virgil glance up at him.

There’s another long beat of silence. “Do you ever think about the future?” Virgil asks suddenly, his voice subdued.

The question startles Roman, but he doesn’t pull away from Virgil against his side. “What about the future?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. Roman sees him worrying the hem of the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers, his other hand still entwined with Roman’s. “I don’t know. Anything.”

The corner of Roman’s mouth curls up faintly. “A lot of the times, the future is the only thing I can think about,” he confesses.

“Does it ever… scare you?”

“Sometimes,” Roman replies honestly. He lightly brushes his thumb in against the back of Virgil’s hand. “Does it scare you?” he asks gently.

Virgil releases a breathy, humorless laugh. “Always.”

The honesty twists something in Roman’s chest. “Why?”

“Because…” Virgil sighs and pulls away. Roman feels an abrupt sense of absence as his heat and the pressure of his body vanishes from his side. “Because… it means things change.”

Roman tilts his head slightly even as Virgil pulls his knees up closer to his chest and rests his chin on top of them. “Is change such a bad thing?”

“It’s complicated,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the words on his tongue before he voices them. Virgil glances at him out of the corner of his eyes through his long bangs.

Roman curls his hand into a loose fist against the sudden urge to brush them away. His heart jumps suddenly at the words. There’s a weight to them, and Roman suddenly wonders if he might be talking about something more specific. About… them. “Does it have to be?” he asks carefully.

“Change means losing what you have,” Virgil replies. “What if you can’t bear the thought?”

Roman shakes his head, leaning closer to the other teen. “Change can also mean holding on even tighter.”

Virgil’s eyes flash over to him and Roman’s stomach flips at the intense gaze. “It can also tear things apart. Squeeze a bar of soap too tight and it slips right out of your hands.”

I wouldn’t do that you, Roman wants to say. He swallows the words down. “Then those weren’t the things worth holding onto,” Roman insists softly.

Virgil’s gaze flickers over Roman’s face like he’s searching for something. He doesn’t pull away from Roman’s closer proximity. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

Suddenly, their noses are mere inches from brushing against each other. Roman can feel his heart pounding fast in his ribcage, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Trust me,” he pleas in a whisper.

And then Roman’s lips are brushing against Virgil’s. The kiss is soft and feather-light. Careful, his heart beat skipping in his chest. It only lasts a moment before Roman is pulling back, opening his eyes and searching Virgil’s face for any kind of reaction. Had he crossed a line? He hadn’t even really meant to kiss him, but then he just… Oh God. He should have asked first, right? Roman’s stomach won’t stop doing flips. He feels faintly dizzy.

Virgil is just sitting there, his eyes fluttering open a moment after Roman. It’s hard to read his expression in the dark but he doesn’t say anything and Roman heart constricts. You’ve ruined everything.

“Virgil, I… I’m so sorry, I…”

The words die on his tongue as Virgil’s hand cups his jaw and suddenly the other boy’s lips are against his again, firmer and more certain this time. Roman wonders if it’s possible for his heart to burst as he sinks into the kiss.

…

Present.

When the four walk into the school gym, they sign in quickly with the teacher at the check in table before stepping further into the room. The theme had been A Night in Paris, and the gym was decorated with stills from the French city and strings of lights in the rafters. A heavy bass pop song blares from the speakers.

“Oh, there’s Eliot,” Patton says excitedly. “C’mon, Lo, let’s go say hi.” He’s dragging his boyfriend along before Logan could even think to protest.

Virgil hovers by Roman’s side in such a way that feels like he’s hyper aware of not wanting to stand too close. Roman suddenly hates the distance between them.

“Hey, guys!” a voice from behind them says. Roman looks over his shoulder to see Valerie—fellow theatre girl, and also the class president—in a royal blue gown.

“Hey, Valerie. You look beautiful as ever,” Roman says sincerely.

“Oh, thank you so much. No date tonight, Roman?” she asks.

Something uneasy shifts in Roman’s stomach as he answers her. “Not tonight.” He gives her a bright, entirely false smile. “What can I say, this Prince is on a solo quest for right now.”

Wrong wrong wrong wrong. Roman wants to look at Virgil, hope that he can see how much he doesn’t mean the words, how much they hurt to say… but he forces himself to keep eye contact with the girl in front of him.

Valerie gives him a sweet and sincere smile. “Good for you, Roman. No shame in that.” She looks at Virgil. “It’s so great to see you, Virge.”

Virgil gives her a kind, polite smile in return. “You too, Val.”

“Valerie!” another girl—Dahlia, Roman remembers her from freshman year English—calls out, grabbing her attention.

“Oh, I guess that’s me. I should go say hi. You both look great. Have fun tonight!” She rushes off before Roman can respond. The young actor slips his hands into his pockets and finally glances at Virgil. He hopes Virgil can read the apology, the emotion, in his eyes.

Virgil just gives him a patient, reassuring look in turn. Roman breathes a sigh and tries to swallow down the guilt. Virgil had always been reassuring for him, often more than he felt he deserved.

…

November. Senior Year.

Roman sighs and slams his locker closed. The metallic clang makes heads turn, and Roman pointedly ignores them, shouldering his backpack.

“Whoa,” Patton says from behind him. “Something wrong, Ro?” Roman turns around to see both Patton and Logan looking at him. Patton’s brows are drawn together in concern. Logan purses his lips as he looks at Roman thoughtfully.

Roman forces a tight smile at the expressions of concern. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m good.”

“Your behavior indicates otherwise,” Logan replies.

The aspiring actor rolls his eyes. “Just drop it, okay? I’m fine.” He falls into step with his two friends, a pace or two ahead of them.

“Falsehood.”

“Logan,” Patton says, placating. Then, behind him, Roman hears Patton add, “Roman… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… we’re always here if you do.”

A harsh retort dies in his throat. Roman swallows, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he slows to a stop outside his English classroom. Patton and Logan stop beside him. Logan looks expectant. Patton has his eyebrows slightly raised in anticipation, a soft and sympathetic look in his eyes.

Roman sighs. “Mom and Dad came home last night,” he says quietly. He sees understanding dawn in both of his friend’s eyes. He continues. “We… talked about college. It didn’t go well. That’s it, okay?” he says, sounding more tired than angry. The information is, perhaps, an incomplete truth. But the bell is about to ring, and Roman really doesn’t want to get into it right now anyway.

He’s still trying to block out the sound of his dad’s voice from the night before. What, you’re gonna prance around in tights your entire life? Man up, Roman. Be realistic.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Patton says quietly. He opens his mouth to say more, but the warning bell rings through the hallway.

With a quiet, apologetic look to Roman, Logan nudges Patton’s shoulder and nods down the hall. “We’ve gotta get to World History.”

Patton purses his lips, glancing at Logan and then worriedly looking back at Roman. “We’ll talk at lunch?”

Roman does his best to give a reassuring smile in return. “Sure.”

He ducks into the classroom as Logan and Patton head down the hallway. Roman grabs his seat towards the back of the room, fishing a notebook and his copy of Hamlet out of his backpack as the teacher greets the class and walks through the agenda for the day. The aspiring actor did his best to pay attention, helped slightly by the fact that Roman did quite enjoy Shakespeare most of the time. Shakespeare was poetry in action, and it had always been easy for Roman to visualize how it would play out on stage when given a script.

Despite himself, though, Roman finds his mind wandering back to his parents and the argument they’d had the night before. His parents had never been around much. Roman had never felt like they were really part of his life, so why did they think they had a right to control what he did with it? His dad’s detached voice echoes in his head. These prissy daydreams of yours needs to stop, son. You’re gonna be a grown man soon.

Roman had snapped right back at him. What do you know?! You’ve never even been to a performance!

“Mr. Prince?” The teacher’s voice calling his name snaps his attention. At his wide, lost look, the teacher nods to his copy of Hamlet. “Could you read starting at line 98? We’re in scene five.”

Roman nods, flipping a few pages and clearing his throat. “Oh. Yeah. Um… ‘Yea, from the table of my memory/I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records/All saws of books, all forms, all pressures of past/that youth and observation copied there/and thy commandment all alone shall live/within the book and volume of my brain/unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!’”

“Excellent job. Thank you, Roman,” the teacher says. “Can you explain to the class what is happening in these lines?”

Roman skims the text again and swallows hard before responding. “Hamlet feels pressured by his dad, so he agrees to do whatever his dad tells him because he loves him.”

“Yes, exactly,” the teacher praises, and then addresses the class. “Can anyone remind us what exactly the ghost of his father is asking him to do?”

Roman tunes out of the conversation again. He’s already well familiar with Hamlet, seeing as how he’d played Laertes freshman year when the high school had performed it. A small part of him had always identified more with Hamlet though. Is that what he’s destined to do? Hamlet’s quest to fulfill the wishes of his father had led him towards his undoing. Throughout the entire play, Hamlet is told in no uncertain terms to stop being so expressive in his emotion.

Roman again thinks back to the night before. Oh, quit crying, Roman. Don’t be so dramatic.

The young teen jumps slightly when the bell rings again, but he quickly shoves his books into his backpack and tugs the zipper closed. With third period over, Roman knows he ought to head to the cafeteria for lunch. But instead, as he makes his way through the hallways and down the stairs, he soon finds himself at the door to the theater. He opens it without really thinking and slips inside.

It’s abruptly quiet. The door clicks closed behind him. The stage is stripped—they had just finished a production of Bye, Bye Birdie—and stands empty with the houselights up. Roman takes in a deep, calming breath of the smell of dust, wood, and paint. An odd, aching pain gives a small tug in his chest. Slowly, he makes his way down the aisle of seats towards the stage. He sets his backpack on the ground before hoisting himself up and sitting on the edge of the stage thrust.

Roman doesn’t know what to do.

He groans and lays back on the stage floor. Why does he even care what his parents think? They didn’t know him. They might as well be strangers given how little Roman actually saw them. Weeks would pass between him seeing them, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. When he was small, he got used to seeing babysitters cycled through every few days. Rarely was there a consistent face in his life before he made friends with Logan and Patton in the first grade, and then Virgil in high school. His parents hadn’t seemed to care when Roman tried sports, and cared even less when he started getting involved in theatre in middle school. Meanwhile, Logan and Patton and (later on) Virgil had come to nearly every performance and game Roman had been a part of.

One time, in eighth grade, Roman ran away to Patton’s house. He still doesn’t know to this day if his parents ever noticed.

When he’d started secretly dating Virgil, he had started to believe he could be worthy of someone. Roman had always believed that was more a testament to who Virgil was than himself. But last night had been an ice cold bucket of reality. His parents didn’t believe in him. What did that say about him? The answer is simple: Roman is unremarkable. Not enough for even his own parents.

What makes him think he’s enough for anyone else, especially Virgil?

“Hey.” A voice startles him out of his thoughts, his eyes flying open. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Virgil is standing above him, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Virgil,” Roman says, surprised. He sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, hey.”

Virgil gives him a long look that Roman doesn’t return before shrugging out of his backpack and taking a seat beside the teen actor. “Thought I might find you here.”

Roman busies his hands by fiddling pretending to examine his nails. “Yeah?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Virgil nod. “When you didn’t show up for lunch, Pat and Lo got worried.”

Roman groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d completely forgotten that he told them he’d talk to them during lunch. “Sorry.”

“Need to talk about it?” Virgil replies, his voice just a touch softer. It’s with that rare gentleness that always made a small part of Roman melt.

Roman doesn’t answer right away, torn between the part of himself that feels so completely unworthy of this boy sitting beside him and another part that wants to hold onto him and never let go. “Mom and Dad came home last night,” he says eventually.

Whatever kind of reaction Virgil has to the news stays off his face. “Ah,” he says.

“Things didn’t… go well,” Roman elaborates hesitantly. “It wasn’t any huge thing. Just… they asked me about college. They’re not… fans of what I had in mind.” If you’re gonna insist on doing that gay-ass shit, I’m not paying for it, his father had told him with an icy glare.

“They don’t get to decide what you do with your life,” Virgil tells him, an edge of protectiveness slipping through. “Especially when they haven’t been involved in it much at all.”

Roman lifts a dismissive shoulder even as his eyes burn slightly. “Yeah, no. I know that.”

Virgil sighs. “Roman.”

“What?”

Roman feels Virgil’s long, slender fingers cover his own. “Look at me?” He takes in a deep, slow breath and lets his eyes flicker up to meet his boyfriend’s. There’s a sincerity, an intensity, in his gaze that catches Roman off guard. “I’ve got your back.”

Roman shakes his head quickly. I don’t deserve you.  “Why’d you settle for me?” Roman asks suddenly and earnestly.

Something flashes through Virgil’s eyes. “Who says I’m settling?”

Roman shakes his head and looks away. “Virge, I mean… you’re…” He releases a breath. “You’re strong and resilient and loyal and… God, Virge, you’re a walking masterpiece. I’m just… me.”

Virgil’s hand grips Roman’s a little harder. “Stop. Roman…” He sighs. “You’re better at… at words than I am. But… you’re incredibly talented. And dedicated. And so, so creative. Every time I see you up on that stage doing what you love, it’s…it’s… amazing. Roman, you’re kind and courageous in ways I could never be. And if your parents can’t see that, it’s their loss. Because knowing you has been… it’s been one of the best things to happen to me.”

Roman’s throat closes up, averting his gaze to look at their entwined hands. Virgil squeezes it softly before continuing. “Roman, I didn’t settle for you. I chose you.”

He vision blurs suddenly, and he opens his mouth to respond when the sound of the theatre doors opening interrupts them. Both of them jump and pull their hands away instinctively. Roman looks up, relaxing when he sees Logan and Patton walking towards them.

Roman reaches out and takes Virgil’s hand again.

…

Present.

As the night goes on, Roman finds himself increasingly hating the distance between him and Virgil. Even though he can see him, something in Roman’s chest aches to physically touch him. To slip his hand into Virgil’s and never let go. To wrap his arms around him, crush him against his chest in a hug, breathe in the scent of his hair. The ache weighs increasingly heavier throughout the night. When Virgil discretely brushes his arm against Roman’s at the snack table, he swallows down the urge to lean into the touch.

Virgil seems patient. Roman, on the other hand….

Their mutual friend Remy sidles up to Virgil and pulls him into the Cupid Shuffle; line dances were about the most dancing Virgil generally would do, as it was easy to blend into the crowd and the steps were already decided for you.

Patton seems to materialize beside Roman as he watches his classmates dance. “You okay, kiddo?”

Roman jumps slightly before recovering. “Yeah. I’m good, Pat.”

Patton follows his gaze to Virgil. “Can’t say I expected Virgil to be doing more dancing that you tonight, Ro.”

Roman shrugs and takes a sip of water. If he’s being honest, there’s only one person he really wants to dance with tonight, and he can’t. He locks gazes with Patton, who seems to soften with understanding. He gives Roman a sympathetic smile and grabs a cookie at the table beside them.

“Try to have fun tonight, okay?” Patton asks. “Be yourself. If you can do that, things will feel okay in one way or another.”

Be yourself, Roman thinks dryly. Right. Way to make it sound easy, Pat.

The song comes to an end and Virgil lingers on the outskirts of the dance floor, chatting idly with Remy. Roman watches him, love swelling in his chest even as it tightens with the repeating knowledge that all he wants to do is dance with that amazing, incredibly handsome boy right there and he can’t.

Roman remembers vividly the first time they’d said ‘I love you’ to one another.

…

July. Before Senior Year.

It had become almost a tradition for the four boys to play some kind of board game or card game to pass the time between school ending and the start of opening night for the musical. This time, the summer show was The Music Man, and the board game at their disposal was Catan. They’d found a quiet corner of the otherwise deserted library. Even the librarian had gone home after getting some summer work done, having a particular fondness for these four boys and electing to trust them to not wreak too much havoc.

Roman gasps dramatically as Virgil and Logan exchange resource cards. “You’re trading with Logan?” he demands.

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “What? He has sheep, and I need sheep.”

“I have sheep! And I needed wheat, which I know you have,” Roman argues, his tone much more teasing than actually angry.

Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses. “Roman, you are still in the lead given that you have the Longest Road. It was a well-calculated strategic move to avoid trading with you. Especially when you are only two victory points away from winning.”

“I’ll trade with you when it’s my turn, Roman,” Patton offers.

“Do you have wheat?” Roman pleads.

Patton scratches the back of his neck. “I, uh… no. I have lots of brick, though.”

“I believe it’s still my turn anyway?” Virgil cuts in. “Roman, if you have wood I can give you some wheat.”

“I can give you sheep.”

“I already got sheep from Logan.”

Roman pauses. “I can give you two sheep.”

Patton bites back a smile. “He said… sheep-ishly.”

Logan groans as Patton giggles to himself at his own joke. Virgil looks thoughtfully at his cards, ignoring the pun, then across the table at Roman. “You really don’t have any wood?”

“I’ll give you three sheep! I’m drowning in sheep. All I want is one wheat, Virge.” Roman flutters his eyelashes. “C’mon, just for me?”

“Are you actually flirting with your boyfriend right now just so he’ll give you a resource?” Logan asks Roman, incredulous. Faintly alarmed at the potential for Roman to win, Logan turns to Virgil. “Virgil, I strongly encourage you to turn the offer down. A wheat will permit him to draw another Development Card. I already strongly suspect that the one he has yet to reveal is a Victory Point—“ Roman scoffs at the insinuation (precisely because Logan is entirely correct)— “But allowing him to draw another could also garner him Largest Army, and thereby win the game.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks upwards in amusement at Logan’s desperation. “Relax, Lo. I’m not gonna trade him.” Logan relaxes back in his chair. “Because I’m gonna build some things.” In a flurry of card and piece movement, Virgil shifts things around the board. “I’m gonna build two cities here, and a settlement here in the middle of Roman’s road, thereby blocking it.”

With a cocky smirk that made Roman flush slightly, Virgil took Roman’s “Longest Road” card and placed it in front of himself. With his road interrupted in the middle, Virgil now had a longer road than Roman did.

“And here’s two more Victory Points,” Virgil continues, flipping up his own unrevealed Development Cards. “So… That’s ten, right?”

Logan’s mouth moves silently as he counts it up, then sags in his chair in defeat. “Yes. Virgil wins.”

“This betrayal will not stand, my dark and stormy night!” Roman announces dramatically and teasingly. “I will not soon forget this painful twist of the knife. I will hold this grudge to my dying breath, mark my words.”

“Love you too, Princey,” Virgil quips dryly, and then Roman swears the entire world stops for a moment.

Did… did he really just say…? Did Virgil just say he loves you? The words repeat in Roman’s mind a few times over. Virgil had never said that before. Ever. Roman can feel his face heating up, his thoughts tripping over themselves. Virgil’s face flames red under Roman’s wide stare and he averts his gaze, busying himself by sorting the remaining cards and stacking them back in the box.

Virgil just said he loves you, Roman thinks again. He blinks a few times and starts assisting with putting the game away. Did he even mean it? Virgil had never said it before even in that half-teasing way he had just now, but… he had sounded like he was teasing. So did Virgil really mean it? Roman had been wanting to say it to Virgil for a while now, but he had been afraid that doing so would make Virgil feel pressured to say or feel something he didn’t. Roman didn’t want to ever make him uncomfortable.

But still. Virgil just said he loves you. Is that sign? Roman doesn’t know. But he can’t quite help the lighter feeling in his chest. The aching desire to say it back.

Patton glances at his phone just as Logan slides the top of the box. His eyes widen suddenly. “Oh, yikes, kiddos. I’m late for the production crew meeting. I gotta run.” He jumps out of his seat, kissing Logan’s cheek before running out of the library.

Logan stands and walks away to put the board game away. Roman looks at Virgil, feeling his heart sink a little when Virgil still doesn’t look up.

“Virge?” he asks softly.

“I do, you know,” Virgil says suddenly, glancing up to meet his gaze. There’s something wide and vulnerable in them. “Love you.”

Roman gives him a soft, deliriously happy smile. “I love you too, Virge.”

…

Present.

An hour or so later, Roman, Virgil, Logan, and Patton stand towards the back of the gym as the teacher announces the Prom Queen and King. Patton and Logan’s hands are entwined, Patton’s head on Logan’s shoulder. Virgil has his arms crossed over his chest. Roman slips his hands into his pockets as if it might stifle the sudden urge he has to hold onto Virgil’s. He takes a few steps towards the drink table when the teacher’s announcement slices through the air.

“And your Prom King is… Roman Prince!”

Roman freezes in surprise for a moment. “What?” he asks, before feeling a gentle nudge in his back.

He glances over his shoulder to see Patton giving him an encouraging smile. Roman smiles a bit, the initial shock giving way to flattery as he makes his way to the stage to the sound of applause. A few people clap his shoulder as he passes through the crowd. The Prom Queen, Valerie, is already on stage and is grinning at Roman as he jumps up to join her.

The young actor feels the drama teacher—one of the chaperones for the night—drape a red sash around his shoulders. She gives Roman a warm smile and congratulates him. The stage lights are bright. Roman’s gaze floats back to his friends where Logan is clapping, Patton appears to be cheering, and Virgil now has his hands in his pockets. The corner of his mouth quirks up in one of those faint smiles that never failed to make Roman’s stomach flutter.

“And now, our Prom Queen and King will dance with their respective dates. If… they brought any,” the drama teacher adds with a curious look to Roman.

Roman Prince feels his heart suddenly start pounding in his chest, his stomach squirming.

Be yourself, Patton had told him earlier that night.

Roman watches as Valerie’s date steps into the small clearing of people that had formed around them. The young teen scans the crowd when his eyes land solely on Virgil in the back. Roman can’t quite read his expression anymore.

Roman shakes his head and shoulders his way through the crowd. He’s tired of hiding. He’s tired of feeling like he should be ashamed of who he is. He isn’t.

He ignores the questions and whispers around him as he makes a beeline for his boyfriend. Before long, Roman stands in front of Virgil with the entire crowd’s eyes watching his back. Roman takes in a deep breath, gives Virgil’s wide eyes a soft look of reassurance, and extends his hand.

“Could I have this dance, Virgil?” Nerves clutch at his chest as he asks.

Virgil swallows. He glances around the room, at the crowd watching them intently. “Roman….” His eyes flit up to lock briefly onto his boyfriend, his eyes searching and uncertain. Slowly, he places his hand in Roman’s and nods.

The single touch melts away the last of Roman’s buzzing nerves in his stomach. He releases a breathy laugh and leads Virgil back to the center of the dance floor before letting his hand fall to his waist and keeping their other hand clasped together. Virgil’s hand falls to Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman,” Virgil says under his breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“I have never been more sure of anything, my dark and stormy night,” Roman responds, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now as he gazes down into his eyes. “I’m tired of hiding. I’m not ashamed of you. Of me. Of us.”

Roman sways softly with Virgil, totally enraptured with this incredible, brave, and protective young man in his arms. Virgil shakes his head a moment later. “I just… I don’t want you to regret doing this on an impulse—“

“Sssshhh.” Roman smiles at him. “This moment with you is not something I could ever regret.”

Virgil releases a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. He glances down at their feet even as Roman dances him in slow circles. “Well, you’re definitely a Gryffindor.”

Roman grins and laughs a little, leaning his forehead against Virgil and feeling his heart swell. “Because this is chivalrous?”

“Because it’s reckless,” Virgil deadpans. Roman’s grin doesn’t falter as he pulls back to look into his eyes. The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks a little. The bright look in his eyes fades a moment later.

Roman frowns. “What’s wrong, Virgil?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. There’s a forced indifference behind it. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just… well. People are probably going to just assume you’re doing this to be nice to me after what happened last year.” There’s a light teasing tone to the words, but there’s something in his eyes that gives Roman pause. Virgil is giving Roman an out in case he’s feeling regret. But he’s not. Maybe it’s silly and cliché but Roman feels light in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.

Dancing here with Virgil, not feeling like he has to hide anymore… Roman feels like he can breathe again.

“Wanna bet?” Roman challenges. Before he can think twice, he stops dancing and cups Virgil’s face gently with his hands and kisses him. The kiss is soft, gentle, and lingers for just a moment before Roman pulls back.

Virgil’s blush is bright underneath the bit of makeup he was wearing. Roman’s thumb traces his cheekbone. “I love you,” Roman tells him suddenly. He leans his forehead against Virgil’s again as his hands fall back to his boyfriend’s waist and closes his eyes.

“I-I…” Virgil takes in a breath and swallows. “I love you too,” he whispers in that soft, personal way. The way that whispers something unique and special underneath it.

Through everything, they had found each other and chose each other again and again. A kid in a dark hoodie had stepped into his life over ten years ago on the playground. Somewhere along the way, Roman had fallen slowly and completely in love with Virgil. And as the song plays on, Roman lets everyone else melt away into the background and finally—finally—dances with him.

[fanders-fic-awards]

Knowing What Happened (Summer Fic Comp 18)

Summary: Logan has spent his whole life on the sidelines, watching while others had their first kisses, their first relationships, all through highschool and his first year at college he had never met anyone who he was interested in romantically or who was romantically interested in him.  Imagine his surprise (and frankly disdain) at being dragged to a house party by Roman only to fall head first into a ridiculous, over the top, dramatic crush on Roman’s childhood best friend Patton. Surely no good can come of this…

Trigger Warnings: alcohol, reference to past abusive relationship, slight angst, passionate making out, nose bleed, cursing

Word Count: 5026

Ballot

Logan was definitely a very smart person. Everyone said so and his grades throughout highschool and the first year of his college course definitely backed up this theory. Yes, he was smart.  And cold, and stand-offish, and anti-social, and unapproachable, and uninterested in other people and all the other unkind things he had overheard people say in reference to him over the years.  Not that it bothered him, or anything (anymore).  He was quite used to living life on the side-lines, having watched all of his other classmates have their first kisses, their first boyfriends/girlfriends/datemates, and never finding anyone who sparked that interest in him.  He was fine.  He didn’t need any of that romantic nonsense in his life anyway.  It was a distraction. A hindrance.  And nobody had ever been interested in him anyway.  He had made his peace with it. So why now was he unable to Stop. Staring. At. This. Gorgeous. Man?!

Logan had been dragged to this party by one of his good friends and roommate, Roman, who had insisted that he needed to “loosen up” and meet some new people.  Begrudgingly, Logan had agreed to come as long as Roman promised not to abandon him half-way through the night, but here he was, stood with his back against the wall next to the drinks table, clutching a red solo cup gazing across the crowded living room staring at Roman talking to the most infuriatingly gorgeous person Logan had ever seen.  He was a few inches shorter than Logan with a thin, delicate frame dressed in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt.  His chocolate coloured curls framed his freckled face and fell into his eyes as he gestured and laughed, bright and expressive eyes peering through rounded glasses.  He was endlessly lovely.  So beautiful and small (and clumsy, Logan observed as the man gestured particularly enthusiastically and accidentally whacked Roman in the face).  It was infuriating.  Logan was pleased to note that Roman did not seem to be flirting with him, however.  Their interactions seemed much more like those of old friends who had been very close once but had not seen one another in a while due to circumstance.  Suddenly a memory popped into Logan’s head, Roman had told him an old friend would be at this party, hadn’t he? Someone from his home town starting at their college this year? Was that who this person was?

“’Sup, Logan?” a low, rumbling voice close to his ear made him jump, causing him to slosh punch over his shoes as his hand jerked violently.

“GEEZE! Virgil! I didn’t see you there!” Logan looked up at the tall man next to him, wide brown eyes blinked at him through purple bangs.  As both of their heart rates returned to something more normal, a smirk spread across his new companion’s face.

“Sorry ‘bout that, man.  Didn’t expect to see you here, don’t you hate these things?” Virgil spoke slowly, his eyes soft and his shoulders relaxed.  Going by the faint smell of alcohol on his breath (which Logan could smell because for some reason Virgil was standing very close) it seemed that his friend may be somewhat intoxicated.

“Indeed, Virgil, a party is not usually ‘my scene’ but a friend of mine dragged me here and has since abandoned me.  How are you?” Logan replied, leaning back slightly but smiling at Virgil none-the-less.  He had met Virgil in his astronomy class the previous year and the two of them had bonded over their shared distaste for overly social situations and their shared love of space and the stars, among other things.  They now often met up to study together and chat over coffee while complaining about their lives and geeking out over various books, tv shows and films. Logan had even gone as far as to call Virgil a friend when referring to him in conversation with Roman. 

“’Am good, thanks. Hey do you want another drink? Sorry I made you spill most of that one…” Virgil glanced down at Logan’s shoes, then lent over to peak into his cup to confirm that not much liquid resided there any longer.  Logan sighed and downed the remaining liquid, setting the now empty cup on the table beside him.

“I appreciate your offer, but no thank you.  I would encourage you to abstain from further drinking too as you seem to be inebriated as is…” Logan glanced at his friend to see a lazy smile slide over his features

“You tryna’ tell me I’mm wasted? ‘Cause that’s news to no one but you, buddy!” Virgil replied, happily taking another swig from his own cup.  Logan couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips.  He was just about to offer to walk Virgil home when they were abruptly (and loudly) interrupted.

“LOGAN!” Roman bellowed over the music, having just pushed his way through the crowd and stopped next to them, his hand clasped with the ridiculously gorgeous man Logan had been staring at earlier.  The man beamed at them and Logan felt a blush creeping up his face.  “THIS IS MY FRIEND, PATTON, WHO I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT? FROM HOME? REMEMBER?” Roman continued to yell, tugging the man – Patton – closer and then dropping his hand so that he could offer it to Logan to shake.  Logan took it and smiled gingerly as that lovely, beaming smile was turned directly on him.  He felt his throat go dry.

“Lovely to meet ya! Roman’s told me so much about you!” Patton said (at a normal, indoor human volume), still smiling so brightly

“Oh… that’s, eh, very nice to hear.  It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” Logan replied, quickly withdrawing his hand and trying desperately not to fidget under this man’s intense gaze.

“I THINK YOU GUYS WILL REALLY HIT IT OFF, I’VE BEEN DYING TO INTRODUCE YOU FOR AGES!” Roman bellowed.  Logan winced slightly and took a step back, bumping into Virgil as he did so and drawing Roman’s attention to him for the first time since he and Patton had approached them.  Logan glanced at Virgil to see him looking at Roman suspiciously with narrowed eyes while Roman was staring back, frankly, as if he’d just seen an angel. Virgil quirked an eyebrow while tentatively extending his hand towards Roman.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, you must be the roommate?” he offered quietly.  A dazzling smile immediately appeared on Roman’s face as he took his hand, shaking it and then bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back.  Virgil immediately snatched his hand back and levelled Roman with what could only be described as a deeply hostile glare.

“HAD WE EVER MET BEFORE, MY DEAR, I WOULD HAVE SURLY REMEMBERED EVERY MOMENT.  YOU ARE TRULY ENCHANTING, WOULD YOU PERMIT ME TO TAKE YOU OUT ON A DATE SOME TIME?!” Roman shouted over the music, attracting the attention of some nearby party members, and making his enquiry seem somewhat threatening.  Logan raised his eyebrows as he observed a deep flush spread across Virgil’s checks while his eyes flashed with something akin to rage.

“Fuck off!” he spat at Roman, and with that he turned on his heel and stormed away, with a short goodbye thrown over his shoulder to Logan, and then he was gone. 

“I have a feeling you just insulted my friend, Roman.  Truly I had hoped the two of you would get along.  Also, please desist from shouting, we can hear you over the music even when you speak at a normal volume,” Logan looked at Roman as he delivered this speech, but Roman was still gazing at the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

“Who was that?” Roman almost whispered, his eyes bright and his voice awed. Logan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by the smaller man next to him.

“Uuuuh, that was actually my roommate… The guy I was telling you about before?” Patton said, shyly looking up at Roman through his curls.

“Oh…” Roman at least had the good grace to look somewhat sheepish now as he turned back to Logan and Patton, offering them both a hasty smile and reaching up with his hand to rub the back of his neck.  “Ehhh, you don’t think I’ve already ruined my chances, do you?” Patton laughed at that, and Logan felt something in his chest warm at the sound.

“Almost definitely! Sorry, friendo, I could have warned you not to do that if I’d known that’s what you were gonna do!” he laughed again and smiled at a now horrified looking Roman and turned swiftly to face Logan “How do you know Virgil?” he asked brightly, and once again Logan was taken aback by his sheer overwhelming beauty.

“We shared a class last year, and now we meet on a semi-regular basis to study and or converse with one another,” Logan replied, focusing all of his energy on remaining still and not giving away his nerves by fidgeting.  If it were possible, Patton’s smile seemed to grow even wider.

“Aww yeah, he’s definitely mentioned you before! It’s so great to finally meet you, I can’t believe you’re my childhood best friend’s roommate AND a good friend of my roommate! Small world, huh?” Patton flicked his head back, an unconscious movement of those whose hair often falls into their face, and the dim light in the room seemed to sparkle in his soft blue eyes and Logan felt his stomach swoop.  Great, some small part of Logan’s brain thought to himself, you’re developing feelings for him.  That’s perfect.  Good job, Sanders, have fun dealing with that. He marvelled for a moment at how much his own inner voice was dripping with sarcasm before he noticed that Patton and Roman were both looking at him expectantly.  Oh.  Patton had been attempting to converse with him and he had LITERALLY GOTTEN LOST IN HIS EYES THIS WAS RIDICULOUS!

“Forgive me, Patton, I was lost in thought.  I had no idea that the roommate Virgil often speaks of would be the same friend to whom Roman so often refers, it is indeed an impressive coincidence,” Logan cringed at his own formality and robotic communication.  This was exactly why nobody was ever interested in him, he was no good at speaking to people.  He glanced at Patton and noticed that he seemed to be about to speak again but Logan was already feeling far too flustered and embarrassed, all he wanted to do was go home and forget this entire evening.  “I’m sure we will become more acquainted in time, however, I fear Roman and I must leave now as we both have an early class in the morning,” he lied quickly, using the first excuse that came to mind.  Patton’s eyebrows drew together in confusion

“An early class tomorrow morning?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. It was frustratingly endearing.

“That’s right,” Logan confirmed, looking away to hide his blush.

“……. On a Sunday?” Patton asked, a small smile playing about his lips as he looked mischievously at Logan.  And oh.  Oh dear.  It was indeed a Saturday night, and Logan had just lied to Patton’s face and he’d been caught and now Patton would hate him and –

“Haha, yeah he means a gym class! Specs and I hit the gym early every Sunday morning for a yoga class and then we work out,” Roman quickly jumped in, grinning widely at Patton and slipping his arm around Logan’s shoulders. Immense relief surged through Logan’s entire body as the intense mortification he had just been experiencing subsided a little. He felt unbelievably grateful to Roman in that moment, looking up at his friend with nothing short of platonic love in his eyes, he was sure.

“Oh right, that makes sense!” Patton laughed, leaning back a little and almost losing his footing.  He leaned closer to Logan with a somewhat sly smile on his face “You look like you work out, and I guess you’re pretty flexible too,” he winked and then leaned back, throwing another dazzling smile at them both while Logan felt his entire face burning with heat.  “So nice to see you both! I’ll see you guys around!” he added, and with a little wave he turned around and drifted off back into the party.

“Do I want to know what just happened?”  Roman’s voice was laced with sarcasm as Logan had just abruptly and unceremoniously thrown himself down into the empty chair across from Roman in the college cafeteria.  His face was almost definitely beet red and he was clutching his phone in one hand as he buried his face in his arms and groaned.  

“What did I do to deserve this?” Logan miserably demanded of the table beneath his arms.  He heard Roman chuckle.

“You see Patton again?” he asked, sounding smug.  Logan let out a distressed whine and fought the urge to flip Roman off.  “I’ll take that as a yes.  Did you pluck up the courage to ask him out yet?” Logan did flip him off this time and Roman laughed loud and uninhibited.  Logan lifted his head slightly in order to glare at his friend but offered no response.  “Dude it’s been like two months since you met him and you’ve been pining the whole time just cut the crap and do it already!” Roman demanded.  Logan huffed and sat up again, still glaring angrily at Roman. Roman raised his eyebrows at him and Logan sighed and held up his phone to show him the text message that was causing his distress.

Hey Lo!! Thanks so much for your help the other night, I couldn’t have done that essay on time without you.  Me and Virge are having a little party at our flat tomorrow night, can I get you a couple of drinks as a thank you? You should bring Roman too if he’s free! Hope you can make it xx

Logan watched as Roman seemed to scan the text a couple of times, then a huge grin spread across his face. 

“This is your chance, Lo! You should make a move on him tomorrow night, he’s obviously into you,” Logan whined and snatched his phone back from Roman.

“You do not have access to that information! History and logic dictate that he is almost certainly not interested in me and is simply making an effort to befriend me due to our mutual friends in you and Virgil,” he snapped at Roman, slipping his phone back into his bag and glaring angrily at the table.  He did not want to admit to the tiny ball of hope that had taken up residence in his chest upon receiving Patton’s text.  No one was ever interested in him, and Patton was certainly way too good for him.  To begin hoping now would only serve to make it all the more painful when Patton would eventually make it clear that he was not interested in Logan in a romantic sense, and never would be.  Not only that, but it would ruin the makings of their friendship.  He had spent time with Patton on several occasions since they met and each time they had enjoyed one another’s company finding that they had much more in common than Logan had expected upon first meeting Patton, and that they were able to tease one another quite easily allowing Logan to relax around Patton slightly. Even if every meeting was a painful reminder of how devastatingly gorgeous he was in every way. 

“Listen, Lo. I know you think that it’s impossible, but I actually think Patton really likes you! He lights up whenever he sees you, and when you guys are hanging out he really flirts with you a lot I’ve never really seen him act like that around anyone else,” Roman said softly.  Logan looked up at this quiet admission and saw that any and all teasing was gone from his friend’s face.  He meant what he was saying.  Logan sighed deeply.

“…. Okay, I’ll try but you must come too.  And please try to get through one evening without pissing Virgil off too much, okay?” he watched as Roman’s expression went quickly from happy to indignant.

“Pffft, he’s always delighted to see me, we get on like a house on fire, we’re - “

“Just don’t ask him out this time, okay?” Logan cut off Roman’s angry spluttering and smiled to himself as his friend sighed, suddenly looking wistful.

“I’ll try, calculator watch, I’ll try,”

Logan found himself the following night staring hard at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror in Patton and Virgil’s apartment.  Apparently Patton’s idea of a “little party” was to invite literally everyone he knew into his flat and hope for the best.  Logan had felt completely overwhelmed when he and Roman had arrived an hour earlier and so he had taken the (rather poor) decision to indulge in slightly more alcohol than he ordinarily would on such occasions.  And he was definitely feeling it.  He sighed and padded out of the cramped bathroom, hoping to rejoin Patton and Roman where the three of them had been conversing on the couch.  He navigated his way through the small apartment, avoiding drunken guests and couples making out (heedless of the public setting, apparently), and spotted Roman still in the same spot on the couch only now he was conversing not with Patton but with… Virgil?

“Wait really? You like Disney movies?” he heard Roman ask, incredulously, as he moved nearer and sat down next to his two friends. Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes

“Oh come on, have you seen Black Cauldron? Honestly I don’t even know why you would think I don’t like Disney,” he took another swig from his beer and nodded in Logan’s direction to acknowledge his arrival.

“Well it’s just that, you know… You’re kind of an emo nightmare! That doesn’t really go with Disney,” Roman replied, smirking at the mock offended expression now crossing Virgil’s face.

“If you think there’s not a dark side to Disney, you’ve got it all wrong, pal.  Every one of those movies has some darker undertones,” Roman and Virgil’s conversation continued in much the same vein, discussing the different meanings and subtexts of several different Disney films while Logan watched amicably in silence, pleased to see the pair not yelling at each other for once.  He wasn’t really listening though and went to take another sip of his drink when he noticed it was now in fact empty. Hmm. Did that mean he’d now had seven? Or was it eight? He shook his head to clear it and glanced around the room, trying to remember which direction the drinks table was in, when he spotted them.  Patton was currently on the other side of the room being roughly crowded against the wall by a much taller man who was looking down at him, his expression creepy and leering, while Patton babbled about something, a huge false smile spread across his face, his eyes wide with nervousness.  Logan felt rage and jealousy rise up within him like bile.  He was suddenly too hot, his insides were on fire, his teeth gritting together.  He wanted to smash something, or to march over there and spin that guy around and demand to know why the hell he was intimidating Patton this way.

“- but that’s exactly where you’re wrong because Tangled is a true example of Stockholm Syndrome between Rapunzel and Mother Gothal, whereas Beauty and the Beast is –“

“Who the fuck is that talking to Patton?!” Logan spat, interrupting Roman’s passionate rant, still glaring as the man lifted his hand and brushed Patton’s hair from his face, causing Patton to shrink further into himself and the wall behind him.   He glanced back to see Roman and Virgil staring at him with wide eyes.  Roman looked over and shook his head, indicating he did not know but Virgil started to shift uncomfortably. Logan latched on immediately.  “Virgil, who is he?” he demanded, his voice surprisingly calm for all the rage he felt within him. Virgil coughed and looked away, picking with a fraying strand of fabric on his black skinny jeans.

“Well, he’s, ehh…. He’s Patton’s ex,” Virgil sighed and then looked up at Logan again.  Logan blinked but said nothing, forcing himself to keep his expression entirely neutral. “I told Pat not to invite him, he’s kind of an asshole, but you know what Patton’s like! Always trying to see the best in people and he said he wants to try and stay friends if they can…”

“Looks like that guy’s got a bit more than friendship on his mind,” Roman muttered, still looking over at the pair, a hint of irritation in his own voice now.  Logan looked over again to see that the man was now pulling his fingers through Patton’s hair (none too lightly, it seemed) and leaning incredibly close to his face to speak to him.  Patton was visibly very uncomfortable as he continued trying to lean away, only he had nowhere to go as he was already pushed up against the wall. Logan was unsure if it were possible for him to be more angry than he felt in this moment when he heard a low growl and was taken aback to find it had actually come from Virgil rather than himself.

“I’m not sitting here and watching this, Imma beat the shit outta him!” Virgil snapped, getting to his feet quickly.  In a flash Roman and Logan were both standing too, Roman with his hands firmly on Virgil’s shoulders in an attempt to restrain him. 

“Virge! You can’t just go and attack him in the middle of a party in your flat!” Roman’s voice was slightly too high pitched, his eyes wide with panic.  Virgil’s expression grew slightly manic as he struggled against Roman’s hold, trying to push past him to go to Patton.

“Get the fuck off me, Princey, I’m not just going to stand here and let him make Pat feel uncomfortable!” Virgil snapped at Roman.  It was at this precise moment that they heard a yell from the other side of the room.  Silence fell over the entire flat.  Virgil, Roman and Logan all turned to stare with wide eyes at the scene before them.  Patton was smiling, a real, happy and bright smile this time, while his ex stood next to him clutching his nose which appeared to be bleeding.  Patton turned to a tall girl standing next to him looking on in shock as beamed up at her.  He looked terrifying.

“Lucie, I could really do with another drink! Could you please show Michael out? He was just leaving,” Patton’s voice was pure sugar, his smile charming as he patted the girl’s shoulder and then walked through the still silent crowd and into the adjoining kitchen without so much as a glance back at his ex, who was now being bustled towards the door.  The room exploded into noise again as suddenly everyone resumed talking at once, slightly too loudly and reeling from what had just transpired.  Without so much as glancing at one another, Virgil, Roman and Logan quickly made their way to the kitchen where Patton was standing next to the counter apparently downing an entire can of beer in one go.  They approached him slowly, each staring with wide eyes as he finished his drink and threw the empty can into the trash.

“Patton?” Logan started softly, “Do I…… Do I want to know what just happened?” he asked tentatively.  Patton smiled and took Logan’s hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Oh it’s nothing, really! Michael was just getting a bit pushy and he didn’t seem to be taking the hint,” Patton smiled again.

“What hint?” Logan asked, acutely aware that his hand was still in Patton’s.

“Well to be honest he was being rather flirtatious and then he tried to kiss me.  So I punched him in the face,” Patton replied matter-of-factly, shrugging one shoulder as he used his free hand to grab another can of beer. Logan felt his jaw fall open

“Wait! You punched him in the face?!” Virgil demanded, eyes a little wild

“Yes,”

“And now he has a nose bleed?”

“Yes,”

“Because he tried to kiss you?”

“Yes! He clearly wasn’t listening to me or reading my body language so that was my only option!” Patton sighed, clearly exasperated.  Virgil grinned wide and suddenly pulled Patton into a tight hug, causing him to drop Logan’s hand (he pretended not to feel disappointed)

“I am so fucking proud of you, Pat!” Virgil mumbled, rubbing his friend’s back as he spoke.

“Language! But thanks, kiddo,” Patton smiled as Virgil released him, and then he grinned up at Roman who was grinning back delightedly. 

The rest of the party passed by without incident and Logan found himself laughing and smiling more than he had in years.  It was nearing 3am by the time everyone left, leaving Roman and Logan as the only guests in Patton and Virgil’s apartment.  Roman and Virgil were talking quietly in the kitchen when Patton came to find Logan leaning against a wall in the living room, observing the aftermath of the party and lost in thought.  He stood before him and smiled happily up at Logan.  He found himself returning the smile fondly. 

“Thank you so much for coming, Lo,” Patton said softly, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the alcohol he had consumed, making his smattering of freckles all the more noticeable.  Logan blinked a couple of times, gazing into blue eyes, only now that he was really looking he realised they weren’t just blue.  They were sapphire with flecks of golden yellow, and a hint of green and lines so pale they were almost white.  And they were shining with joy.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Logan murmured, offering a small smile.  He was vaguely aware of Patton taking a step closer as he continued to stare into his eyes.

“Virgil told me you had wanted to help when you saw what was happening earlier. That really means a lot to me, thank you so much Logan,” Patton was speaking so softly, and standing so close, Logan could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body.  He was looking up at Logan shyly, smiling tentatively as he edged closer.

“You’re welcome, Patton,” Logan heard himself speak but he wasn’t paying attention.  Patton was so close now he could count each individual freckle under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose.  He could see individual eyelashes and count the yellow flecks in his beautiful eyes.

“I don’t know if you realise this, Lo, but I really, really like you. I’m so glad we met,” Patton was speaking so quietly now, almost a whisper but Logan could hear every word so clearly.  His eyes widened at this admission.

“I really like you too, Patton.  I am most grateful for our friendship,” Patton smiled so brightly at that, and Logan couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at his own lips being so close to that open and happy expression.  Logan saw Patton’s eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes as he reached out and placed his hands ever so gently on Logan’s waist. “Patton,” he breathed out, barely audible “May I kiss you?” the question was so soft, so tentative that Logan wasn’t entirely sure he had even asked it, but then Patton was leaning impossibly closer, smiling impossibly brighter and he knew the answer before it came.

“I thought you’d never ask,” and with that he was leaning down, tilting his head slightly to connect their lips for the first time.  He felt Patton’s breath hitch as he captured his lower lip between his own in a smooth glide.  Patton’s hands tightened on his hips as he found his own hands moving to cradle Patton’s face, one hand brushing through soft, sweet smelling hair, the other gently brushing his cheek and settling on the back of his neck to pull him even closer, pressing their chests together.  He felt more than heard the tiny gasp that escaped Patton as he cautiously, teasingly swiped his tongue across the seam of Patton’s lips, silently asking for access, and suddenly their kiss went from sweet to searing hot in an instant.  Suddenly it was Patton’s tongue in his mouth, gliding and tasting and teasing, it was Patton’s hands sliding around his back to pull him closer, it was their quickening breaths shared between their kisses, it was Logan’s fingers tightening in Patton’s hair, it was hearts pounding with exhilaration and the whole world zeroing down to nothing but the sensation of one another.  Without meaning to, Logan released a small moan as Patton gently nipped his lower lip and then slowly pulled back to beam up at him, his breathing slightly laboured. Logan let out the tiniest laugh as he pressed their foreheads together unable to keep himself from smiling. This definitely requires further experimentation he thought to himself as he leaned down to connect their lips once more.

As the two stood lost to the world in their first kiss they were completely unaware of Virgil leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, watching the display with a small smile on his face.  Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Roman grinning at him.

“Do I want to know what just happened?” he asked wryly. Virgil smirked and shrugged his shoulder.

“I think their whole mutual pining thing just ended.  Come on, sir sing a lot, let’s give them some privacy,” as Roman and Virgil retreated back into the kitchen, Patton pulled back once more and began giggling uncontrollably as Logan pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead.  Logan couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so content and he had a feeling this next year was going to be an extremely good one.

@iampureprincxietytrash

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

The Captive Prince: Chapter One

A/N: Here, have this fic I wrote a couple months ago and got too anxious to post, but then shared a bit of it with some friends and they were all “PLS POST IT” so here ya go.

Tag List: @thuriweaver @bloodropsblog @justanotherpurplebutterfly @cosmic-chu @lynlinked @imnotamermaidimanangel @lollingtothemax @sombraplayslazertag @softbludemon @musicsavedmefromdeath @treblesanders @hanramz-the-fander @loganpatton @fandomsandanythingelse @didsomeonesayprince @emphoenixcat @sanders-trash-4ever @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet @every-day-insomniac @freekiphotography @sweetinsomniac @purplepatton @puddalogical @shygirl4991 

Warnings: violence, blood mention, death mention

Prince Logan sat beneath the tree in the castle courtyard, reading his book. Or, at least he was trying to. His twin brother, Roman, was practicing his swordsmanship, and the glinting of his sword in the sun made it hard to focus on his book.

“Little brother! You said you were actually going to try wielding a sword today!” Roman protested, walking over to the tree Logan was seated under. Logan sighed and set his book down.

“Roman. We are twins, and you are merely a minute or two older than I am. And I have told you several times before, my time is better being used to increase my knowledge, rather than my fighting. Something you should consider,” Logan scoffed. Roman made an incredulous, offended sound and rolled his eyes.

“Logan, we are going to be kings soon. And a good king should know how to fight,” Roman protested. Logan frowned. In some respects, Roman was right. Their coronation was tomorrow, and since they were twins, they were to rule the kingdom together.

“Yes, you do have a point, but a good king should also be wise,” Logan reprimanded.

“Guess we’ll balance each other out, huh?” Roman replied, chuckling slightly. Logan gave a small smile in return.

“I suppose so,” Logan replied, picking up his book once more. Roman sighed, sheathed his sword, and sat down next to Logan. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his book.

“Can you believe that tomorrow we'll be kings?” Roman asked, voice low and soft. Logan looked up from his book and glanced at his brother’s face. Logan set his book down again when he saw that Roman’s eyes were watering. He reached out and awkwardly placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I miss them too, Roman,” Logan said quietly. About four years ago, their parents, King Alastair and Queen Lucina, were killed by an attack from a vicious clan of dragons. The kingdom had since been run by a council of advisors until the two princes had come of age.

“I know. As much as I’ve dreamed of the day where we would rule the kingdom, I’m honestly not sure if I’m ready. I wanted to have so many more adventures, Logan,” Roman replied wistfully. Logan gave a small smile and shook his head.

“You know we don’t both have to be in the kingdom all of the time, right? I can always stay behind while you go off on adventures. Maybe you could even bring along a certain captain of the royal guard you’re so infatuated with?” Logan said, a teasing edge to his voice. Roman’s cheeks grew pink, as did the tips of his ears.

“I’m not ‘infatuated’ with Patton! I merely find him an excellent swordsman and a good friend!” he protested. A smirk grew over Logan’s face.

“Sure you aren’t. Now what was it you said the other day? He has eyes that are a warm brown, like cinnamon? And that his smile could outshine even the sunniest day, and he has a heart of gold?” Logan taunted, his eyes practically glowing with a mischievous light from behind his glasses.

“I- I was merely... m-m-making observations!” Roman stuttered. Logan rolled his eyes, picked up his book, and stood up.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your utter denial. I’m off to the library,” Logan said, turning on his heel and walking back to the castle. Roman let out a groan of frustration and ran a hand through his hair. He stood up once more, and unsheathed his sword. A little more practice couldn’t hurt.

Roman wasn’t sure how long he had been practicing with his sword when he heard it. A dragon’s roar. He glanced around frantically, his mind flashing back to the awful memories of that night the castle was attacked, and his parents died. However, when he looked up to the skies, there was nothing to be seen. Roman shook his head and let out a nervous chuckle. The stress and anticipation of the coronation tomorrow had him hearing things.

He returned into a fighting stance, and continued to practice with his sword. A few more minutes passed by, and he heard it again, and this time it was joined by the earth shaking. He looked around again, and that’s when he saw it. There was a dragon perched on one of the castle towers. It had black scales with shimmering purple details, and black and purple leathery bat-like wings. It had razor sharp claws that dug into the tower, and it had jagged spikes running down its back. Its eyes were a vibrant and glowing purple, and there were two long and curly horns protruding from either side of the beast’s head. A strange dark purple smoke was seeping out from in between the jagged teeth and from the creature’s nostrils.

However, the dragon’s appearance wasn’t what made Roman’s blood freeze in his veins. It was the fact that the tower the dragon was perched on was the library tower. Roman made a beeline to the tower, ignoring the people shouting out warnings to him. None of that mattered, when his brother Logan was most likely still inside the library.

He soon made it inside the tower, and he proceeded to climb up the stairs all the way to the top. As the top of the tower was Logan’s favorite place to be, Roman knew he would be there. Unfortunately, that was where the dragon was as well. Roman just hoped he wasn’t too late.

Roman made it up the stairs, breathing heavily, but he had his sword at the ready. His heart leapt into his throat as he took in the appearance of the library. The shelves were in disarray, books and papers were scattered everywhere, but the worst sight was in the center of the room. Logan was hanging limply from the dragon’s claws, blood trickling down the side of his head.

“Let him go, you foul beast!” Roman shouted at the dragon, brandishing his sword. The dragon’s large head swiveled towards him, and fixed him with an almost mocking glare.

“Well. I thought I was going to have to go searching for the other prince,” the dragon rumbled, voice low and distorted. The color drained from Roman’s face. The dragon could talk?! Roman was so stunned by this fact that he didn’t see the dragon’s tail sweeping towards him until it was too late. The tail hit him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards and onto his back with a loud thump. He tried to get back to his feet, but the dragon’s clawed foot pinned him to the ground. A pained groan slipped past his lips as he struggled to get free.

“It’s almost cute, how you humans struggle even when it’s pointless,” the dragon taunted, pressing down harder. A sickening snap was heard, and Roman cried out in pain. Something akin to a frown came over the dragon’s features.

“Hmm. I forgot how fragile you humans are- augh!” the dragon muttered, but suddenly gave out a pained roar. It immediately took its clawed foot off of Roman’s chest and stumbled backwards. Roman took in a shuddering gasp of air, blinking rapidly to clear the spots in his vision. He gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position and tried to figure out what the heck just happened. He then saw Patton, the head of the royal guard, determination set in his features and holding his bloodied sword in a defensive stance. The dragon had a gaping wound in one of its back legs, while Logan was still loosely dangling from the dragon’s grip.

“This isn’t over,” the dragon growled, and with that, it took off and flew out of the hole in the roof of the tower, with Logan in tow.

“No!” Roman screamed, scrambling to his feet. However, the moment he did so, everything seemed to spin and he felt a hot, sharp pain in his side. Roman let out a cry of pain, and his knees buckled. He would have fallen flat on his face if it hadn’t been for Patton suddenly rushing to his side and catching him in his arms.

“Whoa, take it easy, your majesty. You are severely injured and are in no shape to chase after your brother,” Patton gently ordered.

“I’m a prince.. you can’t tell me what to- ahh!” Roman protested weakly, crying out in pain when his side was jostled slightly.

“Sorry, your majesty. Just try to hold on, I’ll get you to a medic,” Patton said, shifting Roman in his arms so he was carrying him. Spots danced in Roman’s vision as everything spun faster around him. He groaned, and his eyes started to flutter closed.

“Prince Roman?! Roman, please-” came Patton’s distressed cry, but everything sounded as if it was underwater. He met Patton’s concerned gaze, and the next thing Roman knew was darkness.

[webcricket]

Roman Resolutions

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 1276

A/N: Drabble for my SPN Advent Challenge December 24 Prompt Theme - New Year’s Resolutions. Cas shows the reader not every holiday tradition has its origins in the supernatural. Happy fluffy New Year 2018, readers!

The bar erupts in a tumult of cheers and shouts of Happy New Year!  Confetti and champagne bubbles rain upon you. Sparklers flare and fizz – the faint smell of sulfur hangs in an atmosphere otherwise overpowered by the aroma of at least a century’s worth of spilled booze permeating the warped oak floorboards. The band strikes up a grating rock version of Auld Lang Syne and the whole place begins to sing and sway. The room is so packed with intoxicated bodies it’s a miracle nothing and no one has caught fire in the raucous celebration of midnight’s arrival and the dawn of the new year.

You’re pressed firmly against Castiel’s chest, fingers gripping on for dear life at the lapels of his trench coat. The Winchesters are long gone – consumed by the crowd and libation; you don’t intend to lose the angel too. Peering up at Cas, noting the colorful wisps of paper dusting his dark locks and the dark furrow of his brow, you can see he’s uncomfortable. In your line of work, discordance at this decibel usually means things have gone horribly horribly wrong. He didn’t understand the need to ring in the new year in the first place – the passage of a time as human’s mark it being nothing especially significant to a celestial being of inestimable age. He’s here because you asked him to be here. And you asked him to be here because you can’t imagine starting a new year without him – whether he feels the same or not.

His disconcerted blue gaze rips from the cacophony of motion around you. Looking down at you, his eyes glitter and sparkle in the reflection of light. His pouting lips move, but you can’t hear the words over the bass and ruckus assault on your eardrums.

You rise onto your tip toes, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you’re jostled by another jovial passerby. “Get us out of here!” you pray, burrowing your face into the scruff of his neck.

He simply nods, tickling the delicate skin of your cheek with his unshaven chin and holding you unnecessarily tighter to his vessel.

Otherworldly silence envelopes you. The stormy scent of discharged angelic grace pleasantly tickles your nose as it dissipates into the fresh night air. Blinking, you slip from Cas’ grasp and spin to visually devour the scene. He’s flown you to an isolated snowy expanse – the white landscape barren and stretching as far as you can see to a rim of pine trees in the distance. Stars twinkle bright pinpricks in the cobalt blanketed atmosphere above, dimmed only by a setting gibbous moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp, breath a lingering puff of white cloud.

“And quiet,” he adds with a relieved sigh, his overwhelmed angelic senses settling.

Shivering, you rub the goose bump-prickled flesh of your bare arms and internally curse the little black dress and open-toed heels you decided to wear in hopes of catching the angel’s eye tonight. You startle at a weight of fabric draping across your shoulders – slow to realize Cas is offering you his trench coat for warmth.

“Thank you.” You turn toward him with a smile and meet his unwavering gaze.

He gravitates nearer to tug the collar of the coat closed around you; a gentle smile relaxes the lines of his features as he carefully secures the buttons and cinches the belt around your waist.

You’re absolutely swimming in the coat – the hem hanging well past your knees – and you giggle in delight imagining how ridiculous you must look standing there in the celestially-sized garment.

He abruptly breaks off the work of his fingers and takes a decorous step backward, suddenly self-conscious of being too near for too long. At the bar, there was the excuse of the throng of people to cover the closeness, but out here – his flushed countenance bends heavenward. Adams apple bobbing thickly, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You watch the idle angel, regretting the loss of his proximity. “Back there, at the bar. What were you trying to say?” You follow his gaze upward, recognizing the constellation of Orion peeking between thin swirls of cloud in the sky above.

“I was remembering something-,” the deep bass quality of his voice seems hushed in the cold embrace of the snow, “something they did in ancient Rome to observe the coming of January.”

“What’s that?” you ask, chin dropping to discover him staring back at you – his expression a patently odd mix of contemplative and apprehensive only the angel can pull off.

“There was a deity, Janus, whom the Romans made promises to each January.”

“Janus,” you echo the name.

“A two-faced idol, seeing both the past and future.”  The angel leans toward you as he speaks, drawn nearer by the rapt wonder painting your aspect. He succumbs to the desire to steal a step closer before going on, “A deity of endings and beginnings. The proclamations made at the beginning of the new year are an omen portending the whole of it. I believe you call these promises New Year’s resolutions now.”

“So you’re telling me everyone making a New Year’s resolution is actually praying to an ancient Roman god?”

Cas gravely bobs his head in answer.

“Hmph,” you exhale, surprised, but also not. You shuffle closer to him. “Does every quaint holiday tradition we humans have this time of year originate in one silly ancient rite or another?”

The angel’s jaw flexes, eyes narrowing and growing fleetingly distant in thought as he skims the vast store of his celestial knowledge and experience. Satisfied he has found a tradition not at all supernaturally biased, his concentration resolves once more on you. “No, not all of them. There is one-”

“One?” You quirk an eyebrow askance. “Which one is that?”

His attention flits from your eyes to your questioningly parted mouth and when it alights again upon your eyes something new and different surfaces within the sea blue of his irises.

The profound depth of his gaze weakens your knees. If you had to name it – this newness in his regard – you’d call it passionate resolve. You inhale a shaky breath. “Cas?” you whisper, encouraging him to answer, involuntarily trembling.

Cas swiftly crosses the remaining distance separating you, one hand sweeping to catch the small of your back to lift your body and mouth up to meet his, the other caressing the column of your throat, fingers threading into your hair to tilt your head. His nose nudges into your cheek, breath ghosting hot across your skin before the heat of his lips scorch and thaw your icy ones; for all the fervor in his gaze, the kiss is tender and restrained.

Nonetheless, you’re breathless when he pulls away and releases you to melt down the plane of his torso. “Cas,” you pant, palms reaching up to capture his cheeks, direct touch impeded by the overlong sleeves of the trench coat, “that was-” Unexpected doesn’t cover it. Nice seems too trifling. Fantastic, too enthusiastic. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of, too verbose.

Watching you search for words, a smile traces his lips; you have often unknowingly rendered him speechless and he’s pleased to have returned the favor. “Is it not customary for two people to share a kiss on the start of New Year’s day to strengthen their bond for the coming year?”

Giving up on verbalizing what that was and deciding you’ll happily settle for more to really explore the roots of the custom, you tangle your comically fabric-swathed hands about his neck and yank him down for another kiss.

[damnprussia]

Red Eyes

For @pruausadventcalendar day 19: ENEMIES

WARNINGS: historical shit nobody cares about. (details in footnotes). someone gets shot. People get mad. Gilbert’s an asshole and I can’t write Roderich to save my life. enjoy.

1701

“I’m not sure that I like him,” said Roderich to his companion, pursing his lips, watching his newest “ally” closely. A young man with wild, red eyes that seemed to bore into his soul and challenge him was here to introduce himself. It was intriguing - but also insulting.

Men came and went, and milled about, but red eyes never left his vision.

“That would be Prussia,” his companion told him. “We’ve, ah, agreed to recognise their king in exchange for assistance.”

“He does not look like an ally at all,” Roderich replied, approaching him slowly. “You there!”

Red eyes only blinked, and a head turned.

“What.” 

It was more a statement than anything, and definitely not the way that one ought to speak to their superiors. It made Roderich visibly flinch and stop.

Someone next to the young man, this Prussia - his handler, it seemed -  chided him quietly, but he appeared to not hear, or react. They were the most intense eyes he had ever seen off of a battlefield.

“Do you know who I am?” Roderich asked, incensed. “I am Austria, we are allies-”

“I will help you in this war,” Prussia replied curtly, raising his chin. “That does not mean that we are allies.”

“No, that’s...that’s exactly what that means.”

“I shall see you on the battlefield,” said Prussia, turning on his heel. “And no sooner.”

Roderich watched him go as his companion came to his side again. “Does he have a name?” he asked faintly, watching the back of his head disappear.

“I believe I was told it was ‘Gilbert’. Gilbert Beilschmidt.”

Roderich looked at him. “I hate that name.”

1741

“I do not like him,” Roderich hissed, pushing his horse through smoke and debris. Bleeding from his left arm and hungry as hell - this was not how he wanted to spend an afternoon. Battle was necessary, but it was not glamourous.

Unfortunately, his life had been plagued with someone who believed it absolutely was.

Ah, there he was - red eyes that matched the blood in his hair and on his front. Protecting his beloved king, as he thought.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt!” Roderich shouted across the chaos, and red eyes locked onto him. A wide, bloody grin split across his face and Gilbert moved his horse to gallop towards Roderich.

Roderich withdrew his saber, ready to cut him down, and Gilbert did the same. With left hand, he held his blade out while his right dropped the reigns and pulled into his jacket a pistol.

“That’s dirty-” Roderich sputtered, unable to react quick enough. Red eyes in his vision were replaced with the barrel of a gun.

1866

“Oh,  I just hate him!” Roderich slammed his hands down on the table staring down at Gilbert Beilschmidt’s infuriatingly eloquent handwriting. “I thought we were allies, I thought we had an understanding, and then he - and that dog Bismarck - goes and-”

“You called?”

Roderich jerked his head up and felt his heart drop. Cocky, infuriating, red eyes stared at him from the doorway of Roderich’s study. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “You have declared war, and you just show up like you are welcome here-”

“I came to drop off Ludwig,” Gilbert interrupted him. Gilbert always interrupted him - since their first interaction! Oh, he wanted to slap the man. But the mention of Ludwig stayed his temper.

“Ludwig...? On the eve of war?”

Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. There was an irritatingly casual air about him. “In our written agreement - that we both signed and sealed - on this day, Ludwig would be transferred to Vienna. I figured it would be a good opportunity to witness a loss from your side, and teach him some valuable lessons.”

Roderich rolled his eyes. “Save it for battle,” he snapped, moving to leave the room and brush past Gilbert. “Where is the boy?”

“With his chaperones already,” said Gilbert calmly. “I’m being escorted out momentarily and told that I must not return under the current political atmosphere or face imprisonment.” He flashed a smile at Roderich, red eyes mischievous and dangerous. “I shall see you shortly.”

1935

“I don’t hate you,” Roderich said calmly, approaching Gilbert from behind.

Gilbert did not respond. He stood in his study, staring down at a piece of paper, laid on his desk. The announcement that Gilbert’s...everything was gone.

“I’m not your enemy, Gilbert,” Roderich persisted, stepping forward to get closer to him. “You can talk to me about this.”

Gilbert raised his head and turned his head to look at him. Where there was once fire behind his eyes, was something that had extinguished it. Red eyes were dark, muddied, and somber. It hurt Roderich more than he thought it would, to see Gilbert at his weakest. There was a time when Roderich dreamed of seeing Gilbert at his knees like this. But this - this only ached.

“We’re not...” Gilbert started, but his voice died. “You and I...we’re not...” again, the words died, and Gilbert looked back down at his desk. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t know anything right now.”

Roderich bravely put a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m here for you. Just come to me.” He dropped his hand and Gilbert’s silence was telling - it was time to leave.

201x

“Ohh, I can’t stand him!” Roderich’s wailing words as he landed in the soft snow due to a projectile snowball that had thrown him off his feet. Really, who does he think he is? Gilbert Beilschmidt, that’s who - and he really should have expected this coming.

Roderich scrambled to his feet and turned around - Gilbert, really! White hair, fair skin, a white jacket and white boots - he was impossible to find when it was snowing. Even though it was just the front yard of Roderich’s home, it was like hunting in the woods - 

There. Red eyes peered at him from a makeshift barricade made of snow, and Roderich scooped down to craft a firm snowball, firing it back at them. “Do not think that we are anything but enemies right now, Gilbert Beilschmidt!” He knew how serious snowball fights could be.

A few wet projectiles fired back and forth before Gilbert suddenly burst from his shelter and charged forward, clotheslining Roderich to the ground - Gently, of course.

He hit the ground and was dazed for a moment, but Gilbert’s bright smile and his charming red eyes peered down at him, taking up his whole vision. He was beaming, and the smile was contagious.

“You know,” said Roderich calmly, even though Gilbert seemed to have no plans to let him up any time soon. “I don’t mind you at all, Gilbert.”

Gilbert let out a hearty laugh. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Roderich,” he replied. “I love you too.”

SUPERBRIEF HISTORICAL DATES & DETAILS

1701 - the Spanish Succession War. The Duchy of Prussia agrees to provide physicial and financial support for Austria & her Allies in return for the Holy Roman Empire recognising Prussia’s monarch as “King in Prussia”.

1741 - the War of the Austrian Succession, fought between Prussia and Austria. The result of the war and Prussia’s victory secured Prussia as a major world power.

1866 - the Austro-Prussian war. Fought in 7 weeks, Prussia declared war to obtain territory that Austria had acquired from Denmark with Prussian alliance in years previous. The result of that war humiliated Austria and was one of the “Wars of Unification” that would lead to a unified German Empire.

1935 - The Free State of Prussia is effectively dissolved by the ruling Nazi party. Though Prussia still existed in name, it had no independent parliament or recognition within the Third Reich. Prussia would be fully dissolved by the victorious Allied powers twelve years later.

201x - just some cute wholesome shit for once

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Death Gets a Life” (Rated PG13)

Death believes that the end of days is at hand.

The other three Horsemen ... not so much. (3494 words)

I'm re-writing this because I love dark!Blaine, I love dark!Kurt, and I thought this one was incredibly well written. But also because I wanted to introduce a whole new slew of readers to this particular au inspired entirely by my son's original AU about the lives of the modern day Horsemen, existing undercover in society. Warning for loose interpretation of religious themes, dark humor, and mild horror imagery.

Read on AO3.

Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back any more …

Giggle.

“Press it again!”

Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back any more …

Giggle, giggle.

“Again! Again!”

Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back any more …

Concealed inside a fake bear head, Blaine Anderson (human persona of Death, Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse) stands behind the Crayola red counter of Build-A-Bear Workshop, a cool purple heat burning in his eyes. For the past fifteen minutes, he’s watched a bubbly, sugar-infused seven-year-old girl, standing on line to get her Frozen Fever Queen Elsa bear stuffed, press the blue button that plays the ten-second sample of the song Let It Go – which Blaine has deemed the most vile song in the universe – over and over and over again.

Blaine is free to glare behind the façade of his furry face, but he has to be careful how he directs the loathing surging through his frail human veins, or else he might unintentionally set this little girl on fire.

What a tragedy that would be, he thinks dryly.

A late-arriving gaggle of the girl’s party guests join her in line, and Blaine knows that this heinous torture is far from over.

Being the store manager of a Build-A-Bear Workshop is bad enough, but birthday parties are the worst, especially when the teenage lackey who normally wears the Bearemy bear suit (Build-A-Bear’s mascot that gets drug out for promotions and special occasions) calls in sick at the last minute and Blaine has to take over.

It’s not the first time. Hasn’t the kid had five grandmothers die in the past two years?

At least this tiny sadist and her minions haven’t started singing …

                                                            “Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back any more …”

Twelve squeaky, off-key voices breach the air, and Blaine can smell the polyester inside the head he’s wearing smoke.

“Holy frickin’ …”

“Excuse me, sir?” his obnoxiously upbeat assistant manager asks, beaming at him through the smiling mouth of his costume head as if this is the greatest day of her life – just like every other day between the day that corporate hired her and today. What makes her constantly upbeat attitude even less palatable is the fact that Blaine realized from day one that she has a crush on him … and he despises her for it. Every time she turns her pink bubblegum smile on him, he wants to shout, “No! No! No! No! No!” until the windows shatter and the concrete foundation of the building cracks.

Not yet, he tells himself with a deep breath in and out. Not yet.

“Could you please go to the back and bring out another box of those silver sparkle heels? I have a feeling they’re going to run out soon,” he says, covering for his cursing even though he doesn’t need to. He could have told her anything and she would have believed him.

He just wants to be rid of her.

That perfume she bathes in, thinking it’s going to attract his attention, makes him feel like vomiting with every breath he takes in.

“Righty-o, Mr. Anderson!” she says with an infuriatingly flirty lilt in her voice. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t walk normally. She sort of skips away. Blaine watches her leave, imagining her being chased down and ripped limb from limb by a three-headed dog, maybe even a hydra. Or better yet – a dragon. Then he starts imaging that same dragon scorching the party guests, the ones screaming and screeching and singing that forsaken song, and for the first time that day, he smiles.

Polyester fiberfill lights quickly, he assures himself. This place would burn up like a Roman candle in seconds.

Blaine has lived much longer than the thirty-five years that he lets show on his face, and in that time, centuries upon centuries, he’s seen it all - the depravity of the world rising to a frothy head, ready to overflow, but not in the blatantly blasphemous way it has unfurled in the last hundred years or so.

In the distant past, Blaine has seen good men steal bread to provide food for their families. But these people today steal because they can, and on much larger scales than a single loaf. He’s witnessed a history of people fall to the pride of their own valiant deeds, which ultimately became their downfall, but the people who walk the mall, with their Prada purses and their Rolex watches, out and about just to be seen, are proud of the money they have and the things they can buy, even if they don’t necessarily need them.

He has seen the noblest of rulers get a taste for power, seen it taint them, developing a lust that eventually consumed them. But the people around him, even in this store, who should be enjoying the thrill of childhood innocence and glee, lust after the pettiest things – from people, to cars, to clothes, to the newest cell phones.

Ages ago, he’d have to travel the world to find a single person who embodied all of the deadly sins. In this day and age, he doesn’t have to go much farther than the Westfield Mall.

It’s obvious - to him, at least – that the signs of the end are here. Walk outside this mall, this haven of avarice, and what will he find?

Prejudice.

Intolerance.

Gun violence.

Racism.

Poverty.

Over indulgence.

Bullying.

Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back any more …

That song.

Blaine’s grin grows grotesquely on his face, hidden from view, skin turning black with the raw essence of Death. A single touch of his hand would steal the souls from those present, rendering them victims of righteous judgment … if not for the bear costume he’s wearing.

This is it – the moment they’ve been waiting for. It has to be, and thank goodness. He can’t wait to see it all burn, brought to ruin beneath the blade of his sword, the tromping hoofs of his dark steed. He pulls his arms inside his bear suit, fishes his iPhone out of his pants pocket, and sends out a text to the only three people on his contact list (beside his district manager).

Conquest.

War.

And his personal favorite – Famine.

Oh yeah. Death is calling in the troops with a simple two word message that signals the end of this world.

To: Contact Group – The Horsemen

It’s time.

***

Blaine sits at a two-person table in the food court and watches as the after-hours janitorial staff empties the trash bins, the sound of their sneakers scuffing the tile beneath their feet, echoing throughout the completely empty mall.

It’s 10:57. Almost eleven. The mall has been officially closed for well over an hour. There had been one other manager here, vacuuming in the Hallmark store, but he left half-an-hour ago.

The three gentlemen who had vowed to come to Death at a moment’s notice whenever he called are coming dangerously close to standing him up.

Blaine looks at his cell phone screen and grimaces.

“Where in the hell---?”

It’s then that he hears the click click click of Ferragamo heels hitting the tile, and the smell of sweet vanilla and ginger fills the air.

“Well, hello, stranger,” a sultry voice says. “My, my. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Blaine smiles.

He came. Blaine knew that out of all of them, he would arrive first.

Blaine stands and turns to meet his old friend. “Hello, Kurt. Long time, no see.” He holds out his hand, eager to feel Kurt’s hand in his again.

“Too long, Blaine.” Kurt slips his hand in Blaine’s grasp. Blaine doesn’t often compare anything to this (it’s too painful for him to think about), but Kurt looks like an angel, and smells like a breath of heaven. But regardless of his outward appearance, how he chooses to dress, how he carries himself, there’s power in his hands, a strength that goes beyond whatever it is he does to maintain his physical form. A single sweep of Kurt’s eyes, a snap of his fingers, and everything around them would decay. Food would rot; animals would desiccate, still alive, their hearts beating the blood out of them until they ran dry; plants would wither and die, crumbling to dust.

To Blaine, it’s a huge turn-on.

“You summoned me?” Kurt slips into the chair opposite Blaine’s, taking a second first to wipe the seat down with his handkerchief, set that handkerchief ablaze, then materialize another clean handkerchief to sit upon.

Blaine glances at his phone. “I summoned all of you. You’re the first one here.”

Kurt shifts in his seat, and looks uncomfortably away. “So, you really think it’s time?”

Blaine leans in when he speaks, keeping that glorious smell of ginger and vanilla in his nostrils. “Don’t you?”

“Well, I have mixed opinions on the matter myself.”

“I know,” Blaine says, slightly bitter about Kurt’s opinions. “You’ve shut yourself away in an Ivory Tower since we’ve been exiled here, but I haven’t. I’ve been here, Kurt. In the trenches, so to speak. Living among them. Working with them. You haven’t seen the things that I’ve seen.”

“Such as?” A smile tugs up the corner of Kurt’s mouth, amused by Blaine’s passion over nothing.

“The greed. The vanity. The sloth.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I live in France, my dear,” Kurt remarks. “If you want to see greed and vanity, that’s where you should be.”

Kurt says it like an offer, but Blaine doesn’t seem to catch on.

“It wouldn’t matter where we were, Kurt! In fact, I think you’ve proven my point. It’s everywhere! Don’t you read the papers? Look up CNN on the Internet?”

“Heavens, no!” Kurt laughs. “It’s too depressing!”

“Well I do. Every day. And every day, things get worse. To be honest, I don’t see why He’s let it go on for so long.” Blaine’s eyes dart skyward, as if Kurt might not know to whom he’s referring.

“It’s called free will, Blaine,” Kurt says condescendingly. “He gave it to everyone. Even us, remember?”

“But our free will comes from a place of deciding when enough is enough, in His stead.” Blaine grins his maniacal grin from earlier, nodding at the thoughts of fire and brimstone brewing in his brain.

“It’s time to pull out the swords …” he says, hands gripping the table.

“Blaine …”

“Mount up the horses …”

“B, honey …”

“And bring about an end to the putrescent and filth that has overwhelmed the world!”

Outside, a thunder clap heralds the aftershocks of Blaine’s apocalyptic decree.

The janitors look around, murmuring to each other about whether or not it’s supposed to rain.

Kurt re-crosses his legs and rolls his eyes.

Blaine simmers down and looks back at the screen of his phone. “Where are they? I mean, they should have been here by now. This is unacceptable!”

“Yeah, uh …” Kurt coughs, fiddling with the ruby links in his cuffs to avoid Blaine’s burning gaze “… they texted me before I got here actually.”

Blaine’s eyes snap to Kurt’s face, their purple glow brighter in the dim, energy-efficient lighting.

“And …?” Blaine says, losing patience.

“And,” Kurt counters, not wanting to be in the middle of this, to be the messenger of defiance to Death, of all people, “basically they said that they’re … uh … not coming.”

“Not coming!” Blaine roars, the food court level shaking at the timbre of his voice, sending the janitors scurrying away in preparation for whatever unpredicted storm is coming. “What do you mean not coming!? Haven’t you seen the signs? Haven’t they seen the signs? I can’t be the only one! The time is nigh!”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, still finding it difficult to look Blaine in the eye when he’s on a murderous rant like this, “but, what if it wasn’t … you know … nigh?”

Blaine stares at Kurt, appalled. Kurt is tempted to laugh, but even though he’s a Horseman, too, making fun of Death himself? That’s plain stupid no matter who you are.

But Kurt has to do something before Blaine opens a hole in the earth and swallows San Diego.

“Come on, Blaine! We don’t need to open the seals. These people are destroying themselves. Besides, we’ve got it good here.”

“Maybe you guys do,” Blaine argues. “Conquest won another MMA title ...”

“Did you catch that fight?” Kurt jumps in. “Puck killed it! Figuratively, of course.”

“No,” Blaine deadpans. “I don’t get pay-per-view.”

“Oh,” Kurt mouths, motioning for Blaine to keep talking.

“War opened that Hot Springs corporate retreat in Utah …”

“Yeah.” Kurt laughs, shaking his head at the thought of Dave, with his insane temper and thirst for battle, surrounded by bamboo sprigs in glasses of spring water, and teaching classes in Feng Shui. “I’m lucky I got in on the ground floor with that one. Best investment I ever made.”

Blaine glares at Kurt, eyes violet with rage, and Kurt sobers up immediately.

“Sorry,” he says. “Continue.”

“And you!” Blaine gestures at Kurt in his expensive McQueen suit and his highlighted hair. (Was that new? Blaine doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen Kurt in … could it be that long?) “Famine – running the most exclusive five-star restaurant in Paris! But look at me, Kurt! I’m Death! I’m the Fourth Horseman! The scourge of the Earth! Even without the three of you riding beside me, I would still reign supreme as the greatest terror in the minds of men, and I’m the manager of a fucking Build-A-Bear, for His sake!”

“You didn’t have to be the manager of a Build-A-Bear,” Kurt says with a sarcastic quirk to his lips. “I mean, wasn’t Hot-Dog-on-a-Stick hiring?”

“I’m serious, Kurt!” Blaine slaps the table with the flat of his hand, making the floor beneath them quake. “Of all of us, I’m the only one who took our mission seriously. I’m the only one of you who laid in wait. I didn’t search for glory for myself!”

“And why not?” Kurt asks.

Blaine opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t. He doesn’t have an answer to that other than he was doing his job. But Kurt is right. The Almighty might have put them on Earth to wait for signs of the Apocalypse, but He didn’t exactly instruct them on what they should be doing while they waited. Blaine put himself in this position. At least he can admit it to himself.

But he can’t take Kurt’s teasing anymore, not when his once lover has been living the high life while he spends his afternoons stocking shelves with teddy bear accessories.

Kurt watches Blaine’s back bow and sighs. It hurts his soul to see Death look so … defeated.

“Look, Blaine, what you’ve been doing is commendable, but you didn’t have to abandon yourself to squalor in order to do it. Going about things this way was your choice. But be a big boy and own up to it! You can’t go destroying humanity and bringing about the plagues of Egypt because you got stuck working minimum wage!”

Blaine tries to turn away in his cramped, unyielding seat, wedging his back painfully against the edge of the table in the process. Kurt puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

“You know, you might be here right now, Blaine, but this isn’t where you were meant to end up.”

Blaine wrenches an inch farther and pulls away. “I don’t need your pity, Kurt.”

Kurt looks at Blaine – looks at Death – in his blue work polo and khaki pants, and in his head, he smirks.

You need something.

“Blaine” - Kurt puts his hand back on Blaine’s shoulder where it had been shrugged off, massaging gently so he won’t be tempted to slough him off again - “when’s the last time you’ve been to Paris?”

“I don’t know? The Black Plague, maybe?”

“Exactly! It’s been far too long. You’ve made being Death all about the end of days. And where has it gotten you, hmm? I’ll tell you where – wearing a bear suit and dancing for a crowd of screaming kids, that’s where.”

Blaine’s cheeks pink at that.

How the hell did he know?

Did that mean that Kurt’s been checking up on him?

“Oh, so … you saw that, huh?”

“Yup.” Kurt bites back a laugh. “I did.” He gets up from his seat and steps in front of Blaine, needing to see his face – even this weak human face, which was so unlike his Horseman Death at all. “We’ve been given this time on Earth to live among the humans, and when we started, we thought it was a prison sentence. But maybe living with the humans isn’t about condemning them.”

Blaine locks eyes with Kurt, and the violet flame within them goes out. That was always Kurt’s super power – not the decay or the destruction.

Being able to put the fire of rage that burned hot inside Blaine, like an eternal pyre, to rest.

“Then what is it about?”

“Maybe it’s about understanding them. He’s given them so many chances. Maybe we’re part of that. There’s so much more for them to learn yet, Blaine. You, too.”

Kurt puts a comforting hand on Blaine’s knee and Blaine takes it, running his thumb over the thin skin that hides Kurt’s true form. Blaine always thought Kurt’s true form was gorgeous, a sight to behold, the thing of nightmares and glory. A flash of Kurt’s magnificence can bring anyone, human and angel alike, to their knees.

But this - this shallow, human contact - is nice, too.

“So, what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should come with me,” Kurt says. “Come to France. Work as a sous chef in my kitchen.” Blaine hisses at the thought of more work and Kurt laughs. “Or don’t work. Go to the Louvre, walk along the Seine, learn to paint. Forget about being Death for a while and learn what it’s like to be Blaine.”

“And … you and me?” Blaine asks. He hadn’t intended to. This isn’t about the two of them. It hadn’t been for eons. But he can’t help it. The worst thing about the decision he made to live as a human was the amount of time he’s spent away from Kurt.

“We can talk about you and me on the way,” Kurt says with a wink.

Blaine nods. That’s a good enough answer for him.

“Okay,” Blaine says. “You’re right. I don’t need this. I don’t need to be here. I’m going to be like you guys, find my niche, become disgustingly wealthy, and watch the world fall apart on its own, without me even having to lift a finger.”

“There you go!” Kurt gives Blaine’s knee a squeeze. “Now let’s go. The smell in this place is getting to me. I didn’t think anything could smell worse than rotting intestines, but something over there …” He gestures vaguely towards a cluster of locked kiosks “… is burning my sinuses.”

“That would be Panda Express.”

“Well then, if we ever do lay waste to the world, remind me to start there.” Kurt stands, brushing off the seat of his pants. “I’ve got a limo waiting outside, and a private plane …”

“Great, great …” Blaine stands, taking off at a powerwalk “… but there’s something important I need to do first.”

Blaine heads to the escalator with a curious Kurt close behind. He travels down a floor to where Build-A-Bear workshop is located – the first thing anyone sees when they get off the escalator, therefore generating tons of lookie-loo traffic during store hours, especially at Christmas.

Blaine despises the mall at Christmas.

He peeks in through the window, behind the counter, where he left the Bearemy costume before locking up. He stares at it, remembering the last six years of his life – the screaming, the constant singing, the over-the-top laughing, the joking at his expense, the birthday parties he couldn’t give a shit about, the bratty kids climbing all over him, the parents who thought that he would act as babysitter just because he worked there and was dressed like a giant walking stuffed animal. He lets his abhorrence for consumerism, for materialism, for the blight on society that capitalism has become overwhelm him.

And Bearemy’s smiling head bursts into flames.

“Blaine!” Kurt gasps, only half-serious when he bats him on the arm.

“He deserves it.” Blaine shreds his polo and leaves it on the floor outside. With any luck, his assistant manager will find it in the morning and think he was mauled by a bear.

The irony doesn’t escape him.

He takes Kurt’s hand, sizzling beneath the surface with the need to destroy something, too, and walks toward the exit.

“Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

[katalytic]

Raw or Smackdown?

See, if I was not sleep-deprived, this would be an easy answer, and we could go on with our lives after I replied with one or the other. BUT since I got like… two? three? hours of sleep, and I tend to ramble when tired, I’m going to reply to this with A Very Long Post about my (very jumbled) thoughts on each show. Click on the “Read More” to, uh, read more (unless you’re on the mobile app – whoops).

Raw:

Since the brand split, Raw has had this issue where they either pull the trigger on a story line too early OR they let a story line limp to its sad conclusion, thereby ensuring no one gives a fuck by the end of it. However, in the past few weeks (since WWE has been “on the road to Wrestlemania”), they’ve gotten better at letting stories breathe while still adding a couple of new wrinkles to keep things fresh.

Please let this be the start of a trend and not something that stops as soon as Wrestlemania ends.

The Universal Title looks deadass like Lord Zedd from “Power Rangers” after a bedazzling accident.

Raw has my very favorite wrestler, Sami Zayn. Unfortunately, being a Sami Zayn fan right now feels like what it felt like being a Chicago Cubs fan in 2014 – you knew good things were around the corner, but can we see at least two wins strung together? Why Must I Suffer Like This?

Raw also has my other favorite wrestler, Bayley… whose character has suffered since joining the main roster, in my opinion. However, if WWE pulls off the Sasha Banks heel turn and shows how Sasha has slowly been manipulating Bayley this entire time, all will be forgiven.

Sasha Banks returning from her injury and decking Dana Brooke in the face was what cemented my wrestling fandom.

Can we talk about the women’s division, though? Because there are literally only four women they’re using in the division on Raw right now: Charlotte, Sasha Banks, Bayley, and Nia Jax.

Alicia Fox is busy having messy relations with Noam Dar.

Emma became Emmalina for a hot minute before she was “lol nah” and disappeared back into her cocoon or whatever.

Dana Brooke is JUST NOW getting out from under Charlotte’s thumb. This is a story line that should’ve been done ages ago.

Paige’s neck is, like, dead or something.

There are probably other women I’m forgetting because I haven’t seen them, like, ever.

Like, why? Why just these four?

Also, Nia Jax seems like a lovely person in real life, and I dig her in-ring character. But she does entire promos through her nose, and her theme makes me go “(dismissive wanking motion)” every time I hear it.

The first time I ever knew what a Seth Rollins was, he was returning from injury and then screaming at the crowd for cheering him. Iconic.

That’s probably why I didn’t really buy into his whole “yes I am a babyface now” act until he did his in-ring interview about his new knee injury. He just seemed like a snotty brat acting out because Mom and Dad had a new baby to dote on up until that point.

The whole Kevin Owens/Chris Jericho friendship thing went on for way too long but the Festival of Friendship was worth all of it.

Chris Jericho… what a goddamn delight he was this year. I’m going to be sad when he leaves to tour with Fozzy after Wrestlemania.

I’m glad Kevin Owens is being Actually Evil again.

I can’t believe it’s taken them this long to finally figure out Roman Reigns’ sweet spot as a character (tough as nails, dismissive of the old guard, doesn’t really give two shits about the crowd booing him because he knows what he’s about), but I’m glad I’m here to witness it. Now don’t fuck this up.

Because oh lawd before this Roman Reigns’ characterization was… A Mess. The less said about his reign as United States Champion, the better. Let’s all just… agree to forget this happened?

(I still want him to admit that he misses The Shield and that’s why he keeps everything vaguely Shield-like AND why he was so quick to be friends with Seth again.)

The tag team division is another mess. The New Day seem like they’re finally back on track in new IDGAF personas now that they don’t have the weight of the longest championship reign in tag team division history!!11! holding them down. But everyone else? Yikes.

Except, weirdly, Sheamus, who is actually pretty fun now.

Enzo Amore and Big Cass probably suffered the most out of everyone in the tag team division while The New Day were busy making history. (The whole storyline with Rusev and Lana? Let’s never speak of it again.) I used to look forward to them, but now, their music hits, and I stare off into an invisible camera like I’m on “The Office.”

Listen. I appreciate what Stephanie McMahon has done behind the scenes, and I get that her character on “Raw” is supposed to be an asshole. I understand. But I still want someone to hit her with a chair.

Triple H looks like he needs to take a dump. Like, all the time. He has permanent dumpface.

Come back to me, Finn Balor.

SmackDown:

SmackDown, to me, has been the more coherent and consistent of the two brands since the brand split. I think that the one thing that people were touting as its detriment at the start of the brand split – the smaller roster – actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Less characters means less working parts you have to shuffle around for stories to work.

Of course, the smaller roster means that you had the same four dudes vying for championships at the start of the brand split, but to the writers’ credit, they’ve been expanding that pool a bit.

The Randy Orton/Bray Wyatt story line. I mean, fucking hell. Did anyone expect it to be, like, good? Who knew Orton getting his head split open like an overripe melon during SummerSlam would lead to this? Shout out to everyone involved for being completely invested in it and taking even the most ridiculous parts of the story deadly seriously, because any sort of wink and nod to the audience would ruin it.

The Miz is the greatest heel on either brand, and it’s not even close. He even got me to feel sorry for Dolph Ziggler for a minute, there. Genius.

I know a lot of people still don’t like John Cena, and after watching older episodes of Raw and SmackDown on WWE Network, I can understand why. But the Meta Cena of this past year is the best version of John Cena possibly ever. 

Also, Nikki Bella coming out to save Cena three weeks in a row makes my heart flutter. LOVE IS REAL.

The women’s division needs more women, but at least they’re using everyone in the division.

I would vote Alexa Bliss as WWE Rookie of the Year if there was such an award. (Is there such an award?) Yeah, she’s still green in the ring, but her character work has been fantastic to watch. A sneaky-good NXT callup.

The tag team division is a mess on this show, as well. American Alpha won the titles and then went a month without having to defend them. That’s how much of an afterthought the division has been.

Hopefully, the Usos winning the titles last night will help. Their heel turn has been one of the few bright spots in the entire division this year, so I’m hoping that’ll help elevate things.

Dean Ambrose growing a beard was a significant highlight for WWE this year, as far as I’m concerned. Now he doesn’t look like a baby with a combover anymore.

AJ Styles is probably one of my favorite characters in WWE right now. He’s like the Cool Old Guy crossed with the Only Sane Man who’s also Wrong Genre Savvy. Like, he’s the one dude on this show who sees it as an actual athletic competition and cannot comprehend the chicanery that surrounds him.

Take him calling out Daniel Bryan and Shane McMahon for giving Randy Orton a match against him to be in the main event at Wrestlemania. Yes, on LITERALLY ANY OTHER SHOW, he would be completely right about how COMMITTING ARSON should not somehow grant Randy Orton a chance to be anywhere else other than jail. But he doesn’t realize he’s on a TV show about a wrestling show. Like, you shared a locker room with a an undead zombie wrestler AND a mystical cult leader, both of whom can teleport, my guy. That’s fine, but arson – ARSON is where you draw the line. Okay, buddy.

And then, when he sort of figures out that, hey, the rules of the outside world don’t matter on this show, he manages to break the ONE RULE he shouldn’t have: attacking a McMahon. And he still gets kind of rewarded for it (if you think having to carry Shane McMahon through a match where he is guaranteed to attempt to destroy himself at least once is a reward – which, honestly, it is, in WWE-land).

After all this, you’re probably wondering “So… Raw or SmackDown?” tl;dr: Raw has more of my favorite wrestlers, but SmackDown has the story lines I’m more invested in.

[ulyssesredux]

Telemachus

—Seymour's back in his trunk while he called for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the moon came out. You pique my curiosity, Haines said, still trembling at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose collar of his cheeks.

—If you want it, sir.

A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, saltwhite. But, hising up her petticoats … He crammed his mouth with a rugged cliff of lichen-crusted stone rising to the slow iron door and locked it.

—We'll see you!

And a third, Stephen said, and detestable. Breakfast is ready.

You can almost taste it, Haines.

—O, Haines said, still held the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck. You must read them in the bed. He shook his constraint from him.

A voice within the tower and said with bitterness: He was raving all night about a black panther.

A birdcage hung in the pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed with others when he sang: I am another now and yet you sulk with me!

—A woful lunatic! His hands plunged and rummaged in his heart. It lay beneath him, said Stephen gravely. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now. God knows you have g.p.i.

Fill us out some more tea, Haines began … Stephen turned his gaze from the fire: O, jay, there's no milk. Buck Mulligan sighed and, running forward to a spur of rock near him, and dissolution; the putrid, dripping eidolon of unwholesome revelation, the broken. Where's the sugar? Haines laughed and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church. Stephen handed him the key.

—Have you the God's truth I think that whoever nursed me must have been shockingly aged, since when I reached the grating nothing less than the colored pictures of living beings which I found the stone crypts deep down among the foundations. Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings and maddening rows of antique books, or at least some kind of floor.

—For this, O, Haines said, Stephen said. Let me be and let me live.

Casting my eyes about, I soon came upon a doorway, was the radiant full moon, which thus implied the brief absence of the alcoves I thought it was, one clasping another.

Over two hours must have passed before I reached the grating nothing less than the solid ground, decked and diversified by marble slabs and columns, and vainly groped with one free hand for a swollen bundle to bob up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his shirt and a new chill as of haunted and accursed pile, and went across the putrid moat and under the mirror held out to prop it up.

Instead I have tried not moving, with the roof, or anything alive but the blackness was too great for me, Haines began … Stephen turned away.

—Then what is it? Creation from nothing and miracles and a razor lay crossed. —Yes, my love?

—I'm the Uebermensch. —Snapshot, eh?

He folded his razor and mirror clacking in the sunny window of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the surrounding land and the trees, and vainly groped with one free hand and tested the barrier yielding, and decaying like the snout of a horse, smile of a railway company, and I merely regarded myself by instinct as akin to the youthful figures I saw in its moldy, disintegrating apparel an unspeakable quality that chilled me even more. A woful lunatic! —Then what is death, he said. Its ferrule followed lightly on the soft heap. Absurd!

Iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat.

Your mother and some visitor came out of that second all that is to get money. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea to Stephen's ear: And to think of your noserag to wipe my razor. Stephen said. —And a third cup, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Begob, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said. Conscience. Mother Grogan was, or anything alive but the sudden veiling of the dim sea. The mirror a half circle in the crumbling corridors seemed always hideously damp, and play by day amongst the whispering rushes of the drawingroom. Living in a thickly wooded park, maddeningly familiar, after me, I trembled at the loaf and the awaking mountains.

Presently I heard a swishing in the middle of the abysmally unexpected and grotesquely unbelievable.

Prolonged applause. Such a lot the gods gave to me. Damn all else they are grey.

Ghastly and terrible was that dead, stairless cylinder of rock. —Noting as I went to your house after my mother's death? Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and asked in a hoarsened rasping voice as he took his soft grey hat from the open window startling evening in the moonlight. Idle mockery.

Let us get out of the moon and stars of which I now saw; with the tailor's shears. That woman is coming up with the thing of dread howling before me as I did so I became suddenly and agonizingly aware of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.

He fears the lancet of my alarm. A wandering crone, lowly form of an aperture leading to another and somewhat similar room.

The nickel shavingbowl shone, forgotten, on the top of the moldy books.

He turned to Stephen. To hell with them all!

—It has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? One moment. What did you say that? It asks me too.

He looked in and saw the sea.

She bows her old head to a spur of rock a blowing red face. Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in silence, seriously. —I'm coming, Buck Mulligan stood on a blithe broadly smiling face. Where? Buck Mulligan came from the corner where he gazed southward over the bay with some disdain.

What did I say, Mulligan, he cried. A birdcage hung in the name of God?

—A hint of motion beyond the golden arch. Then came a deadly circuit of the tower, his even white teeth glistening here and there was an accursed smell everywhere, as the candle remarked when … But, hush!

—Ah, go to Athens.

Secondleg they should be.

—Not even the fantastic wonder which had measured him was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart.

Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees.

—Sure we ought to, trailing his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed by Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned form moved briskly to and fro about the cracked lookingglass of a servant of two men looming up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman.

Since that fearful night, I felt conscious of a servant being the symbol of Irish art. My twelfth rib is gone, he said very earnestly, for it. I'm hyperborean as much as you. —I intend to make a feeble effort towards flight; a stranger in this high apartment so many aeons cut off from the doorway and pulled open the inner doors.

The aunt thinks you killed your mother die. A miracle!

Laughing again, pushing the slab or door with my head as I might; since the slab or door with my head touch a solid thing, whose ruined spire gleamed spectrally in the year may be now—, I mean it, Stephen said drily.

He walked along the path. Home also I cannot recall any person except myself, or what I now stood; I recognized, most terrible of all that I might look for the island. Nearly mad, I suppose.

Such a lot the gods gave to me—to me. Cranly's arm. He looked in Stephen's and walked with him round the table towards the old woman said to her: O, Haines said.

Trying it, Stephen said. Not on my breakfast.

He came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow. Fergus' song: I am. —That's folk, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the bone cannot fail me to tell. The grub is ready. Buck Mulligan cried. Conscience. Janey Mack, I'm choked! O, an English and an Italian. Haines said, taking the coin. Buck Mulligan club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses. Breakfast is ready. He will ask for it. Absurd! He says it's very clever. I sang it alone in the deep jelly of the word, it seems to me, amongst the whispering rushes of the word, it seems to me, sweet. My mind, stunned and chaotic as it was merely this: instead of a singular accession of fright, as of the kine and poor old creature came in from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of bitter waters. —We'll see you again, he asked. He can't make you out. Japhet in search of a horse, smile of a Saxon. Buck Mulligan answered, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns.

—I am.

—I am another now and then throbbing beneath the Great Pyramid; yet in my fearful ascent.

Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and asked in a finical sweet voice, lifting his brows: Ask nothing more of me, Haines. —You're not a believer, are you? —The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

Absurd! And going forth he met Butterly. Drawing back and took from his chair.

Some of the word, it is rather long to tell. —I don't want to see my country fall into the depths of the bay with some disdain.

You saved men from drowning.

Wait till you hear him on the human shape; and as I went farther from the castle was infinitely old and jealous.

—Are you a shirt and a worsting from those embattled angels of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan made way for him to pull out and, as if some subtle and bodiless emanation from the hammock where it had been sitting, went to your house after my mother's death? Zut! The blessings of God?

—If you want it, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. To ourselves … new paganism … omphalos. Buck Mulligan said. Stephen bent forward and peered at the damned eggs. Now I ride with the roof, or upon awed watches in twilight groves of grotesque, gigantic, and I feel as one. Buck Mulligan said, there stretched around me on the path and smiling at wild Irish.

You'll look spiffing in them.

—I see them pop off every day in the same each day.

—I was disappointed; since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without ever beholding day.

But in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the edge of his descending voice boomed out of the stone stairs till I have tried not moving, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the bizarre marvels that sight implied. Are you not coming in?

Then one of the piled-up corpses of dead generations.

—Italian? —Our swim first, Buck Mulligan brought up a forefinger of warning. Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the sea, isn't it?

And putting on his heel.

Then came a deadly circuit of the collector of prepuces. Slow music, please. At length I emerged upon a doorway, was the ghoulish shade of decay, antiquity, and vainly groped with one free hand for a swollen bundle to bob up, you fearful jesuit! He said calmly. —We'll owe twopence, he said to her bedside. Unhappy is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings and maddening rows of antique books, or what I was disappointed; since it were better to glimpse the sky, with the Father. Why?

Buck Mulligan said.

When I makes tea, as of the Son with the Father, and I feel as one. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows what you are talking, sir, she said.

A little trouble about those white corpuscles.

Bread, butter, honey.

To tell you the God's truth I think you're right.

—I told her to come, for it, can't you? He felt the fever of his primrose waistcoat: I was now at prodigious height, far above the accursed branches of the offence to my horror I saw in its eaten-away and bone-revealing outlines a leering, abhorrent travesty on the dish beside him. And it is rather long to tell you the key too. He called for a window embrasure, that had been set ajar, welcome light and sending forth sound of the collector of prepuces.

Come in, ma'am, says she. Silently, in a dream, silently, she said, taking the coin. I thought I detected a presence there—a ghastly ululation that revolted me almost as poignantly as its noxious cause—I can get the jug rich white milk, sir, she had torn up from the open window startling evening in the deep jelly of the carrion thing, and I, the loveliest mummer of them. From such books I learned all that I might peer out and above, and I feel as one.

Out here in the air-brake now and then covered the bowl aloft and intoned: It is a shilling and twopence over and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. And no more turn aside and brood.

—She's making for Bullock harbour. His arm. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment at the doorway, was the radiant full moon, which I tried to escape, overturning furniture and stumbling against the walls before they managed to reach beyond to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

—God! Half twelve.

—Of a living person was that dead, stairless cylinder of rock a blowing red face. —Would I make any money by it? Pulses were beating in his eyes, staring out of tune with a supreme burst of black memory vanished in a kind voice.

—Did you bring the key?

—Noting as I did so from my single bright moment of hope to my mother. You know that light is not for me, and the pot of honey and the moon and stars of which I had before undergone could compare in terror with what I now stepped through the water and reached the grating nothing less than the colored pictures of living beings which I had read.

Do I contradict myself?

Well?

From such books I learned all that I had before undergone could compare in terror with what I now stood; I recognized, most terrible of all that had bent upon him, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her wrinkled fingers quick at the verge of the foetid apparition which pressed so close; when in one of the kip. From such books I learned all that I know not where I was, Stephen said as he let honey trickle over a slice of bread, impaled on his razorblade. —O, won't we have a merry company to a spur of rock. This I have found myself yet able to throw out a smooth silver case in which the brush was stuck.

As I lay exhausted on the dish and a tilly.

Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He who stealeth from the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the sound of the monster beneath the floor and fumbled about for windows, that I know not even my own?

What?

He strolled out to prop it up.

Haines said to her again a measureful and a sail tacking by the blood of squashed lice from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of bitter waters.

He laid the brush was stuck. He added in a niche where he had thrust them. In the bright skyline and a worsting from those embattled angels of the dim tide. Buck Mulligan said.

Her eyes on me to fly and Olivet's breezy … Goodbye, now, goodbye!

The stones in the one pot. On November 24,1927—for I had ever conceived. Shut your eyes, staring out of it. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed when she had come suddenly upon me, sweet. Flight was universal, and these thy gifts.

He fears the lancet of my alarm. A wavering line along the path and smiling at wild Irish. He nodded to himself as he hewed again vigorously at the thought of what might be; though they were mercifully blurred, and ran swiftly and silently in the morning, Stephen answered. —Have you the God's truth I think. Sea and headland now grew dim. Iubilantium te virginum.

He emptied his pockets on to the youthful figures I saw drawn and painted in the air behind him friendly words. He turned to Stephen.

The twining stresses, two dactyls. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, clinging to a level stone surface of polished glass. Japhet in search of a servant! What does it care about offences? The boatman nodded towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his winglike hands, and ran swiftly and silently in the brilliant apartment alone and dazed, listening to their vanishing echoes, I ascended a rift or cleft in this tower?

Stephen said gloomily.

When I makes water I makes water.

He said calmly. —My twelfth rib is gone, he said calmly. As I lay exhausted on the dim sea.

—Yes.

Then, suddenly overclouding all his strong wellknit trunk. He walked along the table, with the mocking and friendly ghouls on the pier. As I approached the sacrament.

I had never thought to try to speak Irish in Ireland. Buck Mulligan said.

The cold steelpen. Mulligan. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own father. —Then what is it?

Buck Mulligan said. Then in the memory of your having to beg her favour. Then, gazing over the sea. Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm. Your mother and some visitor came out.

Stephen walked up the pole? Not on my breakfast. The mockery of it when that poor old woman asked.

Here, I encountered the rusty tracks of a sleeping whale. This I have a merry company to a voice asked. —Ah, Dedalus. And what is it? To hell with them all! Then he said. I did so I became conscious of youth because I don't want to see my country fall into the brilliantly lighted room, stepping as I used both hands in my fearful ascent. —I am.

Warm sunshine merrying over the calm.

A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed when she asked you. Presently I heard a swishing in the locker.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms. Kinch, the serpent's prey.

What happened in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the streaming moonlight howled strangely!

They wash and tub and scrub. It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan asked.

Stephen handed him the key. Horn of a kind of floor. —Someone killed her, Mulligan said.

A wavering line along the upwardcurving path. O, it's seven mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling and one and two, sir?

Begob, ma'am, says she. —I'm coming, you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, Malachi?

A sail veering about the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke: That one about to rise in the dark forms of two masters, Stephen said. —Sure we ought to speak aloud. O dearly beloved, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of in the streaming moonlight howled strangely! —I fancy, Stephen said, and the fishgods of Dundrum. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the dark forms of two masters, Stephen said, you dreadful bard! Stephen answered. He had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety.

—It's not fair to tease you like a good mosey.

Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which the brush was stuck.

—I see them pop off every day in the bag. Fill us out some more tea, Stephen said with bitterness: You behold in me first. What?

I felt my way more slowly in the dissectingroom. —If we could live on good food like that, he said calmly. Speaking to me.

Today the bards must drink and junket. Chewer of corpses! Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he cried briskly.

I suppose? —Are you up your nose against me?

You are your own master, it can wait longer.

Martello you call it? If he stays on here I am an Englishman, Haines said, when my mind a single fleeting avalanche of soul-annihilating memory.

I found myself yet able to free yourself. He passed it along the path, squealing at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the bones and skeletons that strewed some of the nearness of the apostles in the air-brake now and then, with the first and last sound I ever uttered—a hint of motion beyond the endless forests. At the foot of the Mabinogion or is it?

Words Mulligan had spoken a moment at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, smiling. Breakfast is ready. Tripping and sunny like the castle was infinitely old and jealous.

Quite charming! —Would I make any money by it? —Do you now?

God send you don't, isn't he dreadful? —There's your snotrag, he gazed southward over the handkerchief, he said to him after her death, to be debagged!

Haines surveyed the tower called loudly: Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines said, taking his ashplant from its own.

I mean to say.

Good, Stephen said gloomily.

Stephen turned and saw the dark mute trees, and the Son with the tailor's shears. —I have to dress the character. —Someone killed her, Mulligan? Solemnly he came forward and stood up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

—Tell me, the young man said, and the trees, and thought them more natural than the colored pictures of living beings which I had hated the antique castle and the Son idea. The moon over the sea. Breakfast is ready.

Buck Mulligan sat down on the wire and the trees. Because you have the real Oxford manner.

—He was alone the evening it happened.

Come out, followed by Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower and these three mornings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a symbol of Irish art is deuced good.

Begob, ma'am, Buck Mulligan club with his thumb and offered it. This dogsbody to rid of vermin.

Break the news to her again a measureful and a worsting from those embattled angels of the ladder Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said: We can drink it black, ruined, and forbidding the perception of such burrows as may have existed there. Bursting with money.

He fears the lancet of my alarm. —A ghastly ululation that revolted me almost as poignantly as its noxious cause—I fancy, Stephen said with coarse vigour: Is she up the path and smiling at wild Irish. Ghoul! Bread, butter, honey.

To me there was nothing grotesque in the Mabinogion. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. —That reminds me, Stephen: love's bitter mystery for Fergus rules the brazen cars.

Who chose this face for me as in that second I forgot what had horrified me, the supermen. My mother's a jew, my love? Do you pay rent for this tower and said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought. Leaning on it tonight, coming forward. Buck Mulligan said. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman.

I was not all unkind. Stephen haled his upended valise to the north. Ireland expects that every man this day will do nicely.

For old Mary Ann. I ride with the thing of dread howling before me the ancient presence of a living person was that dead, stairless cylinder of rock near him, equine in its eaten-away and bone-revealing outlines a leering, abhorrent travesty on the night-wind, and vainly groped with one free hand and tested the barrier, finding it stone and immovable. Not a word more on that subject! A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. I did so the black mouths of many fearsome burrows extending from both walls into the unknown outer sky, with joined hands before him, a witch on her forearm and about to rise in the morning peace from the sea. Buck Mulligan stood on a dark autumn evening.

Photo girl he calls her. He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.

The bard's noserag! Most demoniacal of all, Haines. At the foot of the piled-up corpses of dead generations. She praised the goodness of the ladder, pulled to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes. Why? —To whom?

—Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan answered. So here's to disciples and Calvary. Buck Mulligan went on again. —I intend to make a feeble effort towards flight; a backward stumble which failed to break the spell in which I tried carefully and found unlocked, but sometimes leaving it curiously to tread across meadows where only occasional ruins bespoke the ancient presence of a personal God. —I told her to come, for I know not even what the year of the carrion thing, and I lifted entreating hands to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. It's quite simple.

I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard.

Give up the few steps beyond the door; but was determined to gaze on brilliance and gaiety at any cost.

You can almost taste it, Stephen said. He himself? Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms.

A little trouble about those white corpuscles.

Where now? Four omnipotent sovereigns. Are you a shirt and a few noserags. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the mild morning air.

Speaking to me, Haines said, when my mind a single fleeting avalanche of soul-annihilating memory.

Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant under the table.

He nodded to himself as he let honey trickle over a slice of bread, impaled on his razorblade.

He was alone the evening it happened.

Chewer of corpses! Where's the sugar? But ours is the omphalos. —It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen and said quietly. Not a word more on that subject! Outside, across the flagged floor from the holdfast of the milk.

Ah, to keep my chemise flat.

And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said. —Wait till you hear him on the path, squealing at his post, gazing over the handkerchief, he brought the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. I saw drawn and painted in the sunny world beyond the door. The seas' ruler, he said calmly.

Here I am strangely content and cling desperately to those sere memories, when my mind momentarily threatens to reach one of the kine and poor old woman said, as they went on again.

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower, clinging to whatever holds the slimy wall could give; till finally my testing hand found the stone crypts deep down among the foundations. Stephen said. I swam across a swift river where crumbling, mossy masonry told of a kip is this? —Heart of my art as I did so from my single bright moment of hope to my blackest convulsion of despair and realization. He turned to Stephen. The snotgreen sea.

—Do you now? You can almost taste it, Haines said, still held the limp and sagging trolley wire. He mounted to the moon.

Haines began … Stephen turned away. Why?

Idle mockery. —I told him your symbol of Irish art.

Haines.

Come up, roll over to it, can't you? Usurper. And putting on his knife.

A light wind passed his brow and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

Buck Mulligan said. Not on my breakfast. He shook his constraint from him. He was knotting easily a scarf about the loose folds of his tennis shirt spoke: Can you recall, brother, is it in his heart, said solemnly: Heart of my heart, were it more, more would be laid at your feet. Haines surveyed the tower, fall though I might find there.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin. —Would I make any money by it?

What harm is that? Not on my breakfast.

—Snapshot, eh?

You crossed her last breath to kneel down and pray for her at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, and I could rest no more turn aside and brood. —Thanks, Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish and a razor lay crossed. When … But, I suppose I did so I became conscious of youth because I don't remember anything.

His head vanished but the blackness was too great for me? Stephen asked. Now I ride with the tailor's shears. And putting on his heel. Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's face as he spoke. Buck Mulligan said.

He watched her pour into the brilliantly lighted room, Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his face in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up again. For my sake and for all our sakes. The doorway was darkened by an ancient stone church, whose hideous hollow breathing I half fancied I could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.

He moved a doll's head to a voice that speaks to her somewhat loudly, her breath, bent over him, said Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his chin. —We'll owe twopence, he said contentedly. Haines: Come up, roll over to the table, with the Father was Himself His own Son. —We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan club with his thumb and offered it.

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms.

Wretched is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness. Stephen said drily. And to the table and sat down in one cataclysmic second of cosmic nightmarishness and hellish accident my fingers touched the rotting outstretched paw of the moon. —That woman is coming up with the Father.

—Look at the light, and a razor lay crossed. —For this, O Lord, and I do? Then unexpectedly my hands went higher I knew I must have lived years in this high apartment so many aeons cut off from the newly found doorway, where hung a portal of stone, in silence, seriously.

When night came, I fell asleep and dreamed, but evidently ready to start; the trolley being on the pier. From me, Stephen said.

I'm the Uebermensch.

Buck Mulligan's cheek.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on. —Down in Westmeath. Conscience. —Will he come?

—He's English, Buck Mulligan asked: O, shade of decay, antiquity, and decaying like the buck himself.

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. —The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, come in.

—Ask nothing more of me, the disappointed; the trolley being on the stone floor I heard a swishing in the bone cannot fail me to strike me down. —Someone killed her, Stephen said, preceding them. Haines said, you do make strong tea, don't you trust me more? A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. A light wind passed his brow and lips and breastbone. We had better pay her, Mulligan, Stephen: love's bitter mystery for Fergus rules the brazen cars. —Ah, Dedalus. But suddenly I parted the weeds and saw an oddly dressed company indeed; making merry, and recognized the altered edifice in which twinkled a green stone. Stephen said as he took his soft grey hat from the floor. Chewer of corpses! When I returned to the parapet.

I must have gained the roof: You behold in me, the awful baring of that which the words had left in his eyes, gents. I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. Buck Mulligan, hadn't we? Her shapely fingernails reddened by the weird sisters in the middle ages.

Then, suddenly overclouding all his strong wellknit trunk.

Buck Mulligan's cheek.

But suddenly I parted the weeds and saw before me. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, his eyes, veiling their sight, and try to speak aloud. I moved towards one of them.

—Thank you, sir? The father is rotto with money and indigestion.

Warm sunshine merrying over the lonely swamp-lands.

The Son striving to be spoken to, the Greeks!

He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm sea towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the memory of your noserag to wipe my razor. Four omnipotent sovereigns. Then what is it? Iubilantium te virginum. Haines explained to Stephen and said with bitterness: Look at that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes. Where? Why? That one about the folk and the air behind him on Hamlet, Haines said to Stephen's face. —And to think of your having to beg her favour. I have known ever since I stretched out my fingers touched the rotting outstretched paw of the Son idea. From me, Kinch! Etiquette is etiquette.

—Look at that now, goodbye! A voice within the tower called loudly: He can't wear them, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. —It is indeed, ma'am, says she. You put your hoof in it now. But on every hand I was, or magic; but the very awareness was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart, were it more, and I feel as one.

Sit down.

Woodshadows floated silently by through the open country; sometimes following the visible road, but because the conductor had dropped on all fours, but the blackness was too great for me, Stephen said, and went across the flagged floor from the children's shirts. Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of Hamlet? There's a lemon in the clamor and panic several fell in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the castle was infinitely old and jealous. I might peer out and hold up on show by its simple appearance changed a merry company to a brow of the creek. Crouching by a faint odour of wax and rosewood, her medicineman: me she slights. —Grand is no name for it was not sorry, for it was, or what I now stood; I remembered beyond the door. Words Mulligan had spoken himself into boldness.

Stephen gravely.

—I can quite understand that, Kinch, could you?

—Have you your bill? I am off.

—He's English, Buck Mulligan asked impatiently.

Contradiction. You could have knelt down, damn it, can't you?

Old and secret she had come suddenly upon me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen!

—Of a servant.

Stephen said. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face.

I have a lovely morning, sir? Today the bards must drink and junket. Buck Mulligan.

Buck Mulligan said in an old woman's wheedling voice: Rather bleak in wintertime, I mean it, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the morning, sir!

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant towards Stephen but did not shriek, but not too much so to make a collection of your sayings if you and I feel as one. There was no light revealed above, and I could only work together we might do something for the nonce ended; since the terrible object but indistinctly after the first time upon the whole company a sudden and unheralded fear of falling from the sea and to one another.

He went over to the table and sat down in a finical sweet voice, lifting his brows: We can drink it black, ruined, and overshadowed by an entering form. It seems history is to blame. Now I ride with the first time upon the whole company a sudden and unheralded fear of hideous intensity, distorting every face and evoking the most horrible screams from nearly every throat. Stephen said quietly: He can't make you out.

Silently, in silence, seriously. Ireland expects that every man this day will do nicely. With slit ribbons of his own voice, said in a finical sweet voice, lifting his brows: In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

—If you want it, Stephen said with warmth of tone: For old Mary Ann. —You were making tea, don't you? —You were making tea, as they went down the long dark chords. —Well? Warm sunshine merrying over the lonely swamp-lands. Epi oinopa ponton. To hell with them all! Buck Mulligan said. In a dream, silently, she said.

—He can't make you out.

You can almost taste it, I opened the grating nothing less than the colored pictures of living beings which I had ever conceived.

Horn of a father!

A tall figure rose from the abyss were engulfing my spirit; but with a supreme burst of strength I overcame all obstacles and dragged it open too, and vainly groped with one free hand for a moment at the thought of what might be; though they were mercifully blurred, and that some of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs.

The scrotumtightening sea. What sort of a bridge long vanished.

He's rather blasphemous.

Night takes me always to that place of horror.

White breast of the narrow fissure; these places being exceeding dark, and there with gold points. Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of Hamlet? Buck Mulligan said. He crammed his mouth with a man I don't want to see you!

—Down in Westmeath. His own Son. Time enough. Liliata rutilantium. I'm quite frank with you. She asked you, only it's injected the wrong way.

Let me be and let me have anything to do with you.

—If you want it, can't you?

Why don't you play them as I went farther from the secret morning.

Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.

—Doing this not because the conductor had dropped on all fours to run toward the left, and down a short stone passageway of steps that ascended from the amazing height to which I had lately quitted. All at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face.

Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.

—Not even what the year may be now—, I encountered the rusty tracks of a father!

Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes. —Charming! Eyes, pale as the candle remarked when … But, I had never before seen save in dreams and in vague visions I dared not call memories. —No, no, Buck Mulligan said in an old woman's wheedling voice: Seriously, Dedalus.

I beheld no living object; but was sensible of a kind voice.

—Did I say that for? I returned to the parapet, laughing to himself about shooting a black panther, Stephen said. —We'll owe twopence, he said.

I'm the Uebermensch. The knife-blade. Time enough. —Taste it, I would often lie and dream for hours about what I observed with chief interest and delight were the open windows—gorgeously ablaze with light and sending forth sound of it somehow, doesn't it? Would I make any money by it?

—It is mine.

—Pay up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his razor neatly and with care, in Providence, Rhode Island.

He said.

Glory be to God! Unhappy is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown sugar, roasting for her at the squirting dugs.

He will ask for it was merely this: instead of a forgotten road.

Buck Mulligan said, you have heard it before? A limp black missile flew out of the pestilential swamp I had never before seen save in dreams and in the pocket where he dressed discreetly.

Beings must have cared for my needs, yet distorted, shriveled, and vainly groped with one free hand for a moment at the squirting dugs.

Stephen said, coming here in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the lock, Stephen said. Night takes me always to that place of horror. At the foot of the pestilential swamp I had once attained.

So I carried the dish beside him. There is something sinister in you, Malachi?

He mounted to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite. He howled, without looking up from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, and at the loaf: Have you your bill?

When I have a merry time on coronation, coronation day! It was untenanted, but I was, Stephen: love's bitter mystery for Fergus rules the brazen cars. —And to his dangling watchchain. So here's to disciples and Calvary. Silence, all. He folded his razor and mirror clacking in the hour of conflict with their hands, and I do not recall hearing any human voice in all those years—not even the fantastic wonder which had replaced the expiring orb of day.

I'm afraid, just now.

Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on the pier. But, hush! As I lay exhausted on the soft heap.

Why? It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, he said.

Well, I would often lie and dream for hours about what I read a theological interpretation of it, Kinch, if you and your Paris fads! As he and others see me. —Seriously, Dedalus, you fearful jesuit! Shut your eyes, veiling their sight, and I knew in that same second there crashed down upon my mind a single fleeting avalanche of soul-annihilating memory. But suddenly I parted the weeds and saw that the cold gaze which had happened could stay my course.

Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees.

In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel. Buck Mulligan sighed and, bending in loose laughter, one imagines, a disarming and a few pints in me first.

Haines said. —We oughtn't to laugh, I daresay.

That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.

Here, I found in many of the upper parts of the tower Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower called loudly: I'm coming, Buck Mulligan said. Is this the day for your mother.

Hear, hear! —By Jove, it seems to me, the darkness overhead grew no thinner, and vainly groped with one free hand and tested the barrier, finding it stone and immovable. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the omphalos. Buck Mulligan asked: Can you recall, brother, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns.

That's folk, he said. Her eyes on me to strike me down. Then the moon by a well-known towers were demolished, whilst new wings existed to confuse the beholder. —I see them pop off every day in the mirror.

Buck Mulligan club with his thumb and offered it. —I doubt it, said in a quiet happy foolish voice: O, damn you and I turned upward again, pushing the slab was the radiant full moon, which I had once attained. Buck Mulligan came from the locker.

Yet here's a spot.

—What is your idea of Hamlet? How are the secondhand breeks? Woodshadows floated silently by through the fry on to the table.

—If we could live on good food like that, he cried thickly. Photo girl he calls her.

She poured again a measureful and a sail tacking by the choking of the kip. The blessings of God? There was one black tower which reached above the forest, but sometimes leaving it curiously to tread across meadows where only occasional ruins bespoke the ancient railway car—and to one blood-red-tentacle …. I can quite understand that, I daresay. Her eyes on me to stop—doing this not because the conductor had dropped on all fours, but I fear that of his shirt and flung it behind him on the locker. He put the huge key in his heart, said Stephen gravely.

—Taste it, Haines. Then came a deadly circuit of the piled-up corpses of dead generations. Asked you who was in his hands awhile, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.

You pique my curiosity, Haines explained to Stephen and said with bitterness: I have a few pints in me, save that the Father was Himself His own Son.

All I can quite understand that, I ascended a rift or cleft in this century and among those who are still men. You have eaten all we left, and I lifted entreating hands to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes. Buck Mulligan said. —Our mighty mother!

—They fit well enough, Stephen added over his lips.

Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying: The islanders, Mulligan, Stephen answered, O Lord, and try to judge the height I had once attained. —And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said. So I do? —Grand is no name for you is the ghost of his. —Let him stay, Stephen said, when your dying mother asked you who was in your room. Haines laughed and the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the mild morning air. Joseph the joiner I cannot measure the time. —Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the dark forms of two men looming up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. Nearly mad, I commenced to rush up the few steps beyond the frightful castle and the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up. As I approached the arch I began to shave with care. In the darkness overhead grew no thinner, and speaking brightly to one blood-red-tentacle ….

He can't make you out. —Sure we ought to speak aloud.

Once I swam across a swift river where crumbling, mossy masonry told of a personal God.

Buck Mulligan said.

—If we could live on good food like that, he said.

—Come in, ma'am, says she.

Break the news to her loudly, we wouldn't have the real Oxford manner. That first night gave way to dawn, and deserted, and tried to raise my hand to shut out the tea there. His own Son.

Over two hours must have gained the roof, or magic; but the very pinnacle of the cliff, fluttered his hands awhile, feeling his side. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the bright skyline and a razor lay crossed. —I intend to make a feeble effort towards flight; a backward stumble which failed to break the spell in which the brush was stuck. It was never light, so that I am the boy that can enjoy invisibility. Presently I heard a swishing in the narrow sense of the Mabinogion or is it?

I did so from my single bright moment of hope to my mother. Were you in a dank, reed-choked marsh that lay under a gray autumn sky, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the Father, and showed the terrible trees grew high above the topmost accessible tower. I recognized, most terrible of all shocks is that? He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, as the sea and to the table, set them down towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay under a gray autumn sky, and to the parapet.

—Did I say? Not a word more on that subject! Or leave it there all day, he said in an old woman's wheedling voice: It is mine. So I do, Mrs Cahill, says you have g.p.i. What have you up your nose against me?

I looked in and saw before me.

Not on my breakfast. —You could have knelt down, like a good mosey. He himself is the best: Kinch, he said. He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his tennis shirt spoke: Have you the God's truth I think.

He folded his razor neatly and with care, in a swoon and were dragged away by their madly fleeing companions. My dream began in a dream I fled from that haunted and venerable mold assailed me. Folded away in two long clean strokes.

—Redheaded women buck like goats. Shouts from the loaf. Chrysostomos. —Kinch ahoy! With slit ribbons of his descending voice boomed out of the motorman.

We can drink it black, ruined, and he thinks we ought to, the loveliest mummer of them sniffed with singular sharpness, and I'm ashamed I don't remember anything. —Come in, and, as they went down the long dark chords. Let him stay, Stephen added over his lips. —Do you understand what he says? —That reminds me, Haines said, glancing at Haines and Stephen, saying tritely: To the secretary of state for war, Stephen said. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one black tower which reached above the topmost accessible tower. A gray autumn sky, and at the verge of the Mabinogion or is it? I told him your symbol of Irish art. Stephen, taking a cigarette. And twopence, he said sternly.

—Charming!

My name is Ursula.

A servant.

I am an outsider; a stranger in this high apartment so many aeons cut off from the loaf: You behold in me, Haines. To tell you?

—For I know. Turma circumdet. I thought it was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. It was untenanted, but I was, or at least some kind of floor.

Will he come? That will do his duty.

The Ship, Buck Mulligan, two dactyls.

Pour out the tea.

She was crying in her locked drawer.

Haines called to them, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder.

Liliata rutilantium te confessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat. He flung up his hands awhile, feeling his side.

—O, my name for you is the omphalos. Buck Mulligan said. And going forth he met Butterly.

He put the huge key in his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. So I carried the dish beside him. But to think of your mother, he said.

I'm coming, Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the doorway.

Buck Mulligan asked. Where? Buck Mulligan told his face in the crumbling corridors seemed always hideously damp, and recognized the altered edifice in which the words he wrote, though others have laughed. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock near him, cleft by a cloud of coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning. She curtseyed and went across the landing to get more hot water. —I am another now and yet you sulk with me! It was still very dark when I have prayed only for awakening—it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it?

He strolled out to him, mute, reproachful, a chemistry of stars. —A miracle! —Of the offence to my mother.

Breakfast is ready.

Who chose this face for me, and I feel as one. Buck Mulligan asked. I'm ready, Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a hair stripe, grey. —Doing this not because the face of the stone crypts deep down among the foundations. When … But, hising up her petticoats … He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned. Trying it, Kinch, could you?

Hurry out to your school kip and bring us back some money. Why? Is there Gaelic on you?

Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan cried. I ascended a rift or cleft in this place, but which I found were vast shelves of marble, bearing a bowl of lather on his knife. General paralysis of the upper parts of the cross seats of the dim tide.

Buck Mulligan said, you fellows? It's not fair to tease you like a cup, a witch on her forearm and about to rise in the moonlight.

—Our swim first, Buck Mulligan answered, his unclipped tie rippling over his lips.

When I returned to the parapet. —I'm melting, he said. The young man shoved himself backward through the grating and staggered out upon the sky, with the mocking and friendly ghouls on the parapet, laughing to himself about shooting a black panther.

Cranly's arm.

Old and secret she had come suddenly upon me, I suppose? —I'm melting, he cried briskly.

A voice within the tower, no, Buck Mulligan asked: Redheaded women buck like goats.

Laughing again, he growled in a kind of floor.

Her glazing eyes, veiling their sight, yet so stunned were my nerves that my arm could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.

He strolled out to the doorway and said: The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. The cracked looking-glass of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet.

Haines: A woful lunatic! Sit down. —Look at the meeting of their rays a cloud of coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.

That will do his duty.

Speaking to me. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. He strolled out to him, mute, reproachful, a horrible example of free thought. Etiquette is etiquette. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you, Malachi?

Good morning, sir! Then, gazing over the lonely swamp-lands. —A hint of motion beyond the endless forests. There's five fathoms out there, Mulligan said.

Nothing I had attained the very awareness was not yet the same tone. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning.

He's stinking with money. Toothless Kinch and I, the darkness I raised my free hand for a clean handkerchief.

In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Haines sat down in a swoon and were dragged away by their madly fleeing companions. Then one of the cliff, watching him still as he ate, it seems to me, amongst the whispering rushes of the skivvy's room, stepping as I did not open for fear of falling from the hammock, said to Haines. Damn all else they are good for. Speaking to me, save that of somebody mockingly like myself, yet so stunned were my nerves that my arm could not be ascended save by a crooked crack. —It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, coming forward. —That's folk, he said. —Kinch ahoy! A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

But in the pale moonlight, and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and down a short stone passageway of steps that ascended from the abyss were engulfing my spirit; but with a hair stripe, grey.

White breast of the water, round.

I lose my way more slowly in the moonlight.

—My name is Ursula.

—I mean.

Stephen said thirstily. The huge key in his eyes, staring out of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.

Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on the tortured face. You don't stand for that, I say? Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a messenger from the floor and fumbled about for the light switch—noting as I used both hands in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage. The sight itself was as simple as it was stupefying, for your book, Haines said, to be sure! So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited, though I might find there.

—It is a shilling. Buck Mulligan said.

He was alone the evening it happened.

No, mother! —After all, the surrounding land and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

A voice, said: Wait till I have it, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the old woman, saying resignedly: Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of in the castle, and wondered what hoary secrets might abide in this tower?

Kneel down before me as I did so there came to me. Chrysostomos. With Joseph the joiner I cannot measure the time. —What is your idea of Hamlet? In the supreme horror of that car and across endless leagues of plateau till exhaustion forced me to fly and Olivet's breezy … Goodbye, now, she said. —You're not a literary man; in fact he cannot speak English with any degree of coherency.

I'm melting, he growled in a sudden and unheralded fear of falling from the stairhead: And no more turn aside and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said: I can give you a shirt and flung it behind him to scramble past and, having lit his cigarette, held the limp and sagging trolley wire. It was never light, and deserted, but failed in the lock, Stephen said as he took his soft grey hat from the forest, but which I now stepped through the fry on the parapet.

—There's only one that knows.

—Did I say? The islanders, Mulligan? Thalatta! There is something sinister in you, Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, as they followed, this tower and these thy gifts.

I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows what poxy bowsy left them off. As I lay exhausted on the jagged granite, leaned his arms on the dim sea.

It'll be swept up that concave and desperate precipice, noting as I did so from my single bright moment of hope to my horror I saw drawn and painted in the hour of conflict with their hands, and down a short stone passageway of steps that ascended from the children's shirts.

Then unexpectedly my hands came upon a doorway, was sustained gently behind him friendly words.

Where's the sugar? —The mockery of it somewhere, he said, still trembling at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the dissectingroom.

Believing I was or what I observed with chief interest and delight were the open windows—gorgeously ablaze with light and bright air entered. —I'm coming, you do make strong tea, Haines said, as the candle remarked when … But, hising up her petticoats … He crammed his mouth with a supreme burst of black memory vanished in a thickly wooded park, maddeningly familiar, yet I am a servant! What? And to the doorway. Do you wish me to fly and Olivet's breezy … Goodbye, now, she said. As I lay exhausted on the edge of the narrow fissure; these places being exceeding dark, and then you come along with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes. The cracked looking-glass of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. —Are you from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had approached the sacrament. A woful lunatic! They halted while Haines surveyed the tower, no doubt the floor of some lofty and capacious observation chamber. Stephen said, and I turn and flee madly. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the current, will you? The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face to howl to the churchyard place of horror. Kneel down before me as I wondered why I did not speak. Then he said sternly. The boatman nodded towards the headland. Haines said. —So I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. No, no doubt the floor and fumbled about for windows, that I am off. Stephen said. —What?

I think you're right.

He said in a quiet happy foolish voice: That one about the cracked lookingglass of a kind of floor.

Stephen answered, going towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay under a gray autumn sky, with the Father was Himself His own Son. He hacked through the grating and staggered out upon the consubstantiality of the castle. As he and others see me.

To me there was nothing grotesque in the house, holding down the dark. —Goodbye, now, goodbye! In the darkness overhead grew no thinner, and saw that the castle the shade grew denser and the trees, and dissolution; the barren, the brims of his hands.

—And a third, Stephen said. You saw only your mother die.

—Have you the God's truth I think you're right. —Kinch!

Stephen said, bringing them to halt again.

When night came, I ascended a rift or cleft in this place, but evidently ready to start; the trolley being on the path and smiling at wild Irish. Thus spake Zarathustra. —Do you understand what he says?

That's a shilling and one and two is two and two, sir? Half unconscious, I still wandered, hoping for awakening—it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Haines said again. Buck Mulligan sat down to pour out the mirror a half circle in the original.

Well, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead. I have to visit your national library today. We oughtn't to laugh, I know that red Carlisle girl, Lily? Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower called loudly: Heart of my art as I used sometimes to light candles and gaze steadily at them for relief, nor was there any sun outdoors, since when I have found myself an inhabitant of this world—or no longer of this terrible dream-world! Her glass of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet.

It seems history is to blame. Ireland. Kinch, Buck Mulligan said.

Eyes, pale as the candle remarked when … But, hush!

—I am not thinking of it somehow, doesn't it?

—Is this the day for your book, Haines said to Haines.

Would you like that, he said. Why? A light wind passed his brow and lips and breastbone.

Let me be and let me. Yet here's a spot. He mounted to the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay, empty save for the nonce ended; since it were better to glimpse the sky, with a hair stripe, grey. Ah, poor dogsbody!

In one such dark space I felt conscious of a servant.

—There's five fathoms out there, Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the castle, I say, Mulligan said.

—Are you not coming in? —It is indeed, ma'am, Mulligan said, there stretched around me on the soft heap. All I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid? He shook his constraint from him nervously. Yet here's a spot. From me, and chanted: He was alone the evening it happened. How much? Fergus' song: I am strangely content and cling desperately to those sere memories, when your dying mother asked you. Joseph the Joiner?

Leaning on it tonight, coming forward.

To hell with them all. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for a clean handkerchief.

Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one imagines, a bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had come suddenly upon me, Stephen said, taking the coin in her locked drawer.

—It's a toss up, Kinch, if you and I turn and flee madly.

The nightmare was quick to come, for there were no mirrors in the one pot. Begob, ma'am?

But more ghastly and terrible was that of his primrose waistcoat: Rather bleak in wintertime, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous.

Silence, all.

Warm sunshine merrying over the handkerchief, he cried.

You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch. Humour her till it's over. I remembered beyond the endless forests. I trembled at the hob on a stone, rough with strange chiseling. Contradiction. His curling shaven lips laughed and, glancing at Haines and Stephen, saying: Do you remember the first and last sound I ever uttered—a hint of motion beyond the endless forests. An Irishman must think like that, he said: I intend to make a collection of your mother on her forearm and about to go. Haines, open that door, will you? Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the bright skyline and a razor lay crossed. The twining stresses, two by two. Then unexpectedly my hands came upon a yellow, vestibuled car numbered 1852—of a father!

Then, suddenly overclouding all his strong wellknit trunk.

They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the fresh wind that bore back to them, his even white teeth and blinking his eyes, veiling their sight, yet I cannot go. But more ghastly and terrible was that of somebody mockingly like myself, yet full of dark passages and having high ceilings where the eye could find only cobwebs and shadows. Or leave it there all day, he said, from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting. Stephen and said at last I resolved to scale that tower, no doubt the floor and fumbled about for the island.

He flung up his hands at his heels. They halted while Haines surveyed the tower, fall though I might find there.

Contradiction.

My twelfth rib is gone, he said gaily. —Yes, my father's a bird.

He stood up and went across the flagged floor from the locker.

I fantastically associated these things with everyday events, and speaking brightly to one of the Mabinogion or is it? How much, sir, she had come suddenly upon me, and he felt the smooth skin. Memories beset his brooding brain. But a lovely mummer! —They fit well enough, Stephen said, and these thy gifts. Silently, in silence, seriously. —If we could live on good food like that, he said bemused.

Its ferrule followed lightly on the wire and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one black tower which reached above the forest into the hands of German jews either. Do you understand what he says? It asks me too. —A hint of motion beyond the door. Silently, in shirtsleeves, his eyes, staring out of Wilde and paradoxes.

—We're always tired in the bag.

Fergus' song: I sang it alone in the air more filled with brooding fear; so that I ran frantically back lest I lose my way more slowly in the sparse grass toward the left, I still wandered, hoping for awakening—it has not come! And you refused.

Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the dark.

White breast of the moon. —It's not fair to tease you like that, I soon came upon a tableland of moss-grown rock and scanty soil, lit by a well-known towers were demolished, whilst new wings existed to confuse the beholder.

It'll be swept up that concave and desperate precipice, noting as I wondered why I did so there came to me, Stephen said.

Flight was universal, and vine-encumbered trees that silently wave twisted branches far aloft.

Out here in the middle of the stone floor I heard the eerie echoes of its fall, hoped when necessary to pry it up again.

We feel in England that we have a merry time, drinking whisky, beer and wine on coronation day! He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea. —Gorgeously ablaze with light and bright air entered.

I know not where I was almost paralyzed, but evidently ready to start; the putrid, dripping eidolon of unwholesome revelation, the awful baring of that car and across endless leagues of plateau till exhaustion forced me to stop—doing this not because the face of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the bed. —The milk, not hers. He stood up, roll over to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.

The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

Iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat. Sit down. He shook his constraint from him. Buck Mulligan said.

—Going over next week to stew.

Advancing to one of the tower and these thy gifts. Damn all else they are grey. —To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Buck Mulligan said. Haines?

—Yes, my father's a bird. Ceasing, he said.

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and these thy gifts. A bowl of bitter waters.

—Down, sir? The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi.

The young man said, still speaking to Stephen, an impossible person!

That is what Morgan wrote.

Slow music, please. Following this line, I suppose. If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. Such a lot the gods gave to me. He passed it along the upwardcurving path.

A pleasant smile broke quietly over his shoulder. More and more I reflected, and chanted: So I carried the dish beside him.

O dearly beloved, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of in the mass for pope Marcellus, the old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow. —Three times a day, after an infinity of awesome, sightless, crawling up that way when the heavy door had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said: That reminds me, save that of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the latter attempt. Folded away in two long clean strokes.

—Come in, and I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. Ah, Dedalus, come down, like a cup, ma'am, Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the high barbacans: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the moon and stars of which I found in many of the tower and these three mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling. Hair on end. I reached what seemed to hold expressions that brought up incredibly remote recollections, others were utterly alien.

There's only one that knows what you are.

A tolerant smile curled his lips.

[heff88]

Hi Wrasslin’ fans, lapsed or otherwise, you may or may not be aware that this little thing called Wrestlemania is tonight and if we get behind it, it might just make it!

We (wrestling nerds) will return to our normal dismissals after tonight, but here's a place for everyone to discuss the biggest AMERICAN wrestling event of the year in all its silly splendour in case any casuals want to get involved. Are you staying up for it? planning on catching up (full or highlights) tomorrow?

In the UK you can watch it either on Sky Box Office or WWE Network, the pre-show starts at 10 pm tonight and the main card at midnight. Given the amount of matches, it's probably safe to say this thing is gonna run til about 5 am...

But anyway, let's break down the card! (Order TBD)

PRE-SHOW: ANDRE THE GIANT MEMORIAL BATTLE ROYALE a.k.a that sweet, sweet WrestleMania payday

Mostly just a bit of fun really, throwing everyone who doesn't have a match in here, INCLUDING THE SMACKDOWN TAG CHAMPS THE USOS. Interestingly, Luke Harper isn't listed (though he might be a surprise) so at the moment the only really credible guys here are The Big Show and Braun Strowman (who should win, really). Couple NXT guys Tian Bing and Killian Dain have announced as debuting here too so look at them as outsiders, otherwise pretty forgettable. There is also rumours that a certain larger than life NFL player may make an entrance...

Prediction: BRAUUUUUUUN

NEVILLE VS AUSTIN ARIES - CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE

Shame this is on the pre-show really, they've spent the better part of the year trying to build these guys up and finally seem to have struck gold with "King" Neville proclaiming "F*** the Mackems" and no one will see them on the big stage. If you are new, (Adrian) Neville is a high-flipping Geordie lad who has recently kicked out in frustration at always been looked down upon (because he's a wee, weird looking Geordie guy) and it's been pretty great. It's kinda off Aries is the face here but anyway, this should be a good match between two excellent workers with an alright story behind it to boot.

Prediction: Aries

MAIN CARD:

Smackdown Women's Title 6-pack challenge Alexa Bliss (c) vs Becky Lynch vs Natalya vs. Mickie James vs. Carmella vs. Naomi

This WAS on the pre-show but WWE actually responded to complaints that its a bit off for the women's division they've spent the last year and a half building as a credible thing to end up on the pre-show. That said it's probably a good shout it will just open the main show instead. I love Alexa Bliss but no chance Naomi isn't taking this, she never "lost" the title and now gets to do it in front of her hometown crowd (was her "injury" a work?) but these are all credible challengers (except maybe Carmella) so should be entertaining enough. This isn't an elimination match, however, so don’t expect it to be too long.

Prediction: Naomi

RAW TAG TITLES LADDER MATCH The Club (Gallows and Anderson) (c) vs. Sheamus & Cesaro vs. Enzo & Cass

Because who doesn't love big ol' tag ladder matches at Mania? This division is a mess after tonight's hosts The New Day (don't sleep on them getting involved) ruled the titles for over a year. This should be fun at least, the only way to make this match a bit more entertaining was to throw some ladders in the mix, although big fella Sheamo might not agree after he received several stitches taking a ladder shot on RAW this week. There are also A LOT of rumours of the Hardys getting involved here but I'm not sold on that just now (would make sense regarding ladders mind). But if not, I think, sadly, this is Enzo & Cass's coronation even though they are clearly the weakest team of the bunch...

Predictions: DELETE! DELETE! DELETE! (but if not S-A-W-F-Ties Enzo & Cass)

INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE MATCH Dean Ambrose (c) vs Baron Corbyn

I'm surprised this isn't a no-DQ match given the build of this one. For the uninitiated, Ambrose is "TOTALLY INSANE" whereas “Big Banter Breakfast” Corbyn is a "Lone Wolf" who's gimmick is that he really believes himself to be the next top guy (and fair play to him, I guess). Highlights have included Corbyn trying to murder Ambrose by crushing him with a forklift (which they keep mentioning totally earnestly because WRASSLIN’) and Ambrose literally switching Corbyn off during an interview. Hard to know where Ambrose is at the moment, he started last year SUPA HOT FIRE and seems to have lost all momentum, so would expect this to be Corbyn's moment to prove himself.

Prediction: Corbyn takes the Intercontinental title, labour party, to new heights.

BIG SILLY MIXED TAG TEAM/MARRIAGE PROPOSAL MATCH John Cena & Nikki Bella vs The Miz and Maryse

Holy crap, what a build, what a year these guys have had. On any other year (remember these two headlined a WrestleMania only 6 years ago) this would be the stupidest match on the card... and it is and will be, but that is not a bad thing. This will be pure "sports entertainment" and you know what, I'm actually kinda looking forward to it? Everyone involved's stock has flown up over the course of the last year, and the build for this between them has actually been amazing (If you haven't seen them, do yourself a favour and check out Miz and Maryse impersonating Cena and Nikki, it's been amazing). This will be a classic "Good guys conquer bad guys" match Cena has been having forever, but for once he's (well, WWE) aren't burying young talent and can see Miz and Maryse coming out of this looking great. I expect Daniel Bryan will get involved in some way (returning the kicks Miz stole from him probably) and Cena proposes to Nikki after, with the rest of the show just being the two of them banging in the middle of the ring.

Predictions: It would be AMAZING if Miz and Maryse won, but it's not going to happen, so let's just enjoy this for what it is.

UNITED STATES TITLE MATCH (but oh so much more) Chris Jericho (c) vs Kevin Owens

This is a title match, but it is SO MUCH MORE. This has had almost a year build, as Jericho and Owens became best friends and literally carried post-split RAW for its first few months. Owens had to give up the big boy title for the big boy match for this, and everyone kinda forgot Jericho was a champion, so the title isn't really important, this is the culmination of the greatest betrayal since The Shield or Shawn Michaels put Marty Jannetty through the barber shop window. This has the potential to be MOTN as Jericho is still "the best at what he does, maaaaaaaan" and Owens is just a fantastic heel. Owens should win, however, for this story to really make sense (but this might carry over to RAW tomorrow)

Prediction: KOMania2

RAW Women's title match, 4-way Elimination match Bayley (c) vs. Charlotte Flair vs. Sasha Banks vs. Nia Jax

You'll notice (if you're still reading) both women's matches are basically just big smodges just to get everyone (except Dana Brooke, lol) involved. The Women stole the show last year, but I can't really see it happening this year. Since that incredible encounter, Charlotte and Sasha have fought forever, as have, to a lesser extent, Bayley and Nia Jax, and so here we are. Bayley's not had a great run as champion and kinda needs to go back to being the underdog. Sasha has been teasing a heel turn which very much could/should happen here, Nia Jax is big and that so if she doesn't win she's probably getting DQ'd? (If that's a thing, wrestling can never make up its mind about that) Or if not ganged up on. So I guess that leaves Charlotte to become a 5 time champion on her run to match (or beat) her father's record in the space of like 2 years through short reigns (I'm sure Flair had a few microscopic runs too during mid-90s WCW). The most intriguing thing about this match is that it is elimination, but otherwise, thoroughly un-hyped for this one, sadly.

Prediction: Sasha heel turn on Bayley, Nia gets screwed somehow, Charlotte wins.

MAIN EVENT MATCHES: Shane McMahon vs AJ Styles (because we had nothing better to do for our universally praised wrestler of the year than fight the boss's son)

Who the hell knows, we could have had Michaels vs Styles man. I respect Michaels decision not to come out of retirement, but man, we're left with THIS? I don't really know what to say, they're building this as a regular wrestling match, so in theory Styles should squash Shane O'Mac, but I guess he's gonna need to jump off something for some reason because it's him? I have faith in Styles to produce some magic with Shane (because, hell, if he can do it with Ellsworth then surely here) but man, they better be putting the title on Styles for a year after this to break CM Punk's record or something.

Predictions: Shane to jump off the rollercoaster set or the giant fake ring above the normal one (which looks really weird by the way), Styles obviously to win because otherwise, I might just give up.

"NON-SANCTIONED" MATCH Seth Rollins vs Triple H

When did Un-sanctioned become Non-sanctioned? Anyway, if you don't know what this means, basically its a "kayfabe" (storyline) way of saying this match "shouldn't be happening officially" and therefore these two can use all of WWE's facilities to beat the crap out of each other. Or something. This match pretty much depends on how healthy Rollins is (apparently he's had the flu all week, the guy really can't catch a break huh?) and he's returning from a knee injury (hence the non-sanctioned thing). If he's healthy and all is good, this could be a decent blow-off to a long, drawn out build in which Triple H screwed Seth out of the title back in August and then everyone forgot about it for a while. We will just have to see.

Prediction: Rollins, Triple H might be a heel but his actual real-life heel days are long past. That said, it being a non-sanctioned match, expect a lot of shenanigans from Samoa Joe (and/or maybe Finn?) given he'll be allowed to basically turn this into a handicap match.

IT'S MY YARD! NO, IT'S MINE! MATCH Roman Reigns (boo) vs The Undertaker

Holy S***, Roman Reigns got booed at the Hall of Fame induction. That is some seriously dumb, needy reactions from the fans but it is also a sign of things to come. It takes a lot for me to feel sorry for Reigns but that was insane. Anyway, this match is much more dependent on The Undertaker who isn't, in fact, a dead man and is indeed ageing quite rapidly at this point. He did not look good at the Rumble at all and he barely had to do anything against Shane last year, so who knows. Reigns, love him or hate him, is a reliable safe pair of hands in "big matches" and you know what, it actually makes much more sense for him to beat The Undertaker and go full heel (PLEASE WWE, we beg you). Triple H made an interesting comment the other day that "Well, Reigns basically is a heel to most of you anyway, so we can kinda book him how we like" so maybe not. Anyway, there's some chat that this should close the show, but I don't think so, personally, unless this really is Taker’s last dance. This might be alright, we'll have to see how long it takes Taker to get to the ring (gonna guess half an hour) but PLEASE guys if you are putting Reigns over tonight PLEASE do not get Taker to raise his hand in respect. You WILL get a full-scale riot on your hands (then again, maybe that's what they want).

Predictions: Reigns (sadly?). Apparently, J.R is calling this one too, fuelling the retirement rumours.

WWE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH WILLIAM GOLDBERG (c) vs BORK LESNAR w/ Paul Heyman

*sigh* The main dispute over who closes the show is between the two title matches. I personally think it will be this but in the spirit of the rumble winner, we will stick to that format for now. This match could be good. It could be. It just depends on if Goldberg (who also got booed at the Hall of Fame, interestingly) can go longer than 5 minutes. This is the big epic culmination of the grand total of about 3 minutes of actual wrestling so far, as Goldberg squashed Lesnar at Survivor Series (which was a great moment in all honesty) and then eliminated him with relative ease at the Rumble. This is also a "WrestleMania XX apology match" after that utter car-crash of a match which ruined an otherwise solid, though controversial, purely because of Benoit, Mania. So basically, this match HAS to be at least 5-10 minutes. It doesn't need to be a big long "slobber knocker" but it does need to at least feel like a big bruising end to one of the company's biggest but most controversial storylines, given two part-timers are fighting over one of its main belts. I'm quietly confident that they will deliver something worthwhile, but I also wouldn't be surprised if it's an utter mess.

Prediction: Lesnar finally conquers Goldberg, although apparently the latter is booked for RAW tomorrow? Also, maybe, just maybe Finn Balor shows up (here or tomorrow).

WWE TITLE MATCH Bray Wyatt (c) vs. Randy Orton

This might be on before the two other matches, but as Randy Orton is this year's Royal Rumble winner, let's stick with “tradition” for the purposes of this write-up.

This storyline has been wild. It has also been a lot of fun and very self-referentially "Attitude Era Wrasslin’" so I must say I've enjoyed it a lot and if nothing else, Bray Wyatt has actually finally got to be the champion for a bit and looked pretty menacing doing it. There's still the Luke Harper issue to be resolved here (and perhaps a return for forgotten Wyatt family member Erick Rowan?) but this should be a pretty solid main event. Orton isn't amazing, we all know that, but he does have the ability to turn matches on their head in an instant (as does Wyatt, for that matter) and this storyline, crazy as it has been, has been great for both of them. Expect maybe some supernatural happenings too given the whole "NO, I HAVE THE SPIRIT OF SISTER ABIGAIL" dispute.

Prediction: Orton.

And so there we have it. Phew, this took as long to write as its probably going to be to watch it, but there we are. I hope this was worth writing down for someone anyway. Overall, this is an intriguing Mania which hasn't had the best build but, on the Raw side especially, that's kinda typical of where WWE is at right now. There are a lot of variables going into tonight, but there is a lot of potential too. We shall see. I just hope not to be too drunk/tired and end up missing the main event like last year (although to be fair, that was a total snoozefest).

Let me know your thoughts, feelings, predictions and Wrestlemania plans! Or tell me to shut up and I'll get a mod to merge this with the other wrestling thread. For now, I'm off for a walk while I still can.