#they just made the whole entire show worse. i have watched all of glitter force and like. i wouldnt say glitter force fully achives it

[be-good-to-bugs]

:)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 6/21/22

i never have to go back to the high school or possibly the town where i went to high school Ever Again bc my youngest sibling has graduated and im going to ride that high as long as possible

VERY long mobile game review, tried to be objective about quality of life stuff and how successful certain mechanics were but (spoiler) didn't like this one very much

listening i am being true to the original concept of this section, which was "what song have i had on loop this week bc it does something to my brain, even if it's kind of goofy or cheesy, instead of cherrypicking my shuffle for an indie song i think more people should listen to."

anyway this is lion by saint mesa, which was not originally written for a tv show as i first surmised but has been featured in several. if i can imagine some sort of long-anticipated trading caravan lumbering toward a watering hole somewhere in a blasted wasteland (even if it is extremely not the story the lyrics are telling me) i'm going to put that song on loop, perhaps for an entire hour of a six-hour drive.

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reading fallow week

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watching i watched Legend (1985, dir. Scott) in two chunks, about half last week and then the rest when i got back from traveling this week. i find myself consistently intrigued but lightly disappointed by scott's films. however, his films' visuals are fun in a way i appreciate. more of this please. "oooh the noir enjoyer likes heavy use of light and shadow and literally this exact framing in anything" thank you i am already aware

tom cruise would have been better served as the puckish but amoral fairy prince The Gump, i feel. like sure. he's a prettyboy and also a feral wild boy, and he does do the early parts of the movie when he doesn't talk very much very well... that felt a bit mean. he does a very good person who lives just outside of civilization and regard it all with some bemusement and feels no particular need to follow it. the film quickly snaps him into the mold of a silver-tongued rogue who can charm or squirm out of anything, which feels off. bring back feral tom cruise. the princess also has an odd moment of wits, which is an odd contrast with a very clumsy lie in her earliest scene, where she steals cookies from her old nursemaid and then tells baby tom cruise oh no she absolutely made them herself :) there isn't much on-screen character development for her between these two scenes, just being dragged away and kidnapped.

i chilled the fuck out a lot after realizing this movie was far more interested in the costumes/sets/visuals than any theme more complex than light vs dark. most irritatingly, the ending does not seem like our loving pair learned a single goddamn thing from this whole escapade or that it changed them in any way, she's still a spoilt irresponsible princess, he's still head over heels for her. this movie is not interested in the corrupting force of monarchies vs the corrupting force of i think the literal devil??? simply not what i am looking for in a film, and i did not see this at a formative enough age for the campiness to really nest itself into my soul, although i do appreciate it.

love a good Waltz that Corrupts. the visual language of tim curry’s lair is quite striking- the use of light and shadow is doing a ton of work to suggest more detail than there actually is, and make sets look more complex and larger than they actually are. you simply do not get fantastic grandiose sets like eighties fantasy movie sets any more.

tim curry was terrific, the creature design was terrific, everyone is always slightly sweaty and covered in glitter, i liked guessing how the costumes were put together. there are worse films to spend two hours with.

how'd i come across this: watched it as an edgy teen

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playing it's time to dissect another mobile game that almost worked for me but didn't. i've tried to be objective and really get down into why the mechanics made choices i didn't like, even though i don't play a ton of this genre. the last big collectible trading card gacha-ish games i played on mobile were dragalia lost, something that was very similar to panzer waltz but i can no longer find the name of, world flipper, and sinoalice. not my very favorite genre of game, but i do dabble.

anyway i came across dislyte bc they got an investment recently and have an extremely aggressive and kind of shady marketing campaign.

here's the good: it's extremely fucking pretty. the character design and costuming/props are great, there are so many unique animations! the soundtrack and background music are fun, if in a slightly generic clubby top radio hit kind of way they're probably going for on purpose, and the little schtick of the menu music being announced by "dislyte excerpts radio" is funny to me. an interesting thing is "reviews" of characters that anyone can leave in their own separate little menu (which are all thirst comments basically, y'all down CATASTROPHIC for the jackal man), and the little "% of people chose this!" when you get points to assign to attributes. i think that specifically is a neat touch that will iron itself out eventually and be more representative of what people over time pick, but also: sometimes the favored build isn't very good for what you're trying to do with a character.

the bad: incredibly poor tutorials and menu design, it's a glorified autobattler.

tutorials, quality of life kvetches: i still do not understand very basic things such as "how to change who attacks first" and "what the fuck Does elemental strategy like Actually Do". weird fuckin things are overly complicated, like levelling up the little trinkets you can equip to a character that are a mechanic in every collectible gacha card game ever. there's a lot of different materials. there's a lot of different kinds of trinkets. there's some suggested trinket builds but heavy reliance on percentages AND percent of a change, which i fucking hate. tell me in simple words like "3x damage if this effect is active". i don't want to do mental math for your game and i do video game stats for a living.

on a related note, like many other collectible card games, this is "menus the game" but the "main" menu is laid out across four goddamn different screens.

on a related note to that related note, these menus are DEEP. you can get four or five menus deep on the character pages (i am not redownloading to double check). i should never be five menus deep into anything at any point. combine shit.

point three or whatever, everything is so fucking tiny. i have an iphone 12, which is a reasonably large modern smartphone. many many phones are smaller. i should not be holding my phone four inches in front of my face trying to make out which glyph is which because i can't zoom. (image)

actually point four bc this screenshot compilation reminded me: you have two different types of menus and ways to open them just on the individual card page: the bottom bar, and the tiny icons on the side. that's not even all the tiny icons, you have to hit the arrow to expand and see them all. that's simply too many options and it's confusing and hard to find things.

combat: again this feels like it started out life as an autobattler and then pivoted really late. fighting is simply tapping a button to activate an ability. there's no timing element, there's no real strategy behind saving up your abilities and gaming the cooldowns. you also start off with no cooldown on any abilities, which is very weird and makes it so you can just fucking mulch a level without being touched once if you're levelled up enough. if you're not levelled up enough, you die Extremely quickly. i truly don’t understand if i'm supposed to have a strategy? this video if i've timestamped it right should let you watch the first actual team battle. thrilling!

length of time for combat: everything in this game has a fancy little animation that is very pretty but takes forever. the game itself suggests enabling 2X battle speed. this is not a game you can bust out and play a level in line for groceries or something, and it's not really meant to be, but the length of time it takes to get through a level is on the upper limit of what i expected from a collectible card game and often strained my patience, especially in multi-stage battles. there doesn't seem to be a way to auto-run through the levels yet. i also don't find that kind of game intrinsically fun to play, so it's unlikely the inclusion would make me want to continue playing, but it's odd that there isn't that option when it's there in so many other games like this.

conclusion: i seem to have slammed into a hard pay to play cap at the end of chapter eight after three days/idk ten hours of on and off play. so this is where I leave it i think. for the next Big Update i would expect the menus to be radically overhauled and significant quality of life improvements to be made, especially with regards to inventory, but the art and music is not enough to make me keep playing until then. mostly because i didn't pull a hot butch-of-center lady i fell in love with, unlike genshin which almost immediately gave me beidou.

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making lemon garlic paprika chicken. slightly too heavy on the lemon. no pics all gone.

after some vigorous discussion with my sister about saturation and hue, swapped a bunch of shit in and out of frames and hung up some shit in my living room. they are on either side of the front windows, which makes this awkward bc my view is very doxxable.

anyway, because i think i'm funny and isn't that really the most important thing in life when you think about it, amusing yourself, red for port: an 8x10 photograph acquired at my favorite used bookstore/ephemera/florist in the world, a black canary poster acquired from a free comic book day Several years ago, a terminator: dark fate poster i grabbed on the way to go see the charlie's angels reboot but never actually got around to seeing terminator: dark fate until last year.

blue for starboard: flyer from a show i went to matted Much bigger than it actually is, signed poster from my favorite roommate's cousin's band, poster from a show i did Not go to bc i ended up having to work but i do think it's one of the better posters wmua ever did

[redwinterroses]

I’m doing my very best not to format this as a literary analysis paper but that’s basically what this is so forgive me if I slip back into those old habits at all. And I'm going to tag @betweenlands and @fluffy-papaya in this because guys look what your fic made me brainrot. XD

(This is a long one, y'all. We're talking 2k words. Sorry.)

That said:

Hey, let’s talk about the bead curtain in Dog at the Door.

That dang bead curtain, and why I’m currently fixating on it, and how I think it has symbolism that may or may not be intentional.

(At this point, I’m assuming it’s intentional. Everything about this fic is intentional. Including the pain. Heh. “The only difference between a running gag and a recurring theme is how seriously you take it,” says Solar. Cool. I’m taking it seriously.)

The curtain first shows up in chapter one. It’s one of the first things we see in the van, and the first thing we know about it is that Doc finds it obnoxious. Ugly. Revolting. Renbob loves it, obviously, but Renbob has odd tastes. Doc, on the other hand, literally uses his hatred of the curtain to motivate him to get out of bed in the morning.

The Red King, when he shows up, also has similar dislike of the thing, but his reaction is a little more measured, a little less extreme. More distaste, less disgust. He finds it “distasteful” and compares it to wearing a labcoat without a shirt (lol). But he doesn’t loath it like Doc does, and when Doc suggests (in chapter 13) that they take it down and use it for friendship bracelets, he’s as displeased with that idea as Renbob is. He has an ambivalent opinion, overall.

And then Ren. Ren actually reacts the least to the curtain—but ends up with the most dramatic interaction with it, which we’ll come back to in a second. He simply says (chapter 24) that normally he’d find the beads hideous, but that the light of Doc’s eye reflecting off it into the shadows makes it oddly peaceful.

There’s exactly one other use of the word “curtain” in this fic, and it’s this line right here:

“I haven’t done anything but possess him and lead his soul back to the controls.” RK throws his hands up in the air. “He’s put himself behind the curtain because he thinks I’m out to get him. My only crime is the original contract I made with him, doctor.”

In this instance, RK is talking about their “imperfect metaphor” of Ren being behind the curtain that separates the “driver’s seat” from the rest of the van that is Ren’s mind/soul. He’s saying that Ren has deliberately put himself in a position of defeat and surrender because he (Ren) doesn’t think there are any other options.

M’kay. Right about now, any sane person is going, “Red. Why are you so fixated on this bead curtain. It’s a running joke at best.”

And... I mean, sure. Kinda. But also definitely not.

This is the part where I really step out on a potentially-shaky limb with all the confidence in the world, because here’s what I'm seeing: the dividing line between life and death is often portrayed in literature as a curtain.

(And it’s interesting to note that the curtain is a barrier, a separation, but it’s only a curtain, and this one is made of beads at that. It’s a flimsy and fluid barrier, easy to pass through. Back and forth. Surrender and control, life and death.)

In fact, even in this fic it’s used that way: RK may be referring to the metaphorical bead curtain in their van of an explanation for how his and Ren’s relationship works, but in the story at that point Ren is convinced that he’s dead. Or is supposed to be dead. And by putting himself “behind the curtain,” he’s surrendering to that. Almost insisting on it, because that’s the truth of how he sees the world right then and he can’t process any other possibilities. He’s basically saying “I’m supposed to be dead, and this side of the curtain is death, so that’s where I’ll stay.”

So if the curtain in the metaphor represents the two sides of that, it’s really interesting to look at the various characters’ reactions to the literal bead curtain and see how it reflects their attitudes toward death—and specifically Ren’s death.

Renbob is... chill. He has an entirely comfortable relationship with the bead curtain, with life and death, with his own emotions—even with dealing with the emotions of the others he’s chauffeuring across the universe. While he isn’t immune to the grief of losing (or thinking he’s lost) Ren, he deals with it in a relatively healthy way—at least as much as we see. I think there was a possibly-canon ask at some point that said he was journaling and meditating so... yeah. Renbob’s got this. And 50 other bead curtains in storage. He’s the only character in the fic who passes in and out of the curtain regularly and without it being a big deal.

To put it simply: Renbob is on good terms with whatever happens in life, up to and including the end of it. (Renbob is arguably the equal and opposite of Grimdog. Two sides of the same coin in more ways than one.)

Contrast that now with Doc. Doc is... not a fan of the bead curtain. It represents a loss of control to him, (“freakin’ hippies”) and a separation from what he loves. In the past, he and Ren were on opposite sides of that conflict, and the beads still somewhat represent that tension (though in a mostly nostalgic, and not actively-antagonistic way.) But the language Doc’s narration uses to describe the beads is strong. “Obnoxious.” “Accursed.” “Horrendously evil.”

Nearly as scary as his best friend trying to kill him.

It’s played for laughs, obviously, and it is funny. But if we project the symbolism of “the curtain represents death” onto Doc’s reactions, it gets a bit less amusing. And it really fits with Doc’s attitude toward Ren’s death in the whole fic. It’s the worst thing he’s ever faced—to the extent that until RK’s seemingly-permanent presence forces him to, Doc doesn’t even try to process it. He goes right to work on the prosthetics, growls at anyone who tries to make him do anything he doesn't want to do, accepts RK as “New Ren,” and pretends that he’s going on with life.

He refuses to look at how weird the whole situation is, because if he does that he has to deal with Ren being gone forever. He ignores the thing that’s right under his nose and pretends it’s not there until a moment of quiet or actually having to interact with it brings it back to his attention, and then his reaction is vitriolic.

Doc hates that curtain, and he hates the concept of death, the concept of losing control. Even in his nightmares, he holds tight to what little control he can take, even if it’s just taking the initiative to sit in the snow and let it kill him faster. Hold onto that thought, because I’ve got more to it, but we have to talk about RK and Ren first.

RK holds both distaste and acceptance of the curtain. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want it destroyed either. The distaste, notably, is when he’s with Doc, and the acceptance comes from being around Renbob. The Red King, as a blood god, is not exactly unfamiliar with death. It’s literally in his job description, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. A necessary evil, if you will.

It doesn’t hurt either that, at least up until Ren, RK has always been the one on the other side of the curtain, completely in control of the situation. He goes back and forth on his attitudes, but in the past he has been the one in control and the bringer of death. His reaction is negative, but not emphatic—the way someone who has plenty of indoor plans might react to a rainstorm.

Ren... now, Ren. Ren has, like I said, the least recorded reaction to the actual, physical bead curtain. But. But. While he normally would call it hideous, “there’s something oddly peaceful about watching light fractals spin off the walls, cutting off into the shadows.” The shadows, it’s worth noticing, are specifically implied to be RK/hiding RK in this moment. Doc’s light and RK’s shadows interacting with the curtain bring peace to Ren. He passes through it easily to find Renbob.

Ren has already accepted his death—he accepted it long before the fic even started—to an extent that he’s actively insisting on it for a large portion of the story. It’s only when he realizes that Doc is in potential danger that he starts fighting RK for control of the situation again. (“Stay away from Doc, you bastard. He wasn’t part of our bargain. Leave him alone.”)

He dislikes the bead curtain, but he doesn’t hate it, and when seen in the (literal) light of Doc’s protective, watching eye—even if he is asleep at the moment, bless—even the shadows of RK’s presence are suddenly beautiful and peaceful to him in a way that, without the “reflecting fractals” of the beads, wouldn’t be possible. Again: this is the chapter where Renbob’s influence is felt, and his peace with life and death directly affects Ren and his reactions. (“It’ll all sort itself out, eventually, and I’ll be here for you while it does.”)

And then...

And then Ren rips down the curtain altogether.

The separation is gone. For better or for worse, that divide between control and surrender, between RK and Ren, between life and death... it’s gone. It’s scattered across the floor of the van, glittering in Ren’s hair, and in the carpet. Ren has broken through that barrier, and now we just have to wait to see what the consequences of that are for him.

But... we can already see at least one consequence for Doc. Because now there is no more illusion of control and surrender for him to maintain. That division is no longer there, and we see Doc’s first real surrender in the whole story. Even in his nightmares, he was still in control: he knew it was a nightmare, and he fought against it until he “gave up”—in a way that still put him in control. He chooses to sit in the snow so it’ll kill dream-him faster.

He acts like he doesn’t care, but it’s still not that: he takes control in the only way he knows, aware that everything is only a dream and no matter what how it treats him, he’ll still wake up in the end. He looks at the nightmare and says basically “Do your worst, I dare you, but you won’t get what you want from me.”

But now—now he surrenders to Ren. He gives up. His core truth (“I’ll do anything to protect those I love,” which I talked about in this post) looks like it’s not going to be enough to save them. He can’t save Ren—from RK or from Ren himself—and that means he’s lost in the worst way possible. In this moment, it looks like Ren doesn’t even trust that Doc’s core truth—that he will do anything to save his friends—is true.

This is Doc’s lowest point: that Ren seems to think Doc’s loyalty and love have failed. And to Doc... that’s a fate worse than death.

So he gives up. He tells Ren to kill him, and he fully expects him to do so. Doc doesn’t want to die, but at this point he has completely let go of any control of his own fate. Even when facing down Ren with the Skizz blade, he held tightly to his control of the situation. He literally takes the sword in his own hand and removes it as a threat. But now—now the curtain is gone. The illusion of control is gone.

Ren is the one in control of the situation—for possibly the first time in the fic—and he chooses to remember that Doc is his friend, that he’s missed him. But Doc leaves it all to him. Even when Ren backs off, Doc stays in that surrendered state (“I can’t do anything right, unlike [Martyn.]”). He realizes that he's been in the passenger seat the whole time, and he’s now where Ren was before: no longer even trying to take back the driver’s seat.

The curtain is gone. Now we just have to wait and see who ends up on which side of it at the end.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Memories Are Golden

The prom of ‘85 was just one week away. If you asked Steve how much involvement he would’ve have in the event, not even a month ago he would’ve guessed it to be nothing more than maybe taking a flyer home and immediately throwing it in the trash.

Because he wouldn’t be able to go anyways, him and his date didn’t exactly abide by the administration's rules, or society’s, for that matter, so he didn’t care about the whole thing, until last minute, when Nancy had successfully convinced him to be a part of the prom committee with her.

The conversation had basically been a very lengthy guilt trip, he’s well aware of that, and her whole, ‘best moments of our lives’ speech hadn’t really done much to change his mind either.

In the end, Steve had only decided he was going to do it for three reasons: he’d get extra credit in the teacher in charge of prom, the math teachers, class, he wouldn’t have to go to any of his morning classes, and Robin joined in on Nancy’s bullying him because her and Heather would be apart of the committee too.

So now for the next week leading up to the big day, Steve has to spend his mornings in the gym putting up the decorations for the grand march.

But it isn’t all bad, because their small little task force made up of the other poor souls Nancy had rallied to do this with her is all of his friends, Nancy and Barb and Robin and Heather, with the addition of one very begrudging Billy Hargrove.

The girls were all the type you’d expect to be into this thing, the crafty ones mixed in with popularity, and everyone knew Steve would do anything to show school spirit, especially if Nancy bullied him into it, but nobody actually expected Billy of all people to even show up.

He certainly looked more likely to be the one crashing the prom than hanging up little foil stars on the walls, and anyways, rumor had it he only was on the committee as an alternative to detention for smoking weed under the bleachers.

But Steve knew that had absolutely not happened, for one thing, Billy’s weed stayed tightly locked up in his bedroom, thank you very much, and for another, he was there completely willingly. Steve knew that, because he’d been the one to tell Billy to sign up.

Which, when it really got right down to it, Billy honestly was the only reason Steve was even doing this whole thing. They were used to working in a couple of very limited interactions on the court or in the few classes they shared, but with the prom committee they’d be required to spend at least four hours together every day. It was the golden opportunity, even if that wasn’t the way Nancy intended it.

So maybe Billy does show up a little late every morning on purpose, just to keep up appearances, but he’s got a smile on his face, hidden behind the styrofoam coffee cup he gets from the cafeteria as he seeks out Steve and sits beside him in the bleachers to wait for that days instruction.

“Mornin’ Bill.” Steve mumbles tiredly, used to coming in late every day and getting at least an extra hour of sleep most days.

Billy nods and hums in his throat as his only response, so Steve asks him, “You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’?”

And of course, in true Billy fashion, he flashes Steve his most shit eating grin, and says all nonchalant, “Always do when I wake up alone.”

It’s so cheesy, and very obviously meant to get to him, but Steve can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck. He’s still trying to think up an equally as flustering comeback, when the teacher in charge finally shows up.

She announces that this year’s theme was ‘under the stars’, which Steve thought sounded incredibly tacky, but there was still no way it would be any worse than the godawful ‘hollywood’ theme from the year before. Hawkins High had a reputation for a lot of things, but creativity was not one of them.

They get split up into groups, Nancy and Barb in charge of the promo, the writing up, designing, and printing of the announcements and tickets, and Robin and Heather got the delicate detail work, blowing up balloons, laying down the artificial grass squares and hanging or putting in place whatever the other groups made them.

Billy and Steve, on the other hand, were stuck with all the dirty work, the manly jobs. They’re the ones who have to paint the banner that’s going to go over the door, and carry anything that’s considered too heavy and hang anything too high (even though Barb really isn’t that much shorter than them), and set up the tents and string the electricity to the lights in the fake lamp posts.

Quite frankly, Steve doesn’t think it’s fair that they have double the workload as the girls, most of the week had been dedicated to their work, but he just can’t bring himself to complain about getting to watch Billy working every morning, still barely awake yet, his hair pulled up so it didn’t get paint or that much glitter in it.

~~~~~~~~

On their last day in the gym, all that’s left is to sort out a few last minute details, the final squares of fake grass are laid out, lights are tested and glitter is spread out on everything. It doesn’t take too awful long, so they end up with just under three hours leftover to kill.

What they’re supposed to do is report back to their morning classes and try to catch up on all the work they’ve been missing out on for the entire week, but Billy isn’t looking to worry about a bunch of school work, so he tries to convince the rest to skip those last few hours with him.

From Barb and Nancy he gets an instant no, which, he was honestly expecting that. They’re responsible girls, and he can’t blame them for giving two shits about their education. The fact of the matter is though, that he doesn’t.

What he isn’t expecting as much is for his best friend to tell him no, but Heather’s too excited about her senior prom to get in trouble the day before it, and he can respect that.

He already knows that if Heather’s not going, Robin’s not either, so he waves her off before she even bothers trying to explain herself.

That just leaves Steve, and lord knows Billy’s been a bad enough influence on him that he doesn’t even have to ask if he’s ditching, so when Mrs Mitchell and the girls leave, they follow behind until they’re out in the hallway, then duck out of the back entrance of the gym.

Most of the time when people skip they just go home considering the lack of literally anything at all to do around Hawkins, but with Steve’s house too far away for it to be worth leaving, and Billy’s stepmom still at home, that sort of wasn’t an option for them.

Usually they don’t skip for those very reasons, but today they have a handwritten excuse to be out of their classes until exactly 12:15, so in a way, it isn’t so much like skipping as it is just using their free time wisely. Or at least, that’s how Steve rationalizes it, earning from Billy, who thought it was sweet that his former bad boy felt it necessary to make excuses for skipping, a chuckle and a warm smile.

They decide to just hang out on the school grounds, nowhere in town to go but the diner and the stores downtown, and they weren’t in the mood for food nor did they have enough money to blow buying stupid shit they didn’t need, so smoking and sneaking kisses by the tree line on the practice field it was.

It’s nice, but Billy doesn’t like the quiet, furrowed brow as he plucks blades of just growing grass trying to think of something to say that would break the silence. Steve just waits patiently with a lit cigarette burning out between his fingers for Billy to speak, listening intently when he finally says, “You know, s’a shame that I can’t take you to the prom after all that work we did for it.”

“Nah, prom’s way overrated.” Steve blows him off, not wanting him to feel bad about it, personally viewing the dance as stupid anyways, in a way sort of glad he doesn’t have to go, “It’s just a way to pay for new football uniforms and make kids who piqued in highschool feel good about themselves.”

But Billy doesn’t even laugh at that, flicking the head off a dandelion to keep his hands busy as he basically mumbles, “Guess you had time to think ‘bout it already.”

“Yeah. I guess I just always thought dances were kind of dumb. Now that I’m not King Steve anymore I just don’t really see a reason to bother with ‘em.” Steve explains, sliding his hand over to Billy’s across the tips of cool blades of grass, linking their pinkies together and leaning his head against his shoulder, soft touches like these the only way Billy could tell the difference between an open conversation and an argument.

“Still, think it’d be nice to be able to show you off. Let ‘em know what they’ve been missing.” Billy admits, a shy crack of a smile, like he was afraid to bring it up, and it makes Steve smile back, looking straight into the vulnerability behind his blue eyes and saying so softly it’s almost a whisper, “S’not necessary, B. I’m all yours.”

Billy pulls his hand away, a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t just from the warmth of the sun, overwhelmed by the affection just a bit, not uncomfortable with it, just not used to it, and bumps his shoulder into Steve’s, telling him, “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to take me to the prom.” Steve says, barely even defensive, making Billy smile again.

There’s a break in the conversation, both of them flustered and thinking about the other, until Steve interrupts the quiet this time, leaning back on his hands in the grass and suggesting, “We could do our own prom though, you know.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, we can’t do the real thing, obviously, but I don’t have any other plans tomorrow. You should drop by.”

“You’re really askin’ me to be your prom date?” Billy smirks, but the vulnerable hope in his eyes gives him away, and makes Steve’s heart flutter, though he replies nonchalant, “Who else? Be there at 8:30?”

“It’s a date. See you then, pretty boy.” Billy says with a smile, leaning in to kiss Steve, but getting interrupted by his watch beeping, their break time almost up already.

Steve chuckles and kisses his nose, and says, “Guess we better get back then.” waiting for Billy to leave first so his boyfriend had a head start to get into the school before him.

Billy throws a wink over his shoulder as he retreats towards the gym doors, and suddenly the weight of what they’d just agreed to settles with Steve.

Maybe this prom thing wasn’t as overrated as he thought, because did he ever feel over the moon right now, blushing like an idiot and just standing there dazedly until he hears the bell ring inside the building.

Apparently it showed too, that butterflies in his stomach feeling he had for the rest of the day, if the fact that Robin pulled him aside in the cafeteria for an emergency meeting about why he couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off his face was any indication.

He told her some lie, something about one of the teachers he got his makeup work off of cutting him some slack, and Robin doesn’t believe that, but she knows it’s none of her business, so she lets him keep smiling.

Still, as much as Steve was looking forward to this, at the end of the day when he waved at Billy from across the parking lot, he got nervous. Like, speeding back home to Loch Nora in under ten minutes on a normally fifteen minute drive nervous.

Because he still has a lot of shit to get done between now and tomorrow night when Billy is supposed to show up.

For one thing, his house is a disaster. He almost never cleans it until it’s too late, half-assing the dishes and overloading the washing machine and hiding things in closets usually the day before his parents were supposed to get back.

Another thing is how should he dress? He had a few fancy suits of his own from outings with his parents and past dances, but he knew Billy wouldn’t. Still, wouldn’t it be rude to underdress just because he assumed Billy would be too poor to clean up?

And what did people even do at prom? Get drunk and have sex? If Billy wanted to do that he would’ve just said so. How was Steve supposed to figure out what else they were going to do? The rest of prom is just bad dancing and even worse food, was that something he was supposed to include?

What if he’d sent the wrong signal in the first place and it wasn’t just going to be them? What if Billy showed up at his door with a bunch of other losers skipping out on prom night and this wasn’t really special at all?

The thing is, he knows he’s being irrational. Billy’s not the type to care about this stuff, and even if he did he wasn’t gonna like, break things off just because their little fake prom in Steve’s living room wasn’t perfect. That’s just ridiculous.

So he tries to redirect that initial panic into productivity. Get at least something planned out and put together before he freaks all the way out and loses his motivation.

He decides to do it in small parts, tonight he’d start with the cleaning and getting everything he already had together, and tomorrow would be for shopping and decorating.

Because he’s got such a scatterbrain, he makes a list of all the things he needed to get done before 8:30 tomorrow night, and already he feels the stress start to dissipate with each thing he gets to check off, the living room cleaned until Ruthie would approve, picking out a nice sweater he’d never worn before, fancy but not too much, and tracking down all the things he already had, a record player, the fancy wine Billy said he liked, and a couple of strings of fairy lights and tinsel.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he goes straight to Melvald’s, with the rest of his checklist to but candles, more decorations, a boutonnière, just to do it, and maybe something other than takeout to eat for once.

He must look as nervous as he feels, dumping his purchases on the counter, because Joyce smiles that understanding smile of hers, and asks him, “Last minute jitters before prom?”

“You could say that.” He responds breathily, trying to return the smile.

“Jonathan and Nancy decided not to go, but it sounds like it’ll be fun.” Joyce says with a nod, and Steve realizes he’s given her the wrong impression, explaining, “Oh, I’m not going to the real thing either, just hanging out with a friend tonight.”

“Well that sounds nice anyways.” She says, as she rings up his stuff remarking, “You must really like this friend to go all out like this.”

“Yeah he’s-“ Steve physically shakes his head, a reminder to stop talking before he gets himself caught, backpedaling with a shaky excuse, “I-I mean, it’s not like it’s a prom date , it’s just, you know, two guys hanging out.“

Joyce puts her hand on his, that same warm smile still on her face, and tells him, looking him right in the eye as if to say, ‘I know, but it’s okay’, “I’m happy for you, Steve. Have fun tonight.”

Steve nods, a flush to his cheeks as he leaves the store with not another word than, “I… Thank you Mrs. Byers.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Billy knew absolutely jack and shit about school dances.

The first and only he’d ever been bothered to go to was way back in elementary school, and that didn’t exactly hold a candle to the fucking prom.

It helped some that it wasn’t the real thing, but Steve was talking like it might as well be, and quite frankly, he wanted it to be. This was going to be special goddamnit.

But before he can even think too much about it, he realizes none of that will matter if it turns out he can’t show, so he brings it up with his dad at dinner.

At the table is where he’s least likely to get beat if Neil said no, so that was always the time he chose to ask for things. “I know it’s, uh, kind of last minute ‘cause it’s tomorrow night, but could I go to the prom?”

Neil quirks an eyebrow, seeming mostly uninterested, “With who?”

“Nobody as a date.” Billy explains, using the cover story he’d been coming up with since the minute Steve asked him, or rather in anticipation of, “Heather has a spare ticket ‘cause her actual date ditched her last minute and she asked me if I would go with her.”

Neil nods, seemingly believing him, and asks, “When’s it start?”

“Uh, about 8, I think, so I’ll probably leave at like, 6:30 or so.” Billy throws it out nervously, tapping his fingers against the underside of the table, and freezing when Neil speaks.

But he doesn’t get yelled at, it’s just a simple, calm, “Susan, do we have anything planned that time tomorrow?”

“No, dear. Max is going with her friends at six, but other than that...” Comes her timid response without a hitch, and Billy already knows he’s in the clear before Neil gives his response, still not looking up from the table.

He agrees, but with a few conditions that Billy wouldn’t dare disobey, “If you drop your sister off first, you’ve got yourself a deal. Just don’t come home if you’re drunk, and don’t waste all my damned money on pictures.”

Billy nods, his heart racing in anticipation of something he was pretty sure at this point wasn’t going to happen, though some part of him was still waiting for the slap across the face and a never your mind as he says dutifully, “Yessir. Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Billy starts getting ready six hours early for two reasons: for one thing, the sooner he’s ready, the more time he had away from Neil and to psyche himself up to knock on Steve’s door, and for another, his hair on a normal day takes at least an hour if he doesn’t want it frizzing out or losing it’s curl or getting heavy, and this was his prom, he was willing to spend a whole day on his hair for the sake of looking nice, even if there were no pictures of it.

Of course Max, being the little nuisance she is, follows him to his bedroom when he goes to get ready, holding the door open with her foot so he couldn’t slam it in her face, and earning herself a grumbly, “What do you want, Maxine?”

“I thought you told me you weren’t going to the prom.” She says it like she caught him doing something wrong, as if plans couldn’t change, and it pisses Billy off a little bit.

“I’m not-“ He starts to explain, cutting himself off when somewhere in the house Neil pops the tab on a beer can, a tiny sound Max probably hadn’t even picked up on, but if his father was out and about in the house Billy doesn’t want to admit what he’s going to in front of him. He opens his door wider and ushers his step sister in, immediately shutting it behind her and finishing what he was saying,  “I’m not going to the prom.”

She quirks an eyebrow, through Billy’s eyes maybe looking a bit too much like her step-dad when she does it, “Why’d you tell Neil you were?”

“Crashing the after party. Thought it’d look better if I said I went.” He just shrugs, half assing the lie, and, picking up on that, Max fires back smugly, “You’re lying.”

Billy snaps, no longer looking at her while he starts lining his shit up on his makeshift vanity, getting ready to get ready, “Yeah, I am. But it’s really none of your business, shitbird.”

“Are you going on a date or something?” She looks at him knowingly, if not a little surprised, and asks as it dawns on her, “Oh my god, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Maxine Nicole!” He hisses through his teeth, turning to glare at her and seeing that she’s holding his hair spray that he literally just put out, probably planning on stealing it, “Jesus, give me that.”

She lets him snatch it out of her hands and puts it back in its spot on the vanity she told him didn’t count as a vanity multiple times, rolling her eyes, “Yeesh. I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“If you’re going to tell on me Max, I swear to god-“ He starts, defensive, more vulnerability in his voice than intended, but Max insists honestly, the most not bratty she’s been since she stepped into his room, “I’m not, I wouldn’t.”

Though it doesn’t last very long, her not being a brat, because she immediately cracks a big smile and asks Billy, “Who is he though?”

“Mind your own, Max, Christ.” Billy blows her off, catching glimpse of himself in the mirror and taking note of the barely there flush to his cheeks, pointing to the door and telling his meddling step sister, “Out.”

“Awww, Billy-“ She tries to whine, but he cuts her off, “ No. Out. Of. My. Room.”

But Max offers quickly, like it’ll change his mind, “I’ll do your hair if you let me stay.”

And maybe it doesn’t immediately change his mind, but it does successfully stump him, because he’s asking her, equal parts genuine curiosity and sarcasm, “Why would I let you touch my hair?”

“No reason.” Max says, looking down at his carpet, definitely overplaying the bashfulness in bringing up her answer to appeal to Billy’s emotions, “I just thought, and maybe it’s stupid but like, most guys have their moms to fuss over them for prom, but, you know, you don’t, so I wanted to, I don’t know, be a good sister and do that for you or, whatever.“

Billy sighs, that had been exactly what he was thinking about all night last night, how his momma would be proud of him for finding a way to do this with the person, the boy he loved, and how she could’ve been there to do exactly what Max said, so he agrees, “Alright shitbird, guilt trip successful. You’re not kicked out.”

Max claps her hands together and sits on her brother's bed, getting all of Billy’s wrinkled button ups tossed at her from where they had been previously shoved, unfolded into a dresser drawer, and a command to, “Help me pick a shirt.”

She asks him while she’s unfolding all of his shirts he’d thrown at her and spreading them all out over Billy’s bed, “Are you going to button it.”

“What do you think?”

“Billy. It’s your prom.”

“Fine. One more button.”

“Two?” She tries to bargain, but he shuts it down again, making her giggle when he jokes, his tone level like it's a real threat, “One or I‘m going shirtless.”

“Then I pick.. this blue one.” Max says and puts her hand on a navy blue, quarter sleeve shirt after careful consideration of holding each button up up to Billy and thinking hard about it, but one more once over and she changes her mind, handing Billy a white shirt with snap buttons instead, “No, no, no, wait, this one with full sleeves is better. Yeah, that one for sure.”

“Sleeves it is.” Billy says taking the shirt and hanging it on the door so he’d remember to iron it, crudely shoving the rest of the button ups back into the drawer, and asking Max, “Will I need to wear like, a coat or something?”

She shrugs asking him smugly, “That depends on who it is.”

“Sensitive information.” Billy says immediately, when she looks like she’s going to argue shutting her down before she can say anything, “Which means I’m not tellin’ you.”

“Can I guess?” Max asks, making her case by reasoning with him sweetly, “Please? You wouldn’t be telling me that way.”

He genuinely considers it for a minute, and decides it’s whatever, in his head assuming there was no way Max would be able to figure it out, so he waves his hand with an eye roll, giving her the go ahead to start guessing.

Her first question is, “Okay, okay. Is it.. someone I know?”

“Yep.”

Max furrows her brow, and asks, “Do I like him?” To which Billy shrugs and responds, “Probably.”

“Um, is it…” Max snaps her fingers, an idea coming to her, “Is it Tommy?”

But again she’s shut down, because for somebody she’s supposed to probably like, she sure does a lot of complaining about Tommy, and he calls her on it, “Do you like Tommy?”

Max hums thoughtfully, taking a second guess, “I guess not. Is it Keith?”

Billy shakes his head, giving her the most confused look she’d ever seen on his face as he asks, or basically exclaims, “Who the fuck is Keith ?”

“Well excuuse me for not knowing a lot of guys around here!” Max says, defensive, making Billy roll his eyes again and turn back to digging through his drawers for a decent pair of jeans to wear with a button up, most of them stained and worn.

“Not Tommy, not Keith, who’s left?” She thinks hard then gasps, connecting something in her mind, a devious, knowing little smile on her face, “Is it Steve?”

Billy doesn’t answer her, quite frankly doesn’t know what he should say. It’s his fault, letting her guess between the only three boys his age in town she apparently knew, but now that Max knew who his mystery boyfriend was he wasn’t feeling so hot.

Honestly, some part of him is expecting Neil to come busting through the door any second, like this was some sort of run around way of finding him out, but after a few minutes of her squealing like teenage girls do, he realizes all he has to face is an excited little sister.

He flushes, and asks her over his shoulder, his forcing his tone to sound bored, “Are you done?”

“Yes.” Max says, nodding, but she smiles wide and dissolves into a fit of giggles again, covering her mouth with her hands when Billy crosses his arms, and insists, “Okay, okay, I’m done!”

“Good.” Billy says, but he can’t help cracking a smile. He angles his mirror down towards the floor and sits in front of it, telling his sister lightly to, “Help me with my hair then, shitbird.”

Max sits behind him, and runs her fingers through his hair, “You should’ve put curlers in it or something last night.”

Billy rolls his eyes, realizing as he does so for the dozen things time since Max barged in that she maybe learned that from him, deciding that doesn’t even warrant a response, and hands Max the comb and one of the many cans of hairspray off of his vanity.

She sits up on her knees, and brushes back the hairs just behind his ears that always frizz out and lose their curl, holding them at the back of his hair with a bobby pin, one of the blond ones she bought specifically for him so he could use them without immediately getting caught using ‘girly’ things, but had so far been too scared to anyways.

It looks strange on him, looks more like something Max would wear than him, but honestly he doesn’t hate it, so he lets her keep going, only frowning a little when she adds a pearl adorned hair clip, big enough it looks more like a fancy brooch, to the back of his hair.

She sprays it with so much hairspray it’s tacky, scrunching it up so his curls are tighter, and smoothing the sides so they won’t come unclipped.

When every curl is in its place and approved by Billy, who insists he’s not in the least bit emotional about what Max had said early, that thing about having nobody but her to fuss over him, she hops up, telling him to, “Wait one minute.” while she runs to her room.

She returns with her bulky pink Caboodles box, the one that has all of her mostly unused makeup in it, tapping him on the shoulder and telling him, “Alright, turn towards me.”

Her plan didn’t work though, at least he’s almost positive it was her plan to break down his defenses just so she could use him as her dress up doll anyways, but he isn’t having it, telling her quickly to “Put that shit away, Max.”

“Why? You wear makeup everyday.” Max observes simply, making Billy hiss and tell her to lower her voice, “Yeah, but never the extra strength shit that makes your eyelashes curly and your face pretty. Neil will sniff this out the second I step out of this room.”

Max just shrugs, “Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t see your face. It’s not a big deal.”

“He’ll make it into one.”

“I think your senior prom is an even bigger deal, though.”

Billy sighs, once again losing to her arguing skill, and turning to face her like she told him, “You owe me if I get caught like this.”

Max rolls her eyes and does her magic, each second that passes Billy regretting agreeing to turning the control of his appearance over to his little sister, expecting to come out of this looking like her Diva doll, fidgeting more and more the longer it takes her.

Just before he’s about to panic, Max tells him, “All done.” and lets him look in the mirror.

He blinks repeatedly at his own reflection, surprised to see he didn’t have sparkly eyeshadow up to his eyebrows or rouge on his cheeks, just a tasteful amount of lip gloss and a copper tint to his eyelids, framed by darker than usual eyelashes and the smallest bit of eyeliner.

She gets impatient after a few minutes of Billy not saying anything, and pushes his shoulders to turn him around again to look at her, staring at him until she decides what she thinks is missing.

She hurries to the upright jewelry box in her mother’s room, and brings him back a clip on pearl earring for his right ear, opposite the chain of silver stars she already picked for his left.

“Here, it’ll look better if you have earrings in both ears.” She reaches up, pushing his hair out of the way and clipping the earring on, letting him do the screw on the back himself so she didn’t make it too tight.

Billy lowers his hand and scrunches his nose, leaning in slightly towards the mirror, “They don’t match.”

“It looks nice though. You look really pretty.” She tells him honestly, not realizing the impact the simple compliment, though not so simple for somebody like him, has on her brother until he’s trying to subtly blink away tears behind mascara coated lashes, pretending like that wasn’t the case and telling her, “Whatever, it’s too late to change it now if you want to be on time.”

He does one last once over himself in the mirror, though he knows he’s going to be using his car windows for the same purpose at the last minute, and shoos Max out of his bedroom door, trying to hurry out of the house before Neil can stop him and see him all dolled up.

He’s got one hand around the door knob and his keys through his belt loop when his dad does stop him, his heart just about stopping as Neil calls from the other room, “Do you have flowers for the girl?”

“I have a corsage in the car.” Billy lies, hoping his tone is sure enough for Neil to buy it.

“Good. Just remember what I said, boy.” Neil says, still from the living room, so Billy lets his posture relax a bit and breathes out a quiet sight, saying casually, “Get Max to her friends, don’t spend any money, and don’t come home drunk, I got it, dad.”

“Watch the attitude, William.” Neil says low, the air going still for a minute until he adds, “And have fun tonight.”

“Yessir.” Billy says, ushering Max quickly out the front door, sighing when it closes behind them.

~~~~~~~

Billy drops Max off at the Wheeler’s, just driving around Hawkins until it’s time to show up at Steve’s, making sure to stop past the Holloway’s place just in case Neil went asking around wanting to know if anybody saw his car in the neighborhood.

At 8, he decides he doesn’t want to show up empty handed, buying Steve some flowers like he’d lied and said he had for Heather from Melvald’s, not understanding the knowing look the cashier lady has in her eye when he brings a dinky bouquet of flowers to the checkout counter.

He rings the doorbell at 8:30 on the dot, checking himself out one last time in Steve’s window while he waits, fifty cent roses held behind his back.

On the other side of the door, Steve stands in the dining room, now adorned with cheap party decorations that would’ve made his mother pitch a fit, waiting a whole thirty seconds before he goes to answer it, trying to collect himself first.

Billy smiles wide, and, as cheesy as it was, seeing him standing there all dressed up taking Steve’s breath away and stealing the words right off his tongue, Billy having to invite himself in because Steve was busy catching flies.

He hands him the flowers, nodding towards the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister, the stars hanging in the archway that lead into the living room that were almost identical to the ones they hung from the basketball hoops at school and saying, “Place looks nice.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Steve says, quickly adding, “You know, you look nice too.”

Billy smiles softly, looking at him with that ‘you’re an idiot Steve Harrington’ look he was so used to by now, “C’mon, Stevie, we’ve been dating for four months now, you don’t gotta be all awkward with me still.”

“I’m not, I mean it, you look really good, Billy.” Steve says, smiling now that it’s his turn to fluster Billy.

“Oh by the way, I almost forgot. Got you this just because.” He remembers, handing Billy a box with a floral pin inside, pink roses with lace, and telling him expectantly, “It’s a boutonnière.”

But Billy doesn't open it, just raises an eyebrow and says, “I thought you did corsages for prom?”

“Corsages are for the girls.”

“Ah. Got it.” He says it like he already knew that, like he was hoping maybe Steve didn’t, so Steve offers, not really understanding it, but knowing what he means all the same, “It came as a set, I still have the corsage upstairs, if you want it.”

Billy nods and pins the boutonnière to Steve’s shirt instead, explaining simply, “Just so we match.”

Steve runs upstairs and gets the corsage, giving Billy a minute to actually appreciate just how much went into decorating this place, snickering to himself when he imagines Steve having to stand on a step ladder to put the string lights so high up on the wall.

Steve tosses Billy the box from the top of the steps, letting him open it while he comes back down and ties it around his wrist, having to tie it twice because he put it on the wrong way the first time.

Billy asks him, shaking his wrist to make sure the bow is tight enough, “So what’s our official plan for tonight, Stevie?”

“Honestly I don’t really know. I’m sort of just winging it here, I don’t know what you even do at prom.”

“You never went at all?” Billy asks, surprised miss priss hadn’t dragged him along to their junior prom last year.

“Nope. Like I said, overrated.” Steve confirms, and Billy smiles wide, saying, “I’m sure I got a few ideas in mind then.”

~~~~~~~~

Billy’s idea basically consisted mainly of drinking all that fancy wine Steve had gotten out of the cellar specifically for this, shoving his tongue down Steve’s throat, and complaining about the real prom happening up at the school.

Honestly, Steve suspects things wouldn’t have been so different had they actually gone, but he can tell the fact that they weren’t able to go was still bothering Billy, judging by the sheer number of times he brings it up.

After what must be the tenth time that night Billy brought up Heather and Robin getting to go, Steve asks him, “Do you wish we were there?”

“No, that’s the thing. I couldn’t give a damn less about the whole dance, a thousand times over I’d rather just be here with you.”

“But?”

“But I wish we had the choice to go, you know? It’s just, bugging me that if we had genuinely wanted to go, we couldn’t’ve.” Billy rants, very obviously having been holding this in, “And I keep thinking about all the other gay kids who don’t have a big empty house or a safe place to do what we’re doin’.”

“Yeah, but it’s really not a big deal. Prom is pretty much all for the parents anyways, and the way I see it we, and all the other people like us, we’re so used to disappointing them, what’s it matter if we don’t go?”

“Just, I don’t care about the event or whatever, but it feels like we’re missing out on something. Like maybe we should’ve just swallowed our pride and went with Hetty and Robin anyways.”

Steve stands up abruptly, picking up their wine glasses and kicking the coffee table all the way over to the far wall to clear the floor, offering Billy his hand, “I know you feel like you’re robbing me of something by us not going, but we don’t need all of that for this to be good. I meant it when I said that’s superficial to me anyways. We can make it mean something to us.”

Billy looks up at him, still bothered deep down, but out of ways to argue about it, and accepts Steve’s hand, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck when he pulls him close by his waist.

It’s not really a slow dance as much as it is an excuse to just be close to one another, to breathe each other in and sneak kisses and be sappy, but that’s was this whole thing was about. They could’ve just hung out tonight if they wanted, and honestly they probably would’ve anyways, but they called it a prom, put that title to it that made both of their hearts pitapat.

Steve had always heard, even felt it a few times before, that when you were with the person you loved, everyone and everything else would melt away around you until it was just you, but somehow, this was different than that.

Because that would mean there were times when his world didn’t revolve around Billy, and that there was ever a moment when he could focus on anything but the boy he loved, and that just wasn’t true.

This wasn’t performative, wasn’t a relationship formed on the status of being able to show off that they were better for being in love either, this was simply Billy and Steve, dancing in their tennis shoes on Ruthie's carpet, snickering when a particularly sappy song came on the radio, barely able to be separated long enough to turn to side B, falling in love all over again under the stars.

~~~~~~~

When the wine bottles are all empty and the stack of records has been spun through, Steve’s schnockered, and insisting they get a picture, searching the house for an old Polaroid camera and making Billy stand with him in front of the fairy lights strung

They only had three chances to get a good picture, no new packs of film and only a few left in the camera, so Steve took all three.

The first one was upside down and so off center he was hardly in it, Steve being maybe a little more drunk than he thought, and the second Billy closed his eyes because the flash was too bright, but it didn’t matter too much anyways because the film didn’t develop properly and the picture was nothing but reddish-yellow tinted blackness anyways.

The third one by some chance turns out fine, maybe a little blurred because he moved and still not quite centered right, but it’s a picture, something to hold onto the memory of this night forever when the hangover wore off and things got a little blurry, and that was important to the both of them, for different reasons.

As soon as it develops, a little 8 by 10 of Billy kissing his cheek, Steve runs upstairs to hang it on the cork board above his desk before it gets misplaced, dating it and doodling a little heart with a S+B inside it, hiding the picture behind a ribbon for a middle school art contest and a picture of him and his parents.

Billy hooks his chin over his shoulder, his hands traveling a bit lower than Steve’s waist this time as he watches what he’s doing. He hums and asks, when Steve stands up straighter and turns in his arms to face him, “So? What have you got planned for the after prom, Stevie?”

[shiftysdogtags]

In His Hands

@phoebewrose I really hope you like this and i used the two prompts for Nixon. It's a bit angsty but i happy ending. As always feedback is appreciated. 

‘Hi I was wondering if I could request something from your prompt list? I really like #3 and #59, for either Lewis Nixon or Ronald Speirs. You don’t have to combined both of the numbers you can just pick one, it’s completely up to you! I just love your writing so much!! Thanks😊’

Prompt 3: “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” “You better not screw it up then.”

Prompt 59: “C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” 

Gif isn't mine.

 2.2k words

The train station was filled with hope and sadness. Hope for the safe return of all those who will leave and yet sadness at the reality that many won’t. It reminded Y/N of a waiting room of a funeral home except the dead were still alive at this point in their inevitable journey to the unknown. They walked around not knowing they were yet dead. 

Each had their own story, their reason for wanting to serve their country and with a glance around Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what they were. Perhaps an only son wanted to bring glory to his father’s name or a younger brother wanting to follow in the elder’s footsteps. Maybe it was as simple as wanting to do good but that didn’t sit right with her. 

The sombre tone of all the voices begging for promises that can’t be kept turned Y/N’s stomach yet it couldn’t stop her from asking for one of her own. “Lew, promise me you will write, at least once a week.” Y/N squeezed his hand letting him know she was serious. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” Lewis held her cheek, forcing her to look at him. He wanted to memorise every freckle and the way her eyes glittered in the light. “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” It was unromantic in the most romantic way possible. It was the Lewis Nixon way. 

When the fog cleared from her head, with the help of the station master screaming for the last stragglers to board, Y/N had realised she hadn’t answered him. “You better not screw it up then.” It was her way of accepting and asking him to stay alive and be okay without actually asking him. She couldn’t ask him something like that it wouldn’t be fair. It was a vow he couldn’t keep, and she wouldn’t ask him to make it to only break it. 

Lew held her hand the whole time, not letting go until he had to. To her, it was her physical confirmation he was there with her, he was safe. Once he let go, he was gone, as far as she was concerned. If you had asked Y/N, the moment Lew left was the moment his hand slipped from her death grip to pick up his rucksack. For Y/N, it symbolised him slipping away from her like he was gone and wouldn’t return. 

A bittersweet smile briefly crossed his face and was washed away with the final whistle of the train. This was it, the final goodbye. A brief yet passionate kiss was their final farewell before he took all that was his to basic and to war. 

The train pulled out, and with one last wave to her lover, Y/N willed him to come back to her. She silently prayed with all the others left behind that their loved ones will return safely and unharmed by the sorrow and long hand of death. 

Y/N stayed until the train was long gone and for some time after that. She had never felt so alone. 

……………………………………………………

She had never realised how much she appreciated Lewis’s company until he was gone. She had to learn to rely on herself more and learn to enjoy her own company again. Every week he was dragging her to some event his father insisted he attend or to some fancy dinner and a show. With his absence came a wave of free time she didn’t want. It only served to fuel her constant worrying and longing to hear his voice again. 

The void Lew left grew bigger as each day passed. Trying to fill the silence and the emptiness in the pit of her stomach Y/N tried to take up some extra hobbies such as painting to pass the time, but she was never very good, and it was short-lived. Everything without him felt so wrong. She was left behind in a comfortable house with everything she could need while the man she loved was on the other side of the world sleeping in a ditch or some bombed-out farm shed. It was all so wrong.

Lew’s mother was good to her. She offered constant updates in her frequent letters and words of encouragement. Her reassurance and confidence in her son allowed Y/N to find some sliver of comfort. 

Letters from Lewis himself were plenty in the beginning, keeping his promise to write at least once a week but once he was sent to Europe they took longer and longer to arrive. That was if they arrived at all. It was understandable that he was busy, but it didn’t stop her from writing to him. 

Often wondering if he got her letters at all, Y/N thought of all the useless things she had told him with her perfect handwriting. Somehow her words meant very little, yet they meant everything. The ink conveyed the link between them, they kept him close to her, as close as he could be in a time of uncertainty. It was like the ink the bled through the page held the truth of what she wanted to tell him, how much she missed and longed for him. 

The dreaded letter asking her to stop her pointless ramblings never came and she took it as a good sign. If he didn’t want to hear from her, he would surely tell her. Of that much she was certain. Whether or not he read what she wrote was another thing entirely. She was trying and that was the main thing. 

As the war dragged on and eventually ended relief washed over her. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones who would eventually come home. Y/N can’t remember a night she slept so peacefully. The knowledge of his imminent return replaces the endless and reoccurring nightmares. It was his hands that usually soothed her back to sleep. The intricate and random patterns he drew on her back as he held her close to him made her feel like he wouldn’t let anything come between them to cause her harm. 

Although there was no set date for his return, Y/N held her breath every time the mailman came around. She had hoped he carried the precious letter that contained a clue that would give her something to look forward to. Such a letter never came. Yes, Lewis wrote to her, but scarcely and never about when he would see her again. He never mentioned wanting to see her or even missing her in the slightest. He never mentioned his proposal on the platform either. 

Many men had begun to return from their various corners of the war but never her Lewis. She waited and waited. And waited. And waited. The waiting for his return was almost worse than not knowing if he was safe. Weeks had passed and still nothing. Nothing from him nor his mother, even she had no notion of when he would come home. 

It is not that he didn’t want to tell her, he did, he just couldn’t find the words. What was he supposed to say, ‘Hello, sorry I haven’t written in months, but I will be home in two weeks’? It felt disrespectful of him. He thought it was best to explain and ask for her forgiveness. 

When the day finally came a sickening feeling settled into his stomach. It reminded him of the war he eagerly wished to forget. He couldn’t shake it even though he tried to cover it up with false confidence. Lewis caught a glance of her through the window and he stared. All plans on storming up the front garden to slam the front door open were gone. He watched her potter about doing her daily cleaning routine. It brought him a sense of joy to know she hadn’t changed something so simple while he had been gone. 

He couldn’t help himself but watch her in all her intricate simplicity. She moved throughout the house with that serious and determined look that he loved so dearly across her face. It reminded him of how determined she used to be and how she always saw a task to the end. There was an air of invincibility about her. She appeared to not let anything bother her; nothing shook her. It gave him peace of mind of knowing that no matter what happened to him she would be alright. Come what may to him, but his little lover would be unchanged. 

Y/N was unaware of the eyes prying into her home and disappeared to continue her cleaning. The weight of his sack that sat uncomfortably on his shoulder and the fact he couldn’t see her anymore forced him to come to the reality that it was time to ring the doorbell. 

Normally very confident, Lewis was a wreck. In the few seconds it took for Y/N to answer the door he suddenly regretted all the letters he didn’t write or refused to send. He regretted leaving her hanging on the uncertainty. The uncertainty he had given her was now returned in the uncertainty of her reaction to his return. Behind the door stood his reason to come home and he had hoped she would still want him, that she would accept him for everything that he now was. 

The front door creaked open in the slowest way possible. Every second felt like an hour. It was the calm before the storm of emotions they would have to work through together. Y/N’s eyes drew a long look from his feet to his face, yet her brain didn’t register who was standing in front of her. It was as if her brain had forgotten what he had looked like or the fact he was once a real person she knew and loved. A few blinks later and Y/N jumped back with a hand to her mouth. Her loud gasp and the sight of her physically standing before him and not in the form of a creased and ripped photograph caused Lew to drop his sack to the floor. 

“C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” With arms outstretched to dramatically announce his reappearance Lew chuckled at her shocked reaction. 

At first glance, she could have sworn it was her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Y/N had to all but pick up her jaw from the porch floor and steady her breathing again before she could answer him. He had given her the fright of her life. She was all too aware of his survival in Europe, but she felt like she was talking to a ghost. 

“Where the Hell have you been?” She answered his question with a question of her own. He noticed the look of surprise on her face before she could change it to mock anger and frustration. 

With a raised eyebrow, he gave her his signature puzzled look. It silently said, ‘you know where I’ve been’. For a split second, he was left to wonder if she would slap him or kiss him. He couldn’t begin to describe the feeling that blossomed in his chest when she pulled him in and chose the latter. 

All emotions shared between them was poured into this single action. All the unwritten words and lack of letters he wanted to write but couldn’t bring himself to do was channelled into this kiss. For a moment they had reverted to who they used to be on the train platform all those years before when they had been what felt much younger and innocent. The long-awaited kiss secured their bond with one another. Their past is forgotten and their future promised. 

His touch which she so desperately craved he willingly gave to her. It was his silent apology and she accepted it thousands of times over. For a man who grew up in the privileged environment of extreme wealth and fortune where he learned the skill of having a silver tongue, he couldn’t express his feelings for her with his words. It was through his touches she knew his heart's true intentions. They conveyed everything his word couldn’t. It was a spark shared between them that kept her coming back for more. 

They both pulled away at the same time as they knew they could continue to kiss and kiss and kiss until the sun went down and maybe even for some time after that. They needed to get reacquainted with each other and the new people they had become. Learning to fall in love with someone you never stopped loving to begin with would be one of the most difficult things either of them had to do. But they were willing to do it together. 

Lewis held his hand out to her, hoping she would accept it. He discreetly asked her if she would still have him in the way he wanted her. Y/N tiled her head to the side with a sweet smile on her face and gladly placed her smaller one into his. His hand although rougher than she expected made her forget every little worry she had ever had. He would have a lot of explaining to do but he could do that as time passed on. For now, Y/N was content with having his hands in hers and she vowed from this day forward he was not allowed to let hers go. He was back and, in his hands, she was home.

@curraheewestandalone @liebegott @vintagelavenderskies @inglourious-imagines @happyveday @easy-company-tradition​ @sydney-m​ @josephtoye​ @50svibes

[serenasoutherlyns]

Wake Up With You (Ask You How You Feel)

a/n: i took my ritalin for the first time in weeks and instead of cleaning my apartment, i wrote a Very Fluffy songfic. enjoy <3. i only read this a couple times so forgive any errors. all feedback appreciated!


calex fluff, song is "Go Outside" by Ratboys.

I wanna go outside again

I wanna sit back with the windows down and breathe it all in

I wanna go outside again

It's quiet outside the pub when Alex decides to go for it. The air is crisp and everything glitters underneath the streetlights. She'd gone with Casey who'd gone with Amanda who'd gone with Nick to get some fresh air, which really meant have a cigarette. Amanda and Nick had ended up in a cab very quickly, still attempting to seem like they weren't going to the same home.

Despite her aversion to sidewalks outside of bars at night, when Casey asked her to stay, Alex did, feeling safe. They keep moving closer, and Alex lets the overwhelming need to feel Casey win her over. She feels far more intoxicated than the one vodka soda she'd had would've made her.

Casey's hands are soft, but her lips are softer when Alex asks the question of a kiss. She thanks whatever forces there are that the clear answer is yes. Casey pulls her closer, tugging on her coat, but keeps the kiss delicate, like she's trying not to break anything. She pulls away-- Alex has to close her eyes, terrified that she's made a mistake and thrown away what chance she ever had.

"This is," Casey says, her voice giving away her smile, "I've wanted you to do that for so long." Alex feels her chest get warm at the admission. "Please tell me you want to do it again."

Alex nods, this time doing the pulling, a firmer kiss. "I want to do that as many times as I possibly can."

I wanna lay down in the sand

I wanna show up at the shoreline and drink Lake Michigan

I wanna lay down in the sand

"Why are you in Indiana again?" Alex's frustrated but happy voice comes crackly through the phone, almost the same frequency as the short waves. Casey's pockets are full of sand and her arms are coming up in goosebumps, but no part of her wants to go inside.

"Convention on torture methods," she says, pleased with the laughter she hears back, "Or the Novak family reunion."

"Mm. Well, I think you should come home."

"Oh yeah? Feeling clingy, Cabot?"

"I miss you."

"I wish you would come here instead." Casey snaps a wide-angle photo of the beach to Alex, doing her best to get the dunes and the lake in the same frame.

Alex gasps. "Is that Indiana?"

Casey laughs until there are tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "A very small part of Northern Indiana, yes. The Midwest isn't all bad."

"Better when you're there."

And I wanna walk down my main street

I wanna listen for the birds who might be talkin' to me

I wanna walk down my street

They can be together and silent now. Alex is grateful for this fact because she can hardly speak. Laryngitis-- Dr. Warner had explained to her that it probably started as a minor infection and was made worse with all the talking and bad sleep. A round of antibiotics and steroids plus lots of fluids should make it better before the weekend is over.

They don't need to talk. Casey is idly playing with her hair, Alex's head in her lap, dozing off in the afternoon sunlight. Casey's reading a book, Alex listens to the pages turn.

"Do you hear that?" Casey asks.

Alex hums, before regretting making any vocal movement. She screws her eyes shut in pain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, love," Casey says, rubbing her hand soothingly down Alex's arms, completely naturally using that word they haven't said yet. "I didn't mean to wake you. It was just a pretty bird."

Alex takes a moment to decide if the pain is worth replying. "Don't apologize for pretty things," she whispers, her eyes still shut, "And I love you too."

I wanna be eloquent

I wanna take all of my best friends and show them where I live

Oh, I wanna be so eloquent

"It'll be fine, Case," Alex says quietly, holding her waist before their guests arrive. Today's the day she meets the friends, which, Casey thinks, with no in-laws to meet, is making her justifiably nervous. "Neither of them is going to bite you."

"Why do I doubt that," Casey says, only half-joking. "You know us, lawyers, sharks..."

"And how different am I out of the courtroom? Or Katie, or Adrian, or Anna, or Jesse,"

"You gonna list my whole graduating class?" Casey traces her fingers along the little gold necklace with the square pendant Alex has taken to wearing around her neck.

"If it calms you down," Alex says. "If you're really too nervous I can tell Abbie and Serena to keep the takeout and we can go to bed early," she says, tucking Casey's hair behind her ear. "But they're really more like manatees," she says, finally eliciting a smile.

The buzzer buzzes, and a brief flash of panic passes through Casey. She leans in, kissing Alex.

"If they love you, I'm sure we'll get along."

And I wanna make myself a meal

I wanna wake up with you next to me and ask you how you feel

I wanna make us both a meal

If she keeps doing things like this, Alex thinks all the love will make her explode. Today it's coming home to Casey, dancing in the kitchen, the apartment smelling like garlic and oregano, the sounds of an old country album mixing with the sizzling of oil in a pan. With her resolve growing thinner and thinner every day, Alex can't help but wrap her arms around her waist, burying her entire self into her hair, strong shoulders, soft hips. Casey jumps, and this earns Alex a snap on the wrist from the handle of her mixing spoon.

"Baby, do you want to get burned?" She says, laughing into the words, relaxing into her touch. She holds Alex's hand, stepping them away from the stove. She guides her through the rest of the song, never once complaining about Alex's two left feet and frankly dangerous elbows.

Casey stirs the sauce, then tastes it, pursing her lips, blowing to cool it down first. She holds the spoon up to Alex with a raise of her eyebrow, watching her look of satisfaction at the taste with pride. "Going to surprise me next time?" She asks.

"Yeah," Alex says, pointing her gaze over her glasses, "it's worth it."

And I wanna love you 'til the end

I wanna float off with the angels and pick a fight and win

I wanna love you 'til

'Til thе end

As Alex keeps reminding her, they have no need for a piece of paper to know they're in love. The wedding dresses she has saved on pinterest tell a different story.

The ring has been patiently waiting in the closet since two weeks after Alex kissed her.

"Baby?" Alex's voice comes from their living room while Casey fiddled with the ring box, practicing how she would ask.

"Yes?" Casey says, still dreamy, taking the ring box in one hand and popping it behind her back.

"Come sit with me." Alex says.

They don't need to get married, she doesn't need to propose, and they don't need the ring, not to know they're in love, not to prove anything, not to follow the common path.

But when Casey had come home that day, Alex had looked so comfortable and secure sitting on the couch. It's everything: her hair in a bun, her thick-rimmed glasses, her tank top and cozy pants, the novel she was reading, the way she stretched over the couch, twisting to see her come in through the door. And, what had finally melted Casey, made her absolutely certain: the completely natural smile she has whenever Casey comes home, her eyes wide and wrinkling at the edges, her tongue slightly poking out between her teeth. She has to see that one, every day.

She walks out of the bedroom, having changed into her sweatpants, still hiding the ring behind her back as she slides onto the couch. The same smile greets her when she gets to Alex.

"Sorry, I got distracted."

Alex sits up on her knees, furrowing her brow. "Is everything OK?"

"More than," Casey says, pressing the same kind of gentle kiss as the first onto Alex's lips. Suddenly, everything she was going to say, all the long, grand, rehearsed speeches she'd had for this very moment feel all kinds of wrong. Instead, she slides herself just off the couch, kneeling, opening the box.

Alex gasps, a wide open smile, beginning to say "Yes" before Casey gets any words out.

"Will you marry me?"

---

@addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @cmmndrwidw @hi-i-1

Reminder that my taglist is always open!

[troublesometrollhunters]

Masked Meetings

(Another Douxie X Reader because favorite boi and also I want to go to a fancy Masquerade Ballroom dance while someone tenderly cups my cheek)

Hisirdoux is sweeping Merlins study while the wizards out when his thoughts wonder to you. As he clutches the broom brushing the dust into a nearby dustpan he smiles softly.

Every time he saw you his heart soared. Your voice was like a sweet melody and if he could play as sweetly as you spoke his music would be known throughout the kingdom. Sighing trying to get back to work he pauses. The sunlight leaked through Merlins glass paned windows making the stone floor a kaleidoscope of colors. Your smile was similar to these colors he mused, they lit up a room. Blushing and shaking his head he closes his eyes but it didn't help. Hisirdoux could see you so clearly dancing through the castles hallways fabric swishing around you as you twirled over the carpet.

Eyes snapping open in shame blinking repeatedly to wish the image away he puts the broom against the wall deciding he's done for the day.

Running his hand over one of Merlins desks he tries to think of anything else other than you. Picking up books off the ground putting them back in their places on the shelves or stacking them on tables so they'd be out of the way, Hisirdoux pauses when he sees a scroll. Humming intrigued he ran a finger over it before the ink glowed. Merlin was working on something new and he hoped some magic homework would make him get his mind off you. After all it was absolutely ridiculous to fantasize about you. It could never happen.

You were a noble who lived in the castle after a tragic accident. It was rumored you had magic in your blood line but nothing had been confirmed. He wouldn't doubt it though. He fell under a spell every time he saw you.

You were Arthur and Morganas neice and had been moved here after your castle was lost to war. Depsite the tradegy you seemed perfectly content with your new life here. He'd often seen you laughing over a joke with Morgana or talking idly with King Arthur. Realizing his attention had wondered from the scroll he cursed trying to get back to work. Noticing his hands were covered in ink he paused seeing he'd doodled all over Merlins notes. Panicking he picks up the scroll and marches across the room before throwing it into the fire place.

Watching as the orange flames burn the paper and seeing the ink dribble down the page as the fire hissed he sighed in relief. He couldn't be in love with you. He couldn't.

~~~

The next day Merlin hadn't noticed the missing parchment or at least he didn't comment on it. Archie had thankfully been out and hadn't seen what he'd done but the cat had been giving him strange looks all day.

Was it really that weird for him to complete all his chores? He didn't think so.

"The room looks nice Hisirdoux." Merlin states and he beamed taking in the attention and compliment from his master. However it's short lived. Merlin turns towards the young mage with a thoughtful glance. "King Arthurs hosting a ball." He says.

"O-oh?" Hisirdoux stutters. If there was a ball no doubt you'd be there as well. After all Arthur was your uncle, as a noble it'd be your duty to attend. Merlin gave Hisirdoux a knowing glance before shaking his head turning towards his scrolls.

"You should invite someone." He hums. "Arthur permitted us to go. If you have a friend you should attend with them." Leaving the room after that Merlin slips Douxie a piece of parchment. It was an invitation but only one.

Looking at his master confused he noticed in Merlins hand were the notes that he had burned. Face red he began to stutter wanting to explain himself but Merlin was already gone. All that was left was the single invitation in his hand.

Archie hummed hopping onto the desk next to Hisirdoux as he stared at the fancy paper.

"I beleive that's Merlins subtle way of saying you should ask them. After all they already have a ticket." Archie hums. Hisirdoux nods absent mindley tightening his grip on the invitation. A masquerade ball, masks meant no one would know who they were. That meant he could ask you out and then spend all night with you without anyones judgment.

How hard could this be?

~~~

He chickened out. He chickened out. By Merlins beard he made a complete ass of himself and left before you could get mad at him.

He had gotten flowers! He had made a poem! He even brought his lute to sernade you! How did it all go so wrong?

He was so nervous his magic made the flowers rot when he tried to hand them to you. You didn't seem angry but you were very confused holding the stalks. And he made it so much worse! When you went to ask what happened as any sane person would do he began to blubber nonsense like a fool. He practically spoke in tongues! Then he had spent hours on that poem for you only to look like an idiot and scramble all the words up. It was just such a mess. Not to mention when he brought out his lute to try and fix his previous attempts his hands were shaking so much it was off tune.

He decided to stop dragging the torture on and ran off not wanting to see your reaction.

Archie followed after him and as Hisirdoux stopped to take deep breaths his familiar nuzzled him. He purred softly against his masters neck as Hisirdoux held his lute. As his thumb brushed over the wood engraved into the instrument he sighed. His hand went in his pocket and reading the poem he'd written you he closes his eyes to keep from crying.

Radiant as the sun, mysterious as the moon, and strong as the stars is what he'd called it. You were just so many things he couldn't pick one so he gave you the sky hoping maybe just maybe that'd be enough to win your love.

"Hisirdoux they would have loved it. It's not your fault." Archie tries to make him feel better but Hisirdoux only did this to himself. He should have known courting you would only end in failure. After all Arthur loved you. And he hated magic. Hisirdoux was only alive because Merlin saved him. He was a street rat. A lowly orphan. He had nothing to offer you.

Crumpling the poem into a ball he signed throwing it down the hallway.

"Come on Arch we better get ready." He mumbled disappointed. He may have failed to ask you but Merlin still expected him to attend and he couldn't fail Merlin too.

~~~

Hisirdoux looks into his wine glass frowning. The suit Merlin picked for him felt strange. It was so different from his usual garb and his reflection he couldn't recognize himself. The black suit with fur and blue undershirt underneath was strange. He wasn't used to this many layers. And the shoes. They were so uncomfortable.

Shifting he adjusts his mask, the blue feathers almost coming loose from his jostling.

Mask finally in a position he liked, he places the chalice down and glances around the room. You still hadn't made an entrance and he prayed Arthur hadn't set you up with somebody else. Feeling discouraged at the fact he couldn't ask you and you might come with some prick noble person Archie hums at him.

"Well at least they won't recognize you in a mask." The familiar states trying to lighten his masters mood.

"No funny Arch." Hisirdoux scolds as he keeps looking for you. "Besides I think the whole talking cat gives away who I am." Archie chuffs before adjusting his glasses. Hisirdoux was right of course but Archie was only teasing, no need for rudeness.

"Hisirdoux try to have fun tonight." The familiar suggests before jumping off the table and slinking off into the room. Sighing Hisirdoux watches him leave before looking to the floor again. You still hadn't arrived yet. He hoped as a masked stranger he could ask for one dance. One dance and he'd feel better about everything. But he had a feeling fate would be unkind tonight and he may not get his chance.

Hearing the music stop he pauses before turning his head. Gasps rang out from the crowd and meeting your eyes Hisirdoux joined them.

Oh. You looked like a deity.

As you descended the stairs with Morgana and Arthur he couldn't help but stare. You were brighter than the moon, the stars, and the sun. He would give you the entire world and even then he knew it'd never be enough. You deserved everything.

Lost in his thoughts about you inching closer to the ballroom floor his breath hitches as someone grabs his hand. About to protest and he's dragged into the endless sea of dancers and as masks, dresses, glitter, and gold twirl around him he looses sight of you.

Trying to get out of the dancers so he can make his way to the wall to try and find you again to try and explain he pauses when your suddenly in his arms.

Your mask gave away it was you and he grew nervous as your eyes looked into his.

"(Y-Y/N)?" He can't beleive it. How... How had this happened?

"Hello Hisirdoux." You greet and his entire face goes red as he spins with you. The orchestra music swells and he's in awe watching you dance.

"I ummmm I wanted..." Smiling at him you wink mischievously as he dips you.

"I know." You hum and he smiles. Of course you did.

"Lets go somewhere more private." You suggest as he blushes. Pulling you back up from the dip he nods and you two continue to dance but your slowly making your way to the edge.

~~~

When no ones looking you both slip away sneaking onto the balcony. The stars shine and the moons full lighting up the night.

Smiling you slip off your mask before tilting your head to stare up at the various stars, eyes wide in wonder.

"I never was one for dances and the like you know." You state feeling the serene light of the moon wash over you. "It's only fun when you chose to do something not when someone forces you to." You add.

Your hand grips the balconies terrace as you lean forward to feel the cold air. Hisirdoux stands next to you and slowly he takes off his mask as well showing off his handsome face. As you were passed from partner to partner you looked up and saw his hazel eyes.

It was a miracle since he was the only person you wanted to see anyways.

He nods understanding in a way. Fiddling in your pocket you pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

"You know I was hoping you'd ask me. When I suggested to Arthur Merlin and you should come it didn't take long for him to give in." You hum slowly uncrumpling the paper.

It was a poem. One addressed to you. The one he'd crumpled up and thrown away.

"I... I tried to ask you but..." Scratching the back of his neck and chuckling nervously you begin laughing.

"I had a feeling." You hum watching his face go bright red.

"He Hisirdoux?" You ask and he looks at you face burning.

"Hmmmmm?" He questions and you smile the privacy giving you bravery. Cupping his face you lean in heart fluttering as your lips press together.

Pulling away face pink as you stare at Hisirdoux he blinks several times before smiling. Leaning in he places his forehead against yours. One of his hands tenderly cradles your cheek as he smiles at you.

As you hum closing your eyes smiling, his heart flutters.

Your smile makes the night brighter than any stars ever could.

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Conpromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 9: Stand Tall

Ao3 Link

Words: 10158

Luke POV

…

Luke’s jaw clenched as he helped Alex fix his tie.

He wasn’t sure if he was angry, sad, scared, or some hellish combination of the three, but he wanted it to go away.

He felt hopeless. Guilty. Angry at the world, at the entire situation. He’d tried so many things, but nothing had worked. Alex and Julie were still being forced to get married. He didn’t get to be with her. Alex didn’t get to be with Willie. At least, not like they should’ve been able to.

Even his impulsive attempt to lessen the pain Julie would feel had failed. He was grateful, truly, but also angry because she was so damn stubborn. He knew he was being an idiot, but she didn’t deserve any of the pain, and she wouldn’t let him try to remove himself from the equation to hurt her less.

Luke wouldn’t pretend to understand how she felt. And part of him knew that leaving would’ve been an insanely stupid thing to do. But he just felt so hopeless.

“Luke,” Alex said, pulling him out of his head. “Breathe.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alex pulled him in for a hug. “I know what you’re feeling, and it isn't your fault.”

“But it is! If I’d-“

“Luke,” Alex said calmly, “if you start spiraling about how it’s all your fault because you agreed to be my guard or come to Dahlia with me, and how you falling for Julie was a horrible decision as if you had any control over it, or how you’re a horrible person, I’m going to smack you.”

Luke scowled and looked away. That wasn’t exactly what he was going to say, but it was annoyingly close.

“Look,” Alex sighed. “I’m not going to pretend this is a great situation. But it isn’t your fault in the slightest. You didn’t propose an arranged marriage, my parents did. You didn’t approve it, the Dahlian council did. You, Luke Patterson, stood by my side through the whole ordeal. You stood by Julie. You were here for us the entire time, and I can only hope we were there for you as much as we should’ve been.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Luke grumbled.

“One of us had to do it. And, let’s face it, it wasn’t going to be you.”

“It’s true, but you didn’t have to say it.”

…

Luke had eventually made his way back to the guards’ quarters to make sure he was completely ready.

He wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

His classic black and white suit was identical to Reggie’s, Willie’s, and Erik’s. As the groomsmen, they all had to be matching. Each one part of a set.

Luke did his best to ignore the nausea as he walked back to the ballroom and took his spot next to Erik, Willie, and Reggie next to the altar. To their left were Flynn, Carrie, and Mira, each dressed in soft violet dresses.

After a few minutes, the huge double doors to the ballroom opened and the crowd hushed.

Alex looked absolutely regal in his suit. The white jacket had glittering gold embroidery that shone in the sunlight filtering through the crystal-cut glass windows.

As Alex made his way up to the altar, Luke caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod. Alex gave his best attempt at a smile, before his eyes wandered away.

And then there was Julie.

As she opened the doors, walking with confidence, Luke’s heart soared and sank at the same time, falling into the pits of the sky.

Everything about her was perfect.

Her dress was perfectly tailored, golden accents shining with her eyes, hair done to perfection, and the way she carried herself was befitting of a queen.

Luke had to stop himself from stopping the officiant as he stepped up to the altar and recited the vows.

Alex’s forced, choked “I do” broke Luke’s heart. Ever bone inside him wanted to wrap him in a hug, but he restrained, even through the distracted, resigned “I do” of the girl he loved.

When everyone held their peace instead of speaking out, Luke felt like crawling into a hole and falling asleep for eternity.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-

Then, Luke’s heart dropped. He wanted to be unsure, but there was no mistaking the clear voice.

“Wait.”

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, looking up at his ceiling and willing himself not to cry. There was nothing else he could do but wait.

He sat down on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He wondered if he could count every line in the polished wood, every fluffy strand in his rug.

One.

Two.

Three.

The grain of the wood swirled, lines mixing and meeting and dividing, as was natural. Nothing was perfect and orderly. The lines were impossible to number; it would’ve been an easier task to find the line between love and hate, if it existed at all. Both rooted in passion, just taking different courses, he supposed they were branches of a tree. Nay, there was no line between them, because they were intertwined.

There seemed to be a lot of that.

He took his bass from its stand, fiddling with the strings and playing out notes as they came, letting his fingers work through how he felt. The major key and note combination felt much too cheery and hopeful for the current situation. That wasn’t to say that major keys were always upbeat and minor keys melancholy, but the persistent feel of the music shook something inside of him, something telling him not to give up, to stand tall.

Then again, maybe that was exactly what he needed.

…

The ballroom was packed with people from all over Dahlia and Tambor. As he worked his way through the crowd, searching for someone he knew, the voices of hundreds of people echoed through the room, laughter bouncing off pillars of polished marble.

He finally made his way next to the altar with Erik, soon followed by Luke and Willie. Reggie stuck his hand in his pocket, fiddling with a stim toy so he didn’t start fidgeting more visibly in such a formal setting. He also just needed to distract himself until the inevitable moment when it all came crashing down.

An eternity must have passed before Alex pushed open the ballroom doors, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. It might’ve been foolish to want to prolong the inevitable, but then Reggie supposed he was a fool. Any lasting moments of freedom had to be cherished.

His heart broke as he watched his friend stiffly walk to the altar, and those pieces were crushed as Julie entered the ballroom with Ray beside her, an elegant bouquet in her arms.

Jaw clenched through the forced vows, Reggie willed himself not to cry. He held himself together for his sister, however miserable she may be, he didn’t want to make it worse. All he could do was be there for her through all of this, try and make it easier-

Or so he thought.

Because just before it was made official, he heard a voice telling the officiant to wait.

-----

Willie POV

…

Willie hated his suit.

It was stunning, of course. But it was all wrong. The tucked shirt was too tight, and the cufflinks on his jacket were too stiff. The tie around his neck felt like it was suffocating him, even though he could breathe fine.

His shaking hands refused to obey when he tried to adjust his tie, and he finally sat back down.

He felt Alex’s arms wrap around him from behind, and he immediately calmed at the touch. Alex’s head found his shoulder. Willie smiled softly as he turned around.

“Hey, Lex,” he whispered. He leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hey,” Alex replied with a smile. “You okay?”

“No, you?”

“No.” They both smiled again, but the sadness laced in was tangible.

“We’ll be okay,” Willie finally said. “Right?”

“Yeah, we will.” Willie melted at the certainty in Alex’s voice.

“The wedding is just for show,” he added. “Julie and I have talked about it a million times. It’ll be complicated, with all the publicity, but we’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

…

Willie’s spot in the ballroom was to the right of the altar, between Luke and Reggie. Erik, stationed to Luke’s left, caught his eye and gave an indecipherable look; somewhere between hope and sorrow.

Willie was silent, as were the rest of their group, groomsmen and bridesmaids alike. Willie straightened his back and adjusted his cuff, hating the stiff fabric.

He felt trapped. Even with the huge room, the cool, crisp Dahlian Autumn air, and the hum of excitement echoing around him, Willie felt like he was suffocating. The tightness in his chest, the pain every time he inhaled, it felt like when he was sixteen and had been struck by an out-of-control driver. He still remembered the blunt impact of metal going thirty miles per hour, the blinding headlights, the aching in his ribs.

This wasn’t very different, he supposed. There was a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t locate or breathe away, and the glowing chandeliers were far too bright for this grim situation.

In a way, he missed being a normal baker. He missed the routine of mixing batter and buttercream, decorating cakes and laughing in the sweet-smelling room.

But, then again, if he were still some random baker, he never would have met Alex. He never would’ve had the privilege of falling for him, never would’ve known the risk of reciprocating feelings forbidden by force.

He just wanted it to all be okay again.

When Alex entered the ballroom, Willie’s breath caught in his throat.

He was stunning.

The white suit jacket was perfectly tailored, golden accents lining the sleeves, collar, and chest. His perfectly done hair was sleek but lively, and he carried himself with confidence, even if it was just a facade trying not to crack.

When their eyes met, the gaze was full of all the words left unsaid, apologies and promises and hopes and dreams, all left to rust in the frozen air.

And then there was Julie, walking with such poise that it was impossible to believe she wasn’t already the queen, dressed in a simple but elegant gown with matching gold embroidery, golden and violet tulle laced into the skirt.

As they lied through the vows, Willie clenched his jaw and blinked back a tear, only letting it fall when his eyes opened in surprise, unprepared to hear such a direct denial and order.

“Wait.”

-----

Alex POV

…

The room was dark. Not pitch black, but enough to trick the eye out of sight.

Blank.

Quiet.

Alex was never scared of the dark as a kid. He was scared of the things that used it to hide. But now, he knew the only things hiding in the dark were his own thoughts.

His thoughts, and the crushing weight of silence, broken only by his shaking breath.

He felt like he was floating. The silence around him was deafening, no longer cut by his breathing, He was detached from the world, in an endless abyss of uncertainty and love and containment, shackled to the nothingness by chains of obligation.

He pulled at the iron chains on his wrists, trying endlessly to break free, trying, trying, trying, until the skin on his wrists had been rubbed raw, pain pulsing as the chains grew hotter, like coals in a fire.

Alex tried to scream, but he couldn’t find his voice. Every shout and cry, begging to be let out, every bit of sound was swallowed by the void, sentenced to an eternity searching for someone to hear them.

A voice pulled him out of his head, but it took a moment to register.

“…x?”

“Alex, can you hear me?”

Alex blearily opened his eyes to find that the room was not, in fact, dark. He was sitting in one of the prep rooms at the west wing of the ballroom, staring at the table.

“Alex?” He looked up to find Erik with his hands on his shoulders.

“Hi, sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thanks.”

“The others are still finishing up getting ready, but we’ll have to go to the ballroom soon. I probably have to go now,” he added, glancing at his watch. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” Erik walked to the door, hesitating at the last second.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something else I could do.”

Alex nodded, unsure what to day. He felt pathetic.

Erik left.

…

Alex could hear the chatter of the crowd from the prep room, and it was too much for him to handle alone. He figured he should pay julie a visit in the other prep room.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed to. It was tradition for the groom not to see the bride until they were at the altar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Besides, what were they going to do? Exile him?

He focused on the tapping of his shoes on the hard floor as he made his way to the other prep room, finally knocking.

“Come in,” Julie said. Her voice sounded authoritative; she was going to be a perfect queen.

Alex opened the door.

“Hey,” he said pathetically.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, and before Alex knew it, she’d sat him down in her chair and was wiping his tears away with a cold washcloth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said. It was true; her white silky dress fit her perfectly, with elegant off-shoulder straps and a small v-neck as the dress hugged her and then flared at her waist. Golden embroidery matching his own decorated the bodice, and violet dahlias lined the bottom of the layered skirt.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. He grinned.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know. I just… I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. I wish we could choose what we do with our lives, choose who we love for once. Or at least do it without committing treason.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie laughed, but Alex knew it was a facade.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else. How’s Willie doing?” Alex looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat.” Alex felt so bad for him. Willie had been nothing but kind, loving, and supportive through an impossible situation. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“Luke is sulking and blaming himself,” he added, knowing Julie would be wondering about her idiot of a boyfriend.

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time. He’d almost forgotten the feeling.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing, as did Alex.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

As he closed the door, Alex sighed and wiped his eyes.

There was nothing to do now but wait it out.

…

As he waited outside the ballroom, Alex listened to the muffled voices of the guests. He hated this whole situation, but something about hearing people calmed him, which he never would have expected in a million years.

And yet, as he heard the laugh of a child, playful arguments between friends and couples, it reminded him that everyone in that room had their own life, just as complex as his. Everyone was going through things.

The thought made him feel a little less alone.

“Mijo,” Ray said from behind him. Alex hadn’t even heard him enter. “They’re ready for you.” He took a shaky breath.

“Okay.”

As he stood and walked to the huge, wooden doors, he hesitated. Ray put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I did everything I could.”

“I know. Thanks.” He tried again to bring himself to open the door, but he just couldn’t.

Without thinking, he tackled Ray in a hug. He was worried he’d done something wrong; he’d just hugged the king without warning. But Ray wrapped his arms around him immediately, and Alex did his best not to cry.

He felt safe. Warm. Protected.

Was this what a dad’s hug felt like?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that.

When he pulled away from the hug and met Ray’s eyes, Ray nodded.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex decided.

Then, without hesitation, he pushed open the ballroom doors.

…

Alex could feel people’s eyes on him the moment he stepped into the ballroom. But he squared his shoulders and walked with authority, just like he’d been taught.

His heart broke when he met Willie’s eyes. His hair was pulled back into a bun, suit tailored to perfection, but it was all wrong, It wasn’t him. Alex wanted to cry, to run to him and hold him, but he couldn’t.

It’ll be okay, Willie mouthed. Alex gave a small smile and nod, finally stopping at the altar.

Now, he just had to wait for Julie.

Then the nightmare would be over.

He stood up straight and closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the doors opening.

Then, far too soon, there they were.

As Julie pushed open the doors, standing tall and strong, she looked like the queen she was always meant to be.

Ray followed her in and took her arm, handing her a bouquet of dahlias, roses, and orchids, all wrapped in white silk.

She looked beautiful.

And yet, Alex could see how forced her smile was, how she inevitably let it fall as she walked up next to him.

Ray looked at him and nodded. Alex nodded back, and Ray walked back to the side.

Alex’s eyes flicked to his parents.

They were in the first row, both dressed to perfection, sat with poise. His father, Xavier, wore a pressed suit with two medals pinned to it, his golden Tamborian crown at its place on its head, where it had been for twenty years.

His mother, Claire, wore a pale gold dress with silver threads, like a combination of moonlight and a sun ray. Her crown matched his father’s.

Both of them looked so damn proud of themselves.

His father’s piercing blue stare met his, and there was no love in Xavier’s eyes. Alex could tell what he wanted to say.

Don’t screw up.

He wanted to yell. Didn’t he get a choice? Why did his parents, the people who were supposed to love him no matter what, see fit to marry him off?

Some parents they were.

But next to them was his sister. Ava.

She looked beautiful.

Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a jagged bob, gently styled with a bit of flair. Winged eyeliner accentuated her grey eyes, and her aqua gown wasn’t too fancy. The layered skirt was manageable, and she had a white denim jacket with gold buttons over her shoulders.

Alex bit back a grin when he saw the toes of her Doc Martens peeking out from underneath her dress, and was even more pleased with his father’s disproving glare.

As the officiant walked to the altar, Alex’s jaw clenched, but he relaxed his hands as he took Julie’s.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“Today marks the union of two countries, two people. Her royal highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, has grown up into a strong young woman, one led by her father, King Ray. She will soon ascend to the throne, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will lead us into the future.

“His royal highness, Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor, has been a close friend of hers for years, and their relationship will no doubt hold strong, as will our countries. Prince Alexander has stood alongside Tambor as his parents, King Xavier and Queen Claire, have held a righteous, unshakeable reign.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Alex met Julie’s eyes with a sad smile.

“Alexander Mercer, son of Queen Claire and King Xavier, do you take Julie to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to stand by her in sickness and in health, and aid her as she ascends to the throne, no matter what happens? And do you swear to hold true to her, as she would for you, as a faithful ally, confidante, friend, and husband?”

Alex hoped the tear rolling down his cheek would be mistaken for one of joy as he swallowed, the pit in his stomach growing deeper and more hollow.

“I do.”

“And do you, Princess Julie Molina, daughter of King Ray and the late Queen Rose, heiress to the Dahlian throne, take Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to care for him in sickness and in health, to trust him with your life as he would do for you? As you ascend to the throne, do you swear to care not just for your people, as the compassionate queen, but also for your betrothed, as a loving friend and wife?”

Alex looked at Julie, her brown eyes filled with sorrow and grief and anger, but above all, filled with hope and compassion for her people.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Alex wished he could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Five agonizing, silent seconds passed. Alex wished someone would speak, let go of their peace and intervene.

But nobody did.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

Alex’s heart dropped and soared at the same time.

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd, and Julie seemed confident as ever as she let go of Alex’s hands and turned to face the onlooking people.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia, I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people,” she said. Alex’s grin widened.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage. We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“King Xavier and Queen Claire of Tambor raised the idea of an arranged marriage to us and my father two years ago. We all protested. But when it was passed by the Dahlian council, there wasn’t much else we could do.

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

Alex couldn’t stop smiling as he looked at Julie. He remembered when they first met years ago, the little girl with frizzy hair and missing front teeth. Even then, she’d been so strong, so passionate.

And now? Now, she was all that and more. She was a powerful, intelligent woman born to lead, to stand tall and make her voice heard.

“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.”

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd.

“Alex, sweetie,” Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. He’d had enough. “Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen. But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Alex knew he was being harsh, but it was true. And he was done letting his parents disrespect him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Alex rolled his eyes. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?”

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.”

That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected. It felt powerful to admit it, to tell the truth so openly.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before his dad could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

“You know what,” Alex said, “I would be okay with it. But even if I weren’t, wanting privacy doesn’t mean you’re scared, nor does it mean you have ill intent. It’s just choosing what of your personal life to share.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Julie agreed. “And, for the record, we aren’t scared. Not anymore. If we were, we wouldn’t be coming out at all. Us being okay with going public about our side of the story doesn’t mean the other people involved are obligated to.”

His mom was pale as a sheet, and his dad looked like he was going to explode. Alex almost felt bad. But then he remembered all the times they’d belittled him, tried to control every part of his life, and reminded himself that this was him taking control.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted, and Alex beamed. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out. Alex had to resist the urge to hug Ray for standing up for him.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind him. Alex whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward, looking confident as ever.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him.

Alex just about broke down crying. He was so happy, so proud, so enamored, everything inside of him was bursting with elation as Willie stepped forward and took his hand.

The crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers, surprising himself with the words but knowing they were truer than they’d ever been. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and Alex gasped with laughter, wishing he’d been the one to say that, especially after seeing the look on his dad’s face.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Alex ignored the horrified glares from his parents, instead focusing on Ava’s proud smile and applause.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” Julie declared as the crowd quieted, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband.” Alex grinned; he never thought he’d be so happy to hear a denied wedding vow.

“Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“If I may,” Ray announced, stepping forward to the altar. “Julie has trained her entire life to be a leader, and she has done that and so much more. Since she was little, she has had a passion for life, for love, for hope. She has taught me and so many others to stand tall even in the face of adversity. And, given her display of bravery, intelligence, and pure nerve, as well as the prepared ballroom, I see no reason why that moment should be delayed.” Alex was practically vibrating with excitement. He knew where this was going.

After Julie and Ray had exchanged a few words of confirmation, she knelt down as he took off the crown.

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Alex clapped with the rest of the crowd, even his disgruntled parents.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin. He bowed, and Alex quickly followed suit. Soon enough, the entire ballroom was dipped in a bow, pulsing with respect and hope.

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Alex was content to just hold Willie and sway to the music.

“We did it,” he said softly, gazing into Willie’s deep brown eyes.

“We did,” he agreed. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for us,” Alex decided.

“You’re such a dork.”

“I know.”

‘It’s part of why I love you,” he whispered. Alex’s heart soared, dancing in the constellations.

“I love you too.”

…

“Julie?” Alex asked, grinning as she laughed at Carlos for some silly antics.

“Ye-“ before she could finish, Alex tackled her in a hug, holding her tight.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…” he tried to find the words but just couldn’t. Nothing seemed to be enough, not to describe how he felt, nor how amazing she was, how selfless everything she had done had been.

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.” Alex shook his head.

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie sat on a soft, cushioned chair in a small room next to the renovated ballroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Flynn and Carrie sat next to her on a leather ottoman, holding her right hand with theirs. Mira stood behind her, fixing her hair until the braids were perfectly woven from her temples to the base of her head, the rest of her hair gently coiling in a poof at the base of her neck.

She thought she would’ve cried; this wedding was the opposite of what she and Alex wanted. But her eyes were stone dry, her makeup untouched by what she felt. Mira’s hands fell to her shoulders, gently tracing circles along her skin.

“Thank you,” she said. “Mira, this is amazing.” She tried to smile, really, she did, but her face fell.

“Of course,” Mira whispered. “Jules, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

“No it won’t,” she replied quietly. “But I’ll live. We’ll manage.” Mira nodded.

Flynn sighed and wrapped her arm around Julie. Julie put her head on her shoulder.

She could’ve stayed there forever. Even though Flynn’s shoulder wasn’t exactly comfortable (seriously, how was she so bony?), it was preferable to just about anything else at the moment. Here, she was safe. She wasn’t being forced into a wedding with one of her best friends. She wasn’t being pulled away from the person she loved. Here, resting on Flynn’s shoulder, she had Flynn, Mira, and Carrie by her side, holding her close and whispering reassurances in her ear. Here, she was safe.

A knock on the door pulled Julie out of her trance.

“Yes?” she asked.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” came the choked voice of her father. Mira looked at her and when she nodded, went to open the door.

“Hi, dad.” Ray scooped her up in a hug, burying his head in her shoulder. She held on as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry, mija. I did everything I could.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you for trying.” Ray inhaled like he was going to say something else, but just held her closer.

Julie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but it certainly wasn’t long enough. She immediately felt colder when he let go.

“You look beautiful,” Ray told her. She gave the most convincing smile she could.

“Thanks,” she said as she twirled. She hadn’t been hopeful, but Mira was some sort of sorceress. In a matter of days, she’d turned a heap of white silk and satin from a mess of pins into one of the most gorgeous dresses Julie had ever laid eyes on.

The off-shoulder straps met under her collarbone, leaving a small v-neck for the top of the dress. The slim fit was comfortable and elegant, flaring at the waist into a beautiful layered skirt with transparent violet tulle woven in. Golden embroidery shone on her shoulders and chest, and the purple dahlias that had been subtly added to the end of the skirt added the perfect amount of flair.

She’d refused a veil, despite traditions; her wedding day wasn’t the day she stopped hiding. She’d never hidden herself, and didn’t intend to start now.

“It’ll be over soon,” he told her. She nodded.

“I’m sorry this has stressed you out so much.” Julie sat back down and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, ignoring Mira’s disapproving look.

“Mija, if anything, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.” Ray put his hand on her shoulder.

“I know. But I’ve been told since I was a kid, being a princess comes with responsibilities. It’s amazing, being able to lead and help people the best I can, never having to worry about money, but there are always drawbacks. I feel bad complaining. So many people have it so much worse.”

“Dahlia is reaching zero homelessness sooner than projected,” he reminded her. “At this rate, we’ll be completely housed by Spring. And,” he added, “our wealth equality is some of the best in the world.”

“And that’s incredible! But I’m still incredibly lucky. I’m healthy, privileged, and one of the leaders of a wealthy, harmonized nation. That’s not to mention people in other places around the world, who have to worry about having food on the table or being killed for who they are. Just because we’re doing well doesn’t mean the whole world is.”

“Julie,” Ray interrupted before she could spiral. “You’ve always been so passionate about helping other people. It’s one of the things that will make you an amazing leader. But you can’t do everything at once. And even if you could, having a better situation than other people doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be in pain.”

“Yeah,” Carrie chimed in. “Think of it this way: if you have the flu, but someone else has the flu and a broken leg, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the flu. It still sucks, and just because someone else has a situation that objectively sucks more doesn’t mean your situation is awesome. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Thanks,” she sighed. “I get it, and I really appreciate it. I just feel like I have so much going for me that this is trivial in comparison.”

“Do you think that Alex being upset is trivial, given his situation?”

“Of course not! He-“

“Has the right to be upset,” Carrie finished for her. “Exactly. He has privilege too. So why does he get to be upset but you don’t?” Julie didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

“You hold yourself to such a high standard, Julie,” Flynn added. “You’re so much stronger than I ever could be, but you need to allow yourself to accept that this sucks. Sometimes, no matter how good your life may be, things suck. Just try to remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She felt like there was something else she should say, but she couldn’t find the words. So she stared at the mirror, busying herself with the task of making sure everything looked good and ready for the wedding of hell.

…

After Ray had left to prepare everything else and greet guests, Flynn, Carrie, and Mira had to go and change. They were Julie’s bridesmaids. She and Alex had decided not to have a Maid of Honor or Best Man, because neither of them felt that they could choose. Everyone in their group had helped them so much, been there for them the entire time. It wouldn’t have been fair to honor any above the others.

Julie sat alone in the prep room, surrounded by tubes of makeup and baskets of accessories, none of which she touched.

Someone knocked on the door, and she sat up straight and put on her professional voice.

“Come in.”

Alex opened the door, and Julie could see that he’d been crying. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but his eyes were a bit red and swollen.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, bringing him to her chair and sitting him down. She took a washcloth and ran it under cold water, squeezing it out and gently dabbing at his eyes, tear streaks but a distant memory, bloodshot eyes calmed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. His perfectly tailored suit had the typical white shirt and black pants, but the jacket was white with matching golden embroidery on the cuffs. Alex smiled.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know. I just… I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. I wish we could choose what we do with our lives, choose who we love for once. Or at least do it without committing treason.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie gave a halfhearted laugh, but her smile fell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else,” she agreed. “How’s Willie doing?” He looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat. And Luke is sulking and blaming himself.”

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Julie was alone.

…

The incessant chatter of the crowd was white noise behind Julie’s humming brain. It felt like a radio that, no matter which way you turned the antenna, only blared static.

Her dad’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Mija?”

She hadn’t registered that she’d been walking to the ballroom, but there she was, with a huge pair of gilded oak double doors protecting her from the choirs of hell.

“Mija?” Ray asked again.

“Hi. Sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. Julie, I…” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up and saw his eyes shining with regret and sorrow and anger.

“I know,” Julie whispered. “Thanks for trying.”

Ray scooped her up in a big hug, and she let herself soak up the warmth and relish it while it lasted. Maybe she could just stay there forever instead.

“You look beautiful,” he remarked as he let her go. Julie smiled and twirled.

“Mira really is amazing,” she agreed. “I had my doubts, but she somehow turned a heap of lace and silk into a dress.”

“You could say she’s a Mira-cle worker,” Ray quipped with a grin and a wink. Julie groaned, but couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Now I know where Reggie gets it.”

“He learned from the best,” Ray agreed.

Julie’s face fell.

“I have to go in, don’t I?” She already knew the answer, but her father’s resigned nod crushed her.

“Do you want me to walk you up?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she whispered.

“Okay.”

“But,” she added, “I want to open the door. I need to show them that I’m a leader, not just a girl in a dress.”

“Done,” he agreed. “You are a leader. And if they can’t see that, they’re blind.” Julie smiled for real that time, squared her shoulders, and finally pushed open the doors.

I’m a leader, she reminded herself as she took the bouquet from her dad and took his arm. They can’t tell me who I am.

And without her even prompting it, the gears in her head started turning.

…

Alex’s hands were cold and clammy, and Julie could see that his jaw was clenched. She tightened her grip on his hands, gentle but firm, making sure to pull him to reality. It seemed to work, too, because his jaw softened and he took a breath.

Julie finally risked a glance to Luke, and he gave a weak smile, which she did her best to return. His hazel eyes were full of love, anger, and melancholy, all warring behind earthy windows.

Julie looked back to Alex, wishing the officiant would shut up as soon as he started speaking.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“Today marks the union of two countries, two people. Her royal highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, has grown up into a strong young woman, one led by her father, King Ray. She will soon ascend to the throne, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will lead us into the future.

“His royal highness, Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor, has been a close friend of hers for years, and their relationship will no doubt hold strong, as will our countries. Prince Alexander has stood alongside Tambor as his parents, King Xavier and Queen Claire, have held a righteous, unshakeable reign.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Julie looked back up to Alex, hating the resigned hopelessness in his eyes, even more so than the tear rolling down his cheek.

“Alexander Mercer, son of Queen Claire and King Xavier, do you take Julie to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to stand by her in sickness and in health, and aid her as she ascends to the throne, no matter what happens? And do you swear to hold true to her, as she would for you, as a faithful ally, confidante, friend, and husband?”

Julie closed her eyes as Alex tried to speak, finally managing an “I do.”

“And do you, Princess Julie Molina, daughter of King Ray and the late Queen Rose, heiress to the Dahlian throne, take Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to care for him in sickness and in health, to trust him with your life as he would do for you? As you ascend to the throne, do you swear to care not just for your people, as the compassionate queen, but also for your betrothed, as a loving friend and wife?

No, she wanted to say. I do not.

But when she heard the hushed whispers in the crowd, laced with excitement, when she remembered the bright eyes of civilians as the announcement of a union had been released, she bit back the truth.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Julie wished she could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

The gears in her head were turning into overdrive, grinding thoughts and memories and emotions into her head and heart like an overloaded system.

Flashes of hazel eyes, crinkled with laughter, shining with hope, puffy with tears in the rain.

Blips of hands interlocked, the quiet voices of a baker and a prince, glances between a princess and a guard.

Voices that she could hear like it was happening before her.

“Actually, I win.”

“Hey there, boss.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Understandable, have a nice day.”

“Technically, you’re not a trainee.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“You’ll never lose me.”

Everything played in Julie’s mind on repeat, unshakeable and incessant, like the rushing of a river in Spring.

And then she heard the officiant’s voice.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

She’d known that words had power, but never in a million years would Julie have guessed that one word could be so big.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia,” she began as she let go of Alex and looked out at the shocked crowd, “I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people.” She took a deep breath, catching her father’s eye, heart soaring with the pride radiating off of him.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage,” she continued. “ We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“King Xavier and Queen Claire of Tambor raised the idea of an arranged marriage to us and my father two years ago. We all protested. But when it was passed by the Dahlian council, there wasn’t much else we could do.

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

“No,” Alex agreed. “I won’t.” She turned to him, a huge smile on her face, heart racing.

We’re doing this.

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, shoulders squared and voice echoing with authority, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd, and each one flew into her like lightning bolts of confidence.

“Alex, sweetie,” Queen Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. Julie was surprised; she’d never heard Alex snap like that. But she let him speak.

“Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen.,” Alex said with a sigh. “ But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Julie didn’t budge, holding her post beside him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Julie raised her eyebrows and took a step forward, suddenly feeling protective of her friend. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?” Xavier interrogated.

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.” Julie bit back a huge grin; even though she wanted nothing more than to snap back at Alex’s parents too, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before Xavier could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

“You know what,” Alex said, “I would be okay with it. But even if I weren’t, wanting privacy doesn’t mean you’re scared, nor does it mean you have ill intent. It’s just choosing what of your personal life to share.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Julie agreed. “And, for the record, we aren’t scared. Not anymore. If we were, we wouldn’t be coming out at all. Us being okay with going public about our side of the story doesn’t mean the other people involved are obligated to.”

Claire was pale as a sheet, and Xavier looked like he was going to explode. Ray, however, was glowing with pride.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind her. Julie whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him. And before Julie knew it, Luke was by her side, clasping her hand with his. Willie marched next to Alex and did the same.

And, to Julie’s shock, the crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and the shouting of the crowd was deafening as people “OOOH”- ed, laughed, and generally lost their shit.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Julie quickly did the same, holding up Luke’s.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” she declared as the crowd quieted, bubbles of elation radiating through the room, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband. Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“If I may,” Ray announced, stepping forward to the altar. “Julie has trained her entire life to be a leader, and she has done that and so much more. Since she was little, she has had a passion for life, for love, for hope. She has taught me and so many others to stand tall even in the face of adversity. And, given her display of bravery, intelligence, and pure nerve, as well as the prepared ballroom, I see no reason why that moment should be delayed.” Julie’s heart soared, eyes widening.

“Papa, are you sure?” she asked him quietly.

“I am. Are you?” Julie took a breath and let go of Luke’s hand, turning toward the gleeful crowd as she knelt down on one knee, her father standing beside her as he took off his crown.

“The responsibilities will be challenging, but I have no doubt that they will be handled gracefully. Heavy lies the crown, yes, but strong is she who embraces it, not with hunger for power, but with compassion.

“Citizens of Dahlia, may I present to you, her Royal Majesty, Queen Julie Molina.”

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Julie’s heart set with determination. She rose, back straight, looking out to the crowd.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin from next to her. She turned to him and he dipped in a bow, eyes laced with love and respect.

Then, before she knew it, Alex was bowing too, soon followed by Willie, Flynn, Mira, Carrie, Erik, Reggie, and the rest of the crowd.

Her father.

Ray stood before her, smiling with the power and pride of all the stars. As he bowed, Julie smiled and knelt down, taking his hand and pulling him back up into a hug.

“I love you, papa,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Claire and Xavier kept to themselves, sitting at a table in the corner and ignoring glares from the crowd, and Julie danced with Luke without fear of being seen. Alex and Willie held each other, swaying to the music, not even talking. Just smiling.

As soon as she and Luke separated to dance with others, Reggie tackled her in a hug.

“Reggie!” she shrieked, stabilizing herself so she didn’t fall over.

“WE DID IT!” he exclaimed, and Julie couldn’t contain her laughter.

“We did!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Reggie told her. Julie wrapped him in a hug.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, to be honest.”

“That just makes what you did even more awesome, though! In the face of danger, the honorable Julie Molina made her move and took her life back into her own hands!” Julie cackled.

“I’m not a TV character, Reg.”

“Are you sure? Because you’d be a pretty damn awesome one.”

“Well, then you’d be my amazing brother,” she said, deciding to humor him. Reggie beamed.

“Oh, speaking of brothers-“

“JULIE!” came Carlos’s excited voice from behind her, and before she knew it, she was being tackled by a skinny fourteen-year-old prince.

“Carlos!”

“Dude. You’re the freaking Queen now!”

“I know! It’s kinda freaking me out, but in a good way.”

“Duh. Also, I expect lots of queenly presents. And a shoutout.”

“A shoutout?” she inquired. “Carlos, you already have millions of middle school girls simping over your Instagram page.”

“Just trying to get my name out there,” he reasoned. Julie picked him up despite his protests and nods to his left, where Julie spotted Annie Danforth-Evans laughing. She grinned.

“Man, Carlos is so adorable and little and smitten?” Julie said loudly. And in situational perfection, the only person who seemed to hear her was Annie.

“You’re the worst,” Carlos informed her as he wiggled out of her arms. Julie laughed and let him go.

“I’m not little,” he said to Annie once he reached her, puffing out his chest as if to prove his point.

“Julie?” Alex asked, interrupting her laughs at her brother. She turned and faced him, mirroring his smile.

“Ye-“ she couldn’t finish before being tackled in a crushing hug.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…”

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.”

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

…

As the sun rose, the last of the guests went home, and Julie stood on her balcony, wrapped in a white dress of rebellion, graced by the warm light of a new day, a new era.

Luke’s hand on her shoulder anchored her to reality, followed by Alex’s on her other shoulder, Flynn’s arm around her waist, and Reggie ruffling her hair. Julie took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air, closing her eyes and letting her heart set.

This wasn’t the end, it was the beginning of something wonderful and new.

So as she stepped into the next part of her life, she reminded herself to stand tall, and remember that she wasn’t doing this alone.

[unsaid-stardust]

request: maybe first time juke makes out?? can be an au or canonverse, car couch or bedroom, etc. kinda like they have been adjusting to little pecking kisses to actually making out when they cuddle n stuff

thanks for the prompt, anon Chloe ! i went with a “the boys are alive and they go to the same college as Julie!” AU. Hope you like it! 💖

Luke was the driver of the night (as he was the only band member with a car). They had just played a rocking gig at The Roxy and he was currently making the rounds of dropping everyone off, saving Julie for last. She had been teasing him all night and he knew he wouldn’t get her all to himself once he dropped her off. He could tell that Julie was thinking the same thing as him from the glances she kept giving him from the passenger seat, her hand on his thigh as he drove.  

(Was he speeding to get Alex to Willie’s? Maybe, but could you blame him?)

On stage, her skin glittered underneath the heat of the spotlights. She always sounded incredible, but tonight, she was really something. It was like she was a siren calling him out to sea or a goddess of sound singing a prophecy to him; He was mesmerized the whole entire night. Plus, add in that Julie wore something a little more revealing than she normally did--a sparkly two piece that looked as if it were made for her; That alone was enough to drive him crazy.

And now, she was wearing his distressed jean jacket that was definitely too big on her, but damn did it make her look adorable. 

Lucky for him, Julie was all his. And he was all hers. After months of dancing around each other, Luke finally admitted his feelings to her on the roof of his house at 3 am. The band had played an impromptu house party that they got word was happening at one of the houses not far from campus. 

They stayed afterwards for some fun (which turned into some drunken karaoke and endless amounts of jello shots). It was then that Julie had decided to flirt with some random guy that none of the bandmates or Flynn knew. Luke chalked it up to Julie being drunk, but then he started flirting with a random girl for the hell of it, and things took a turn for the worse. He and Julie ended up in an argument prompting Luke to walk home drunk (Reggie along for the walk as he didn’t want Luke alone when he was that drunk). 

Once home, which was the studio where they rehearsed, Reggie plopped down on the couch and Luke took to the roof, a place he often went to clear his head. Not long after, did Julie show. They talked it out, both of them admitting that they only flirted with other people to get one another jealous. They shared their first kiss, which was nothing like the kiss that Luke planned on giving her as soon as Alex left the car.

“keep her in one piece, ok? She carries this band,” Alex teases. Julie giggles and Luke rolls his eyes.

“Yeah ok, Alex, say goodnight to Willie for me!” Luke calls after his bandmate, who scoffs before closing the car door. 

Luke watches from the curb to make sure that Alex gets inside ok and then practically lunges towards his girlfriend, crashing his lips onto hers, holding her hair behind her ear with one hand and the other under her chin. Julie reciprocates immediately, pushing Luke slightly back due to her own desire. Slowly, Luke pulls his lips away from hers, but only enough so that they’re not touching anymore.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night” He states, voice low and raspy, as he peers into Julie’s chocolate-reminiscent eyes. She smiles.

“Me too,” She confesses while biting her bottom lip. Jesus, she was trying to kill him. He wants nothing more than to just stop right there and kiss her all over, but, it was getting late and he knew that Julie had an early class. He forces himself to put his hands on the wheel and to focus his eyes on the gear-shift.

“We should get you home,” He suggests secretly wishing that Julie would oppose. Julie sits back in her seat though, looking slightly defeated.

“Yeah, probably should,” She agrees. Luke presses his lips in order to stop himself from sighing, and reverses his car before pulling away. 

“Can I be DJ?” She questions him, gesturing towards his phone in the cupholder plugged into the aux cord. He almost laughs because she should know by now that he pretty much answers “yes” to any question ever that she asks him. That, and he thought it was a given that she could pick the music; she has a killer music taste after all. 

She takes a minute or two to look over his Spotify playlists (which he definitely forgot about one in particular and hoped she didn’t notice, but knowing her, she will) before she breaks the silence. 

“Luke’s Make Out Mixtape? What kind of playlist name is that ‘Playlist Patterson?” She teases using the nickname she uses to refer to his creativity when it comes to naming playlists because typically, he does have wicked titles.

3 things came into Luke’s mind then. 1. he liked the little bit of alliteration 2. she was trying to kill him with all of this teasing 3. he has two routes he could go here: banter or assertion.

She didn’t know about this playlist because he had just made it the other day after their typical kissing had briefly turned into a little more before they were interrupted. And man, did he want to go back to that. And it seemed like she did too. Pulling the car into a rather convientent empty parking lot, his mouth made the choice of #3 for him. 

“The kind of name for when you want to do this.” 

Luke leans his body towards Julie’s and their lips reconnect with more hunger than before. Not taking her lips off of his, Julie presses play on Luke’s playlist, “Kill My Time” by 5 Seconds of Summer blasting through the stereo. 

“Good...choice” Luke breathes into another kiss in between the words.

He deepens the kiss then and it’s then that his mind catches up to him and he realizes what’s happening; their first time actually making out. They had shared multiple kisses before, but nothing like the heated moment that’s happening now. And between the adrenaline that was still in his veins from playing The Roxy and the fact that Julie is now making her way to sit on his lap, he feels like he might explode. Add in that they’re listening to his make out playlist and he has some really good fucking vibes coming up, like “Tennis court” by Lorde because she was a damn good lyricist okay (And the synths basically screamed make out music), he was riding high on cloud nine. 

All of these factors combined caused Luke to want to test the waters. He didn’t want to do anything Julie wasn’t comfortable with, she had less experience than he did he knew that, but Jesus, did he want to bite her lip and kiss her all over. 

“Tell me...if anything..doesn’t feel ok...ok?” he asks her softly in between muffled kisses. Julie hums and nods her head and Luke takes it as an ok to test the waters. 

So, he does.

He slowly takes Julie’s bottom lip into his teeth lightly biting down. She makes a sound then that Luke hadn’t heard from her before and it sends shiver down his spine, a smile across his lips as he pulls away. Julie whimpers at the contrast of his lips not on hers and places her hands on his shoulders as she pushes herself forward bringing her even closer to him. Luke can’t help, but groan at the feeling of Julie against his hips. 

He kisses her neck to distract himself and Julie pushes forward against him again. Luke hears his breath shudder and he presses his lips to the spot where Julie’s jawline meets her ear. It’s Julie’s sounds that turn breathless this time and as much as it drove Luke crazy, as much as it lit a fire in him, he knew it was a sign that they should stop. 

“Jules...” He whispers as she eagerly kisses his lips. 

“yeah....” She breathes, stopping to look at him, her eyes ignited by the fire that was lit within Luke a few seconds ago. 

“We should stop...it’s getting late...” He continues before resting his forehead onto hers. Julie purses her lips and he could tell that she was disappointed too, but knew that he was right.

“yeah, probably should,” she agrees and she removes herself from Luke’s lap, returning to her own seat. Luke looks over at her and can’t help, but think of how lucky he is. This wicked beauty of a girl just happened to catch his eye at a Sunset Curve show and decided to become a part of his life and not only that, but decided to love him back. 

“Hey,” He called to her softly, getting her to look at him with her pretty doe eyes that he loves so much, and placed his thumb under her chin.

“I love you,” He whispers for the first time. Julie kisses him one last time, much more soft and gentle and slow compared to any of the previous kisses and god does he love her. 

“I love you too”. 

tagging: @moony221b @willexx @blush-and-books @littledancersun @lydias--stiles @sanssssastark

[blazedgraysons]

You're No Good - Ch. 2

C.J. Bennett is an overly ambitious student who dreams of shadowing her favorite author, Eli Jennings. The only thing standing in her way: Grayson Dolan.

warnings: this is a rough draft of a series i never finished. i'm posting the finished chapters before leaving this account. 🤍

part 1

If American Lit 1102 was C.J.’s personal hell, her job could at least be considered her own reprieve.

Sunnyside Vintage is an old shop off of Sunset, having been open for the last 30 years. It wasn’t the nicest of thrift stores — the clothes always have a weird mothball smell and everything is old - and not in the trendy way.  C.J. loves it. The windows are huge, letting California sunlight wash the stucco walls gold, and the mannequins are always dressed straight out of the 70’s. The pay isn’t always great, but C.J. is allowed to take whatever she wants more than makes up for it in her eyes.

“I just don’t understand. I mean, Stevens has praised me this entire semester. She even told me personally he’s never had a student write as well as me nor pick up on the work as fast as I have. Wouldn’t that be qualities you’d want in an intern, Bea? Even Grayson Dolan would’ve been a better pick.” C.J. turns to her boss, angrily folding flared jeans.

Another reason C.J. loves Sunnyside —  her boss, Beatrice “Bea” Walker. Once a glitzy soap star of the ’50’s, she retired with her husband and opened Sunnyside in the late 80’s. Despite being in her late-70s, she still holds on to the same glamour and charm that made her a household name a century prior.

“Maybe there was another reason. It could be something other then your application.” She croaks, lifting a pumpkin to place next to a costumed mannequin. As halloween rapidly approaches, the store was starting to transform to fit the fall season — hoping to draw in customers to purchase unique costumes for the holiday.

Before she can move to help Bea, the doors chime, signaling an entrance. Walking through with seemingly-glowing skin and a symphonic smile was Alexi, C.J.’s best friend and roommate. It’s hard to miss Alexi whenever she walks into a room — from her bleached-blue hair to eclectic style, she’s never been afraid to follow her own path, something C.J. has always admired. She walks straight to C.J., wrapping her in a loving embrace

“Are you okay? James told me what happened.” Alexi leaves an arm around her, and while C.J. knows it’s supposed to be comforting; all she can think about is how much she wants Alexi to leave. It’s one thing to rant to her elderly boss, someone who would love her in spite of her shortcomings and faults. But to know her own friend group has already heard about her misfortune, sending over someone to comfort and soothe, it was all just a little too pitiful for her to handle.

“Theta’s are throwing a party tonight. It’ll be the perfect pick-me-up, and you can forget all about Evans Jensen-“

“Eli Jennings” C.J. corrects.

“Whoever” Alexi rolls her eyes at the interruption, “is missing out on your incredible talent because of an idiotic professor’s incompetence. Everyone’s going and it won’t be the same without you, C.”

“As much as I would love that, Lex, I really just want to be alone tonight. Shitty beer, cheap Indian food, a sad movie so I don’t have to think about how these past four years have been a waste.”

“Not a waste, first of all. Look, I know that you’ve had this whole plan for your life since you popped out the womb, but shit happens, things change. This isn’t a failure, just think of it as a temporary setback. Plus, when life gives you lemons, you…” She trails off, waiting for C.J. to finish.

“Make lemonade?” She sighs.

“Use it to chase tequila.” Alexi giggles.

“I would go, but I have to close. Right, Bea?"

"Don't use me as an excuse. You should go, maybe find a boy to take home." Alexi makes a face at Beatrice's statement and C.J.'s face heats up.

“You’re going - no more buts. Wear something cute. Something that maybe doesn’t make if look like you were alive for Vietnam.” Alexi’s already leaving, kissing Beatrice lightly on the cheek on her way out.

This was how C.J. found herself standing outside the Theta Lambda  frat house, October air chilling her through her jacket. She shifts her weight between her feet, surveying the small group around her. Alexi talks animatedly on the phone, asking for whoever to meet them out front.

A random person bumps into her, forcing her to spill the contents of her purse onto the dewey grass. C.J. groans, bending down to pick everything up while mentally thinking to herself all of the other things she could be doing right now.

A pair of dirty air forces steps in front of C.J. and she slowly looks up at the girl standing in front of her. She’s pretty, stunning actually. C.J. recognizes her immediately. Channing Williams - social chair of Rho Xi sorority and the key to all the best parties on campus. Dressed in a black romper and red velvet jacket, she’s everything C.J. isn’t and a quiet twinge of jealousy plucks her heart. ‘I bet she’s never lost out on an internship.’ she thinks bitterly.

“Sorry, do you know anyone?”  Channing asks, voice soft and sweet with a clipboard in hand. C.J. looks at Alexi, waiting to hear her answer.

“Not really? I mean we know people, but we aren’t going to be on your clipboard or anything so if you could just let us slide through, I’m sure there’s someone here who could like vouch for us or something?” C.J. wants to slap her — not only did she drag her out in below-freezing weather, but she couldn’t even guarantee them a way inside.

“Well this is a greek-only party so unless you know anyone….” Channing trails off, not openly wanting to kick them out in front of so many people.

“That means no GDI’s.” C.J. didn’t even notice the miniature-sized freshman standing besides Channing. She clearly looks annoyed at the intrusion, keeping her from inside where everyone else is to deal with their little group. C.J. briefly wonders if the upturned stare is a requirement for Rho Xi or if that’s was just especially reserved for her.

“Geed’s?” Alexi repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamn independents. Y’know, not greek-affiliated.” At this point, C.J. is ready to call the whole night and retire in her bed when she see’s someone appear in between Channing.

“They’re cool, Chan. They’re with me.” Micayla Zhao enters, covered in glitter, sweat and what C.J. is almost sure to be a line of salt from a body shot. C.J. has always considered Micayla the only cool Rho Xi, having had multiple classes with her over the years. Micayla fit right in with their group: smart, beautiful and a wicked sense of humor.

Channing nods, seeming bored and just wanting to get back inside with everyone else. She does a quick finger tap with Micayla (sacred Rho Xi bullshit is what Alexi always calls it) and moving along the line.

“Are your sisters always that charming?” Micayla rolls her eyes, grabbing C.J. to move them through the house to the backyard. A huge bonfire is set up in the middle with a canopy near by for the designated drinking spot. She watches as Micayla confidently moves through the crowd, stopping from time to time to say hey to friends and classmates on the way.

“Most of the time. Look, they’re just possessive over tradition and the Rho-Theta party has always been major exclusive, Channing’s been fighting to make it open to outsiders.” Micayla yells over the thumping bass.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love all the GDI’s.”  C.J. exaggerates her voice, pinching her nose to capture the nasally, valley accent Channing is almost famous for. Micayla stops, and had C.J. not been paying attention, she would’ve ran into her.

“Dude, you’re kind of being a bitch right now. Look, I get your bummed about your internship, but Channing wouldn't have let you in if she didn't want to. Would you rather be getting drunk, in your apartment alone?”

“Yeah, actually.” Micayla stares at C.J. for a second, looking like she’s about to bitch her out. As if Alexi can sense the fight forming, she grabs Micayla by the arm.

“Let’s go get a drink, you look like you need a drink in you.” They both walk towards the house, Alexi mouthing ‘Be Nice’ over her shoulder before disappearing completely. C.J. exhales, counting to 3 in her head before walking over to where drinks are set up.She fills up her solo cup, watching as the fizzy liquid moves closer and closer to the top.  Before she can take a sip, someone bumps into her spilling half the drink over the side.

“Hey, watch it!” A thick Jersey accent exclaims, and C.J. groans, wondering if this night could get any worse.

“Bennett?”

Grayson appears in front of her, denim jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. She takes note of the dark spot growing on the front of his shirt, from where she spilt her drink.

“What’re you doing here?”

She simply shrugs, refilling the missing contents of her cup.“I didn’t know parties were your scene. I always imagined in your free time you’re in like a dark room, crying alone to Sylvia Plath novels.”

“Nice to know you think of me out of class, Grayson” C.J. takes a sip of her beer. She moves to walk away, hoping he would take it as an end of conversation.

"How'd you get in? Isn't this like Rho's only?" He asks, following her to the edge of the bonfire. She looks at him, watching as the light frames the features of his face.

"Couldn't I say the same about you? You're not a Theta." He just stares at her intensely until she relents, "Micayla Zhao got me in. Y'know her?"

"We had history together sophomore year. She helped me cheat on the midterms."

C.J. laughs shortly. "Sounds like her."

Grayson opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off.

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Grayson, don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who, y’know, actually likes you?” If that comment bothered him, he didn’t show it, continuing talking to her as if they haven’t pissed each other off continuously for the past four years.

“What do you think about Michael Eichler getting the internship spot?”  He asks. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she didn’t get the spot, now she has to sit and rub salt in the wound with her worst enemy.

“What’s there to think about? He got it, I didn’t. Fucking sucks.” He laughs, holding up his own drink.

“Cheers to that.” They both clink cups, and C.J. briefly wonders if the universe is still laughing at her.

"You know, that spot should've gone to one of us." He muses, watching the partygoers continue to stumble around them. He doesn't say anything after that, and she bites.

"Why should it have gone to one of us?"

"Well, think about it. We're both the top of our class, and I know for a fact Stevens has submitted your writing to collegiate magazines. There's no fucking way Michael fucking Eichler should've got that spot over one of us." C.J. pauses. She had known that Stevens appreciated her writing, but not enough to submit it anywhere. If what Grayson was saying was true, why hadn't she gotten the apprenticeship?

"Nothing I can really do about it now. He got the spot, I didn't. I guess I can become a second rate author now." She takes another sip, and Grayson snorts unattractively.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, Bennett. If Stevens like you, I'm sure there's another author dumb enough to want to publish your work too." She glares at him.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"As if you actually would've wanted to become friends with me."

"Oh yeah, that's what I do in between my Sylvia Plath crying sessions. Desperately wish that Grayson Dolan would become my best friend." Sarcasm drips off every word and he looks at her before taking another long sip of his drink.

“You know you’re actually kinda cool, Bennett. When you’re not trying to bite my head off in the middle of lecture”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such shitty takes, I wouldn’t want too.” Whatever retort Grayson was planning falls from his lips when Channing appears by his side, tucking herself underneath his arm.

"Hey, Gray. I got you another drink." Two Coronas hang from her manicured hand, and he whispers inaudibly to her, giggling between the two of them. C.J. begins to feel awkward, and coughs uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re the GDI from earlier,” Channing looks up at her half-lidded, dark eyelashes framing red-tinged brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Channing shifts her weight, biting her lip and feeling like an intruder. "I didn't know you two knew each other?" C.J. supplies, feeling desperate for conversation

"Gray and I had math together freshman year, "They both stare at each other awkwardly, silent tension as they wait for the other to speak.

“So, I’m gonna go." She speaks.

“No, you don’t have to." Channing is already turned back to Grayson, looking like she wouldn't mind C.J.'s exit.

“No it’s fine” Neither Grayson nor Channing seem to protest anymore, and C.J. turns back to see her friends looking at her, both amused and curious at her interaction with the duo. She begins to walk towards them, feet and heart sinking with every step, not feeling any better about her current predicament.

“Hey Bennett,” She turns around to face Grayson. “Think about what I said. About the internship stuff” She just nods, and leaves the pair. The moment she reaches her initial group, Alexi pulls her towards them.

“You and Dolan were just talking and it didn't end in a screaming match. That’s new. What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just typical Grayson Dolan bullshit."Alexi looks like she doesn't believe her, and frankly C.J. doesn't believe herself. She thinks back to what Grayson said, about how they were the only real competition for the apprenticeship. Whatever he meant by that could be handled tomorrow.

"C’mon. Didn’t  you say something earlier today about tequila shots?” She asks

“Atta, girl. That’s what I’m talking about.” She lets Alexi drag her away, sparing one last look at Grayson before entering the fraternity house.

[averykedavra]

Set All My Regrets on Fire

Anyone up for some post-POF Roceit angst? I’m way late to the party, but hey, let’s do this. This is for a WTIYS by @hitmewiththatfanart33, who’s a great writer and seems like a really nice person. Check ‘em out if you haven’t already! Congrats on 1k, you deserve it!

This is based around Out on the Town by Fun, a banging song, and I played it on loop while writing this! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.

Words: 10,756 (yeah I can’t write oneshots what of it)

Pairings: platonic Roceit

Warnings: self-hatred, bad self-care, food mentions, extra arms, negative self-talk, sleep deprivation, a bit of an identity crisis, fire, anxiety, panic attacks, crying, some symptoms of depression and/or disassociation, very brief suicidal ideation (only in reference to ducking out), sympathetic everyone including Remus (even though there are some less-than-charitable mentions, it’s because Roman and Janus are in a bad place).

Summary: Roman wants to apologize. Janus wants to explain. It’s a shame neither of them can work up the courage to say hello.

---

I knew there would come a day when all was said and done.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It’s a nice door, rather simplistic, with a golden doorknob and a little knocker in the center and a peephole set right below it. Roman’s carefully avoiding the peephole, but if Janus tried hard enough, he could probably see Roman standing in the hallway like he’s waiting for a coffee.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize Roman, though. Roman isn’t wearing his usual costume. He needed something soft and comfortable, so he stole Virgil’s old hoodie. It’s a darker color scheme than he’s used to, but not too bad, and it settles around his shoulders and makes him feel protected. He’d worry about being teased by Virgil, but Virgil hasn’t come out of his room for days.

Roman pulls it tighter around him. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost like he’s getting a hug, or he’s weighed down by blankets during a sleepover, Disney playing in the background as he does Patton’s nails.

That hasn’t happened for weeks. Janus has watched movies with Patton and nobody else came. Roman lurked in the doorway before turning away, retreating to his empty room and a too-dark hoodie.

A little voice in his head says, you should get used to the dark.

Roman ignores it. He’s good at that, ignoring anything he doesn’t like. Logan, for instance. Or the flaws in his own ideas. Or Janus’ biting words.

Well, that last one has evaded him. They flit around his head like fiery butterflies, searing away his thoughts, whispering when he tried to sleep.

That’s why he’s here.

Standing in front of Janus’ door, one hand raised, trying to work up the courage to knock.

He is courage. He’s a Gryffindor, bold and brave and passionate. So why can’t he make his hand fall? The whole world has frozen around him, waiting in expectation, eyes crawling up his spine. He’s always loved the stage. He always bears the burden of being the center of the attention. Now he feels exposed, wrong, a glossy photo cut from a magazine and pasted into this scene. He scuffs his feet on the floor and hopes no one walks by at this moment and sees how ridiculously pathetic Roman is being. There’s a slim chance of that. Virgil’s in his room, Logan’s in his room, Patton’s in the kitchen baking mounds of cookies and smiling a brittle smile at anyone who enters. Maybe Remus will show up and knock Roman out again. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad--it would be an excuse not to talk to Janus.

He tries to picture Janus’ reaction. Maybe Janus will ignore his knock. Maybe Janus will attack him, berate him, tell him he’s not welcome here. He hasn’t been hostile towards Roman whenever they cross paths, but he hasn’t been kind, either. Mostly he’s just ignored Roman. Roman’s done his best to return the favor, skipping family dinners and staying in his room. At first Patton tried to get him out, but Patton must have given up, because the knocks stopped coming.

Worse, Janus might pity him. He certainly looks a mess, standing in the hallway in his best friend’s hoodie, hair greasy and falling over his face. Janus might forgive him more easily if Roman looked pathetic. However, the very idea stings. He doesn’t want reluctant or guilty forgiveness--he wants the real thing. And isn’t that so selfish of him?

He could fix everything, of course. He could snap his fingers and get rid of the hoodie, sweep his hair back from his face, rub away the bags under his eyes from several sleepless nights, rub the wrinkles from his black shirt. But that wouldn’t erase the fact that he’s forgotten how to smile.

It’s easy. It should be easy. He’s practiced it in the mirror a thousand times. Crinkle the eyes, lift the corners of the mouth, scrunch the nose, pull the smile tight until it tickles his cheeks. He’s an actor. He should be able to look like he’s happy to be here, look like he’s happy at all, yet he can’t find the right combination. He tries to smile and it feels too stretched, too forced, too disjointed. He lets it fall because he doesn’t think he could bear to let it exist a moment more.

Janus isn’t the only liar here, is he?

It’s just one smile, he tells himself, trying again. This time he barely manages to lift the corners of his mouth before he lets his face collapse.

And he’s supposed to be an actor. Pathetic.

Roman rubs his face and clutches the jacket for warmth. He should give it back to Virgil. Virgil doesn’t wear it anymore, but he tends to panic whenever something isn’t in its place. Yeah, he’ll go give it to Virgil, leave it in a bundle by the door or just sneak it back into the closet. He can conjure his own jacket. Even though it won’t feel the same, won’t have the same comforting weight, like Virgil has his back.

He’s really a mess right now. His lips are cracked and he won’t stop curling into himself like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he does, just a bit.

Roman sighs and turns away from Janus’ door.

He’ll come back when he looks the part.

---

Everything I was is everything but gone.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

If he’s being honest--which is a hilarious concept--it’s a little too gaudy for his tastes. He’s all about tasteful theatrics and dramatic decor, but this is so over-the-top it’s almost sad. Still, he supposes he can appreciate the effort put into it. Years of effort, in fact. It’s practically a mural of different designs. Roman clearly kept painting over sections when he had a new idea, never bothering to erase the whole thing. There’s also an excessive amount of glitter and enough rainbows to make a leprechaun faint in delight. A large sign reads Prince Roman, Creativity in red sparkling cursive.

It looks like a five-year-old made it, which is the sort of charitable assumption Janus feels he should keep to himself, based on Patton’s advice. It might “hurt Roman’s feelings.” And if he only manages to antagonize Roman, then this entire trip was a waste.

He doesn’t want to be here, of course. He would much rather be reading, or looking after his snakes, or perhaps planning the downfall of society at large. Or...maybe with Patton, baking cookies or watching movies or exchanging puns as they pass.

Hanging out with Patton. As if they’re friends. Despicable. Friendship is a boogeyman, affection is a social construct, and Janus has no use for it.

He told this to Patton, who laughed and said “You’re so silly! Can you grab my oven mitts?” And Janus did, because lulling Patton into a false sense of security meant his master plan could go undetected. He’s not quite sure what his master plan is, yet, but he’s sure he has one. He’s certainly not spending time with Patton for the fun of it.

Definitely not.

Lying to himself is harder than lying to other people, which is annoying. He supposes that deceiving himself would compromise his ability to deceive others. He needs to know the truth, deep within him, so he can obscure it and twist it and use it as he sees fit.

It’s the others who enjoy lying to themselves.

He should be proud of that, that despite their self-proclaimed hatred for Deceit, they lie to each other and themselves every day. He’s not. It stings how much they lie, it eats into his skin and burns. Logan says everyone lies. Well, that’s a paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it. Patton never liked to hear that. Patton still doesn’t, but that’s not an issue anymore, since Logan hasn’t been there to say anything.

It’s Janus’ fault, of course, and it was a necessary sacrifice to get Thomas to listen. He doesn’t mind if Logan hates him. Logan is Logic--he’ll come around He’s always been the smartest of the sides.

Roman, however, keeps grudges.

So Janus is here to ask for forgiveness. Or at least to explain what he meant, why he did what he did. Then Roman can start rejoining the group at dinner, Thomas’ creative pursuits will regain their spark, and Thomas will be alright.

That’s all Janus needs. Janus is self-preservation. He’s only here, standing awkwardly in front of Roman’s door, because Thomas is suffering and his function is to help Thomas.

If Roman hates him, that’s perfectly fine. He just needs Roman to hate him and keep doing his job.

Janus wishes so deeply that he was better at lying to himself.

He stands there, hand raised, poised to knock, for a frankly embarrassing length of time. He’s not sure what’s stopping him. His chest itches and his eyes burn slightly as if the golden glitter of Roman’s door is blinding him.

“Janus?” he hears. “Do you wanna watch Winnie the Pooh?”

“Of course, Patton.” Janus glances at Roman’s door and gladly twirls his cloak and walks away.

He’ll come back when Patton doesn’t need him.

---

All my big mistakes are bouncing off your wall.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. He’s got two deadlines in the next week, one after that, and he missed a brainstorming session with Logan and Logan’s been badgering him about it. Besides, he didn’t hit the word count for the story he’s writing, and he has to squeeze in some more writing tonight. Long story short, he has much more important things to do than loiter in front of Janus’ door and watch it like it’ll knock for him.

Yet he’s here. Self-control has never been his strong point.

Besides, he’s almost glad of the change of scenery. His room is a magical place filled with ideas and inspiration and lights that dance around the ceiling like fairies or birds. It’s also a mess, the bedsheets half pulled off the bed, pillows strewn about the floor, candles burned low, Spotify playing a million Disney medleys that blend together in his ears, his desk covered in papers with slowly deteriorating handwriting and unfinished stories and reminders of things he knows he’ll never get around to.

This hallway is blank and empty with a gray carpet and a slightly different shade of gray for the walls. But it isn’t filled with his own scratchy words, taunting him for his failure, the grandfather clock skipping around as time seems to scrunch up and speed past like it’s falling in dollops down his windows.

When’s the last time he even left his room? He can’t remember.

He really should be working.

He lets his hand fall to his side, picks it up, and hovers over the knocker.

Roman can’t bring himself to knock.

His eyes itch. He’s tired. He should be sleeping, but he doesn’t feel like it. He knows he can’t. Not until he’s wrung out every last idea, scribbled his way to the finish of each story, made something that’s crappy and unrealistic and vapid but something. He’ll settle for a terrible idea that Logan will tear into the next day, as long as it’s an idea, something coherent from the snarled mess that’s inside his head.

He’ll feel better if he eats or sleeps or just takes a break. The voice that tells him that sounds like Logan and Patton. But he doesn’t have time. There’s never enough time. His mind runs ahead of his mouth runs ahead of his hands runs ahead of the clock that ticks steadily in his room, reminding him that time is running out, that his days are numbered and soon he’ll shatter and fail and crumple to the ground and still, it will never be enough.

He needs to go work.

Why won’t his legs move?

Why does he insist on standing here, one arm raised, frozen in limbo?

He needs to work or they’ll all hate him.

Usually, that gets him moving. Today it barely stings. Of course they’ll all hate him. They’ll hate him no matter whether his ideas are complete or not. The only person he creates for is Thomas, and Thomas doesn’t care.

Sometimes deadlines keep him going. Sometimes passion keeps him going. Sometimes validation keeps him going. He has a lot of the first one and none of the last two. His mind is empty at the bottom and leaking from the side. His joints and limbs are mismatched like a doll’s, and he feels out of control of all of them, like he’s just a character in someone else’s story.

He really needs to go work.

Janus can wait.

Janus probably isn’t even awake--it’s sometime past midnight. Or maybe it isn’t midnight yet. Roman can’t quite remember and doesn’t really care about the difference. He’s wearing bunny slippers and has several ink stains on his fingers and probably looks as exhausted as he feels. He shouldn’t be here. He’d just been thinking too much in his room, and he figured if he could finally see Janus, his thoughts would finally shut up and let him work.

Pathetic, he tells himself, and tries to make that be enough to turn away. It should be enough. Fear and panic have always kept him going before. The one thing that gets in the way of any great adventure isn’t fear--fear is what pushes him to rehearse, keeps his mouth shut, helps him scramble to reach a deadline. What gets in his way is apathy. The sick, cotton-filled nights where he’d much rather close his eyes and sink into the hole in his chest than write another word.

He’ll get through it. He always has.

He doesn’t have another choice.

Roman wrenches himself back into his body and walks down the hallway, each step hesitant and disjointed, his mind buzzing and still at the same time.

He’ll come back when he isn’t so busy.

---

The bottles never break, the sorrow never comes.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s late. He’s already had dinner and really should be sleeping, since Logan always says to sleep at ten o’clock and Janus can’t argue with self-care. However, he knows that Roman is up. There’s a small light under the door, flickering, and he knows it’s a candle. At first he was scared it was a fire, but that was just instinctive after dealing with the other Creativity for so long. The burning is controlled and flickers on and off. Occasionally shadows shift and Janus steps back instinctively.

Roman does not open the door.

Good, Janus thinks, although he has to admit he’s disappointed at the same time. Perhaps it would be easier if Roman opened the door. Roman would have questions, surely, but it would rid Janus of the obligation to knock.

He is far too tired to knock. He’s practically leaning on the wall. He should go to bed.

He doesn’t want to go to bed. Not yet.

It’s been a long day. Thomas is struggling with the most recent video idea. Remus has become even more manic and disruptive than usual. Patton is sad, Logan is angry, and Virgil is nowhere to be found.

Of course it’s Janus who has to put the pieces back together and calm everyone down. He’s the self-preservation side. He’s the only one somewhat sturdy after that disaster of an episode.

Still, it’s rather tiresome, he has to admit. This is why he doesn’t help people. You do it once, and suddenly everyone has expectations. Suddenly you’re cast in the role of the Good Guy when Janus has always been comfortable on the other side of the battlefield.

But there’s no time for shoulds and shouldn’ts, doubts and worries, the question of whether he deserves this or not--he has a job to do. The world is collapsing, Thomas is struggling, so Janus will tie rope around all the sides’ wrists and puppet them back into position. An unsavory metaphor but an accurate one. He is not their friend, sitting with them until they calm down. He is just playing a part. He’s been called on to steady the ship, and he will do that, because that is his job.

He is not their friend. He only lets them call him that because it gets him what he wants.

That is just how things are, and nothing can change that.

He could leave them behind entirely and go back to how things were. He’s thought about that more than once. He could crawl back into the darkness and lie on a messy couch and watch Good Omens and laugh whenever he hears a white lie. However, things have changed, for better or for worse. Regrets and would-have-beens are other things Janus is not built for, cannot allow. The truth is that the past is the past. He cannot rewrite the story, only play his part to perfection, a hollow face with a useless name and a meaningless place among the sides he barely cares for.

He’s tired. He wants to go to sleep.

But Deceit cannot sleep when he still needs to glue in the cracks.

And he knows Roman should be on his list of Ridiculous Idiots to Help. He knows he should be talking to Roman right now. He knows it’s his job to check in on Roman, who has been more frazzled and angry every time Janus sees him, barely noticing when Patton says hello.

Roman might not want to see him.

And Janus really wants to sleep.

It’s a coward’s move to turn away from the door. But it’s what Janus does, because Janus is self-preservation and cowardly and selfish and that is what he is. It is all he is ever going to be. Pull off his gloves and scrape beneath his scales, and there is nothing there at all, nothing but a name and a title and an ever-shifting voice.

He can imitate any side he likes, help any side he wants, and hurt any side he chooses. Whenever his own desires and emotions get in the way, it only ends in turmoil and trouble and hurt.

He shouldn’t have even shared his name. Not because of Roman’s response, but because now everyone believes he’s their friend, a person in his own right, someone they’re capable of getting to know.

It’s Janus’ greatest lie, and it’s the one he hates the most.

He wants to sleep.

Janus is not in the mood to play pretend with Roman, to bait him into forgiveness, to pacify him with lies. Janus is in the mood to snap back. To bare his teeth and poke at weak spots and say whatever it takes for him to be left alone. He’s bubbling up with emotion and his walls are turning to swords. He can’t talk to Roman like this unless he wants Roman to stab him through the heart.

Janus groans and kicks angrily at the wall. It hurts. He enjoys the sensation of doing something other than sitting still and playing nice.

He’s going to go sleep.

He’ll come back when he’s less tired.

---

So come on, let me in.

Roman is standing at Janus’ door.

He wrote a letter this time. It took him an embarrassing number of drafts to get it, and he’s still not entirely happy with it, and he’s pretty sure he misspelled something in the third paragraph. He’d ask Logan for help, but Logan’s been prickly ever since Janus replaced him--and they were never on the best of terms to begin with. Logan, Roman is pretty sure, would gladly exchange him for another Creativity.

It stings in the way that only the truth does.

His letter is crumpled in his hand. He could simply slip it under the door and disappear. But he feels the urge to explain it, apologize for it, try to say something for himself instead of hiding behind shields of sentences. If only he could figure out what to say.

The letter is simple. It’s an apology and a request to try and work together. Roman ended up going for a short and sweet letter, even though it goes against all his instincts. Being extra like Roman usually is might not be the best idea. Being Roman might not be the best idea. If he wants to convince Janus that he’s not a bad guy, he should act like a little less of a self-centered, impulsive, cruel side with no tact and intelligence.

Wait. Why is this about convincing Janus that he’s not a bad guy? This is about apologizing. All Roman needs to do is apologize. It didn’t matter if Janus thinks he’s the bad twin--Janus has a point, after all.

Roman shakes his head. He shouldn’t be focused on what Janus said. They were just words and he could handle them. He’s the one that needs to apologize. Then Janus could forgive him and things could go back to normal--

Wait.

Was that why he was apologizing? Because it gets him what he wants?

Roman swallows and backs away from the door, letter limp in his hand. No. That can’t be right. He’s guilty. Some days he feels the guilt might tear him apart at the seams, rip through his blood vessels, curl around his heart and strangle his lungs until there’s nothing left but ash.

That’s a very Remus thought.

Roman shakes his head violently but it can’t dislodge the voice in his head. Evil twin.

This doesn’t matter! He doesn’t need to think about this. He can just drop off the letter for Janus and be on his way. He doesn’t need to try and apologize, or ask Janus what he meant by evil, or ask if Janus wants to replace him or if he’s already trying or if everyone’s decided Roman is worthless and needs to be replaced. He’s heard nothing about that, but he’s been in his room. For all he knows, Janus could be ousting him from his spot.

That should make him furious. Why doesn’t it make him furious? Where’s that burning passion that always gets him into trouble?

Is it because Janus is right?

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He needs to knock on Janus’ door and hand him the letter. He doesn’t even have to say anything. The letter--the stupid, poorly-written, not-enough-to-take-back-everything letter--can do the talking for him.

He could say he’s sorry. He could say, why did you say what you said? He could say, are you the bad guy? He could say, am I?

He could say a million things. None of them would give him the right answers and none of them would be enough to fix things.

All he has is one stupid letter.

Roman leaves it on the ground by Janus’ door and walks away,

Ten minutes later, he walks back over. The letter is still there. Roman grabs it and rips it into pieces. It spirals around his feet like confetti. He snaps his fingers and the little pieces burst into flames and blacken, crumbling to bits of ash. He kicks the ash into the corners of the hallway and walks away, hands clenched, chin high.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will be the sun.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He knows Roman has been nearby. Janus’ hallway now smells like smoke. It could be Remus, of course, but Remus wouldn’t light a fire without making a big deal out of it. So Roman lit something on fire in front of his door, whatever that means.

Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel worried.

He’s here to confront Roman about the fire, nothing else. It should be in and out. “Hello, Roman, might I inquire why you burned something in front of my door? And could you tell me how to get rid of the smell? It would be very kind of you.”

Of course, Janus’ hands have to betray him, and he’s stuck hovering around Roman’s door as if it’s shielded from him. He summons another hand, then another, then all of them. They all curl their fists and rise up to meet the door. None of them fall. None of them make a sound.

Janus almost hisses in frustration. Why is this so hard? What is he so afraid of?

He’s not supposed to be afraid. He’s Deceit. He’s faced down the worst parts of Thomas’ psyche. He’s tamed wild monsters in the Subconscious, gone toe-to-toe with Remus, dealt with Virgil when he was wild and fiery and didn’t know how to stop fighting. He holds the key to every secret Thomas has ever possessed. He doesn’t get scared.

And yet, a simple closed door is enough to bring him down.

Pathetic, he thinks. Then he catches himself. Negative self-talk is unhealthy. Even though it seems to be everywhere these days, his mind falling into old habits and ruts he didn’t know existed, slipping and sliding down a slope until he’s left spiraling and wondering if he’ll ever be able to fix things, if he’ll ever be more than a liar, if being Janus means anything at all or if he’s just fooling himself into believing he could ever have a family--

Janus clenches his fists. Not the time. He needs to talk to Roman.

And say what? Roman, I’m sorry. Roman, don’t hate me. Roman, you’re affecting Thomas. Roman, Patton is worried for you. Roman, I’m worried for you.

Roman, why did you light a fire outside my room?

Roman, why did it take so little work to break you?

He hadn’t even meant to. He always aims to protect Creativity, and well-placed flattery was the best tactic to lure Roman out of Patton’s grasp. He didn’t count on the insecurities beneath the surface that burst into being the moment Roman saw himself as a failure. They were just compliments. It was just a little manipulation. He hadn’t meant to--hadn’t meant to make Roman cry.

Some grand puppet master, hurting the one person he needed on his side.

This is why he can’t be trusted. This is why he isn’t meant up here in the light side. He isn’t good and pure. All he does is destroy things, people, dreams. He should have learned his lesson from Virgil. Instead, he jumped in where he wasn’t wanted and miscalculated the landing, and now Creativity is sulking with the door closed.

Creativity is broken.

Maybe he’s always been--maybe it just took Janus to throw all the fractures into the light.

Janus is good at unearthing secrets. He’s less good at dealing with the messy aftermath. Yet here he is, struggling to knock on a door, running through every word in his head. He is a master of deception, the lord of the lies, a silver-tongued trickster who could slip into skins and play any part he wishes. Yet he runs dry when thinking of what to say to Roman. There is nothing he can say.

Roman is only feet away, but so far beyond Janus’ reach.

Janus leans against the wall, two arms hugging himself, one hand reaching up to grab a fistful of hair, another covering his mouth. His final two still hover over Roman’s door, but Janus might as well have lost control of them entirely, since they refuse to knock.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Roman would surely take well to Janus’ interruption. And Janus doesn’t feel like being mocked for the state he is in--reduced to shudders, holding back tears, as if he has a right to be upset. As if he should be upset. He needs to pull himself together. He’s better than this.

Janus tightens his hand over his mouth. He can barely breathe. Was that what it felt like when he did the same to Logan? To Roman, to Patton, to Virgil? His gloves are soft and rough at the same time. Janus remembers taking one off, holding his hand up, feeling so exposed. He let down all his barriers--and he should have known that would backfire, he was Deceit, he wasn’t meant for truth and openness and friendship. He’d let his guard down and he’d gotten hurt.

Of course, it didn’t hurt him. At all.

Hello, Roman. Sorry about tearing into your insecurities and everything, but could you please apologize for making fun of my name?

Pathetic, Janus thinks again, and this time he doesn’t bother to stop himself. He is pathetic and a mess and about three seconds away from crying in front of Roman’s door.

Janus sighs and turns away, vanishing his extra arms into his cloak, leaving Roman’s door behind him. He supposes he’ll never know about the fire. He supposes it doesn’t really matter at all.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will wake you up.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He’s angry. Perhaps more furious than he should be, under the circumstances, but he kind of enjoys the way the anger sparks in his chest. It makes him feel more awake and in control than he has for months.

He’s not even sure what he’s angry at. It could be anything. The obvious answer is the fun little exchange he had with Thomas this morning--Thomas wants to bring Remus into more of their discussions. Thomas wants to “explore different directions in his content.” Thomas wants the other twin.

Thomas swears he wants Roman there, too, but Roman sees what this is really about. This is the beginning. This is how it starts--one word, one offer to join in movie nights, and soon Remus will be taking his place. Roman will be ousted from his seat at the table and be thrown into the darker side of Thomas’ mind. Forgotten, ignored, hated.

He’s known this was coming. He knows he deserves it.

But to actually hear it from Thomas himself--it stings. It aches and claws at him until he turns to anger, because anger is safe and anger allows him to find someone else to blame. Or maybe he didn’t choose anger. Maybe anger just came of its own accord, because emotions don’t always make sense, and Logan does always call Roman irrational.

He’s standing in front of Janus’ door and has the urge to pummel it to the ground.

Stupid Janus. Sneaky snake. Slimy boy. A two-faced trickster with a silver tongue and silly gloves. Why had Roman even considered apologizing to him? Janus doesn’t deserve it. He hasn’t--he hasn’t even tried to talk to Roman after everything. He’s just let Roman sit in his misery forever.

Maybe Roman doesn’t deserve an apology, but he’d sure as hell like one.

Maybe he’ll apologize too. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll leave Janus hanging, unsure of their position, struggling to get a grasp on whether Roman is serious or lying or hates Janus or hates himself or just wants some peace and quiet. Maybe he’ll make Janus confused, like Roman is every single day, and he can finally see Janus’ face when his insufferable righteous in-control expression falls away.

He’ll see the Janus behind the mask.

And maybe everything will make sense then. Maybe nothing will. Maybe Roman’s just grasping at straws, clawing at the sides of the hole he’s falling into, desperately reaching for anything that will keep him from 

He’s wearing his prince costume. It feels wrong and itchy around his shoulders. Too square, too gaudy, too ridiculously heroic. He got black ink stained on the shirt yesterday and panicked because he thought the Mindscape was turning him evil already. He should have known. Evil is a choice, in the end, and soon Roman will have to make that choice. Let himself fall, for the good of everyone, and learn what it’s like on the dark side.

Broadway, here he comes.

Still. Not yet. Roman has always been irritatingly persistent. And he needs to talk to Janus. Yell at Janus. Shake Janus until he gets answers to every question in his head. He doesn’t know what he’ll ask, but hopefully Janus will know, because Janus knows Roman better than Roman knows himself.

Roman raises his hand to knock on the door.

He taps quietly, once, twice.

The door creaks open.

Roman steps forward and looks into the room. It’s empty and still. There’s a surprising amount of dust on every surface. Books line the walls, almost more books than Logan’s room, and there’s a record player by an armchair, and some small lamps that glow the same shade as Janus’ eyes. His bed is old and mahogany and the sheets are rumpled.

Janus must be out, then. Perhaps talking with Remus or arguing with Virgil or debating with Logan or baking with Patton. Maybe he’s talking to Thomas, thinking through how they’ll break the news to Roman that he’s useless, that they’ve decided to lock him in his room and shove him into the back of the mind where he can’t mess up anything else.

The thought is burning and furious and climbs up Roman’s throat. His hand goes to his sword. He looks around at the room, dim and serene.

He could destroy it, if he wanted. He could tear it to pieces. He could burn the books on the walls, slice through the carpet on the floor, throw the record player against the wall and watch it break in two. He could open up the floorboards and read through the books and check under the bed and try to find something that tells him more about Janus, that’s something real and tangible beneath a million layers of deception.

He could. He wants to. He wants to so badly, and this is why he never gives himself what he wants, because desire is a sickening sensation that scares him.

He could destroy everything.

He is Creativity--he is meant to create. But if his title means nothing, what’s wrong with using the other side of the coin?

He could burn this place to the ground.

Everything is so still and perfect. It’s all waiting for Janus. Roman can almost picture him curled up in that recliner, reading a book, humming along to a song on the record player. His hair falling over his face, his capelet messed up, his eyes half-closed.

It’s a beautiful room. Elegant and refined. He should have expected nothing less.

It seems wrong for Roman to destroy it.

Right and wrong have gotten him in trouble before. He’s no authority on the subject. He is wrong. All he does is wrong. That’s what Patton thinks, he’s sure of it, and that’s what Thomas thinks. That’s what Janus thinks. Deep down, it’s what Roman thinks, too.

He is not going to add one more mistake to his tally. He is already falling--there’s no need to tug anyone down with him.

Roman steps out and closes the door.

He’ll come back when Janus is there.

---

I am who I was.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He vowed to only come back when he thought of what to say. However, he’s already breaking that promise. He’s in this accursed hallway again, lurking in the shadows like the villain he is, eyeing the door and wondering if it’ll spring open of its own accord.

He shouldn’t be here, of course, but his mind won’t leave him alone.

He wishes Roman would just talk to him and make things simple. But Roman appears to have no interest in communication. Roman has been avoiding him, cutting him off, slipping out of every room Janus enters. It would be irritating--it is irritating--but Janus is more concerned than irritated.

That, in itself, is irritating. He shouldn’t be so worried about Roman. He should be furious with the side, not appearing at his door once again, preparing to apologize when he’s received nothing of the sort in return.

He should just leave Roman alone.

But he’s worried.

Maybe he should just shelve the apologies for now. Maybe he should simply knock on Roman’s door and see if he’s okay.

That sounds like a better plan than stammering through apologies he’s not sure if he means, throwing away every mote of dignity he has left, shattering every wall he’d work so hard to build.

Janus raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open.

Janus stumbles backwards, tripping over his feet and barely managing to steady himself, trying to look like he was just walking past and not standing in front of Roman’s door like a stalker.

It must not work, because Roman scowls deeply and asks “What are you doing?”

“I...” Janus pulls his capelet tighter around him and tries not to panic. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Make it quick,” Roman says. His eyes are red and there’s a smear of ink down his cheek. Janus has the urge to reach out and wipe it off.

“I was worried,” Janus finally says. “I am worried.”

“About what?” Roman asks.

“You.”

That gets Janus an even darker glare.

“Everything’s under control,” Roman spits out. “No thanks to you.”

“Are you sure?” Janus finds himself asking. “You’ve been--”

“I’ve been what?” Roman’s lip curls. “I’m doing fine. I’m doing my job. I have so many ideas, you wouldn’t believe. If there’s a problem with what I create, it’s because you won’t leave me alone.”

“That’s not what I--” Janus swallows. “I’m not concerned with your output.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve already decided it’s not worth anything.” Roman looks Janus up and down. “Still wearing that? Thought you’d get a wardrobe change now that you’re officially one of the good guys.”

“I like this,” Janus says weakly.

“Don’t see why you do. It looks like a curtain swallowed you whole.”

Bile rises up in Janus’ throat. “And you certainly look like the pinnacle of fashion,” he snaps back before he can stop himself. “You’re giving Virgil a run for his money with those eye bags. I thought princes were supposed to be poised.”

He seems to have hit a nerve, because Roman’s eyes flame. There’s no other word for it. They snap and crackle like a bonfire.

“What are you still doing here?” Roman grits out. “I’m busy.”

“Like I said, I’m worried.” Janus holds up his hands. “But clearly, I shouldn’t bother.”

“No, you shouldn’t!” It’s almost a scream. “I don’t need you here! I’m doing fine!”

“You do know who you’re trying to lie to, right?”

“Yes, I do.” Roman sneers. “Deceit. I know exactly what you are. And you will never take my place, understand me? I am never going to be a villain. I know you want to oust me, but you’re powerless. You’re a two-faced trickster with a million lies who doesn’t care about anything, and I’m Thomas’ Creativity. You go up against me, and I will win every time.”

“Is that a threat?” Janus asks, his mind whirling.

“It’s going to be if you don’t leave.”

“Look, listen--” Janus spreads his hands. “I’m just trying to help, no one is replacing anyone, if you’d just listen to me for once in your life--”

“I listened to you and that’s why I’m here.” Roman waves a hand. “I’m done hearing what you have to say. Leave me alone.”

“But--”

“Leave!”

Roman slams his door loud enough to rattle the walls.

Janus is left standing there, part of him knowing that he probably caught Roman at a bad time, but his chest squeezing despite of that. He shakes his head and tries to think on the bright side. He’s gotten his answer. Roman wants nothing to do with him. Not a surprise, and not something Janus can blame Roman for. So everything was alright. He now has an excuse to go about his day and stop worrying about Roman all the time.

He sighs and turns away from the door, tears rising to his eyes unbidden. He swipes them away. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. He’s heard worse.

Janus leaves, planning to curl in the corner of his room and listen to his favorite playlist and try to scrub Roman’s fiery eyes from his mind.

He’ll come back if it’s desperate.

---

Just open up your heart.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

Well, no, he isn’t. He’s crumpled in a ball at the foot of it, back pressed against the wood, arms around his knees and his head tucked between them. He figures he probably started out standing, but he can’t remember. He’s been here for a while. It’s late--maybe past midnight, maybe not. He doesn’t really care. Everything’s dark. He could conjure a light, but that would take energy he doesn’t have, energy that’s going towards trying to stop his breathing from stumbling over itself and stopping.

In and out. In and out. What are the numbers Virgil always uses? Four, five, eight? No, four, five, six. Does it even start with four? He should remember this. Why is he so stupid?

In. Out. In. Out. His breathing is shallow and too deep at the same time. It rasps at the edge of his lungs. He squeezes tighter at his thighs. His throat is choking up. At this rate, he’ll be crying or fainting soon enough. He hopes it’s the second one. He wouldn’t mind just going blank for awhile. Everything’s so loud in his head.

He’s crying now. Great. Never gets what he wants, does he?

He tries to rub away the tears. They keep coming. They drip over his hands and burn like fire. They trickle down his skin and he tries to scratch at them to make them go away. All that happens is irritated red skin.

Something’s itching and tugging inside him. He wants to grab it out of his chest and unspool it until he feels less like he’s trapped in someone else’s skin, thin and papery and about to shatter under his fingers.

In. Out. In. Out.

Breathing is so simple. Why can’t he do it? Why won’t it work? Why does he have to mess everything up like he always does?

He should at least move. He should sink out. He should get away from Janus’ door. What if Janus sees him like this?

Then again, that’s all he wants, isn’t it?

He wants Janus to see him. He wants to look Janus in the face. And he wants to beg for forgiveness.

He wants to--he wants to say sorry.

Say everything.

He wants to tell Janus his name isn’t stupid--it’s beautiful and unique and drips with the mythological implications that Roman loves. God of doorways. Beginnings and endings. Two-faced. There’s room enough for both evil and good in Janus. There can be both friend and foe. He may have ended things for Roman, but he’s also found the beginning of something new, and as a fellow creator Roman can respect the change Janus has wrought.

Janus is wondrous and hilarious and smart and so, so worthy of the place he’s finally received.

And he’s worried about Roman.

And Roman yelled at him.

Because Roman can’t stand the idea--the fact--that he’s going to be replaced. He’s such a coward. He thought he could step down gracefully, but he had to claw his way back to a place he isn’t wanted, because he’s desperate. He’s so desperate. He would do anything to get Janus’ approval. Or Patton’s, or Logan’s, or Thomas’. He would do anything in the world to be loved.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic--

Roman curls tighter.

Maybe he won’t mind being a dark side if it gets the knives in his lungs to stop slicing deeper.

Maybe he should just duck out before he causes any more trouble.

Everything’s itching and spinning and his breath comes in short gasps and he can no longer tell if he’s breathing in or out.

He closes his eyes, opens them again, blinks away the tears clustered on his lashes, tries to tighten his grip on his legs so he can finally be crushed into little pieces or feel safe or pretend that someone is there with him, running him through exercises, saying that he’s worthy and loved and still a hero even when he’s crumpled on the ground with a heaving chest and wrinkled pajamas.

Logan would do it. Maybe. If Roman asked. Logan would calm him down, at least. Maybe Virgil would, too.

They’re nice that way.

They’d calm him down.

Then they’d kick him out and say he’s too weak to ever be a prince.

He should leave. Why is he still here? Why can’t he move?

Why is everything collapsing around him?

Why is he such a failure?

He’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s going to die. He’s going to fall to pieces in this hallway and they’ll find his burned edges tomorrow morning and they’ll kick the ashes into the corners and move on.

He needs to go.

He doesn’t want to go.

He wants to slam his fist into Janus’ door and break it down and collapse around Janus and sob into his shoulder and promise he’ll be better, promise he’ll make things right, if Janus just gives him one more chance and opens up his heart--

Roman takes a long shaky breath.

In. And out. In. And out.

You’re doing good, says a voice that might be Logan’s and might be Virgil’s and somehow manages to cut through the haze in his head. Keep breathing.

In, out, in, out.

Roman lets his head loll forward. He’s done. He’s exhausted. He wants to curl up under his blankets and sleep forever.

He raises one hand.

He could knock on the door.

Janus is probably asleep.

Janus hates him.

Janus is right to hate him.

He needs to go.

Roman closes his eyes and lets his head thunk against Janus’ door. Cold and stiff and hard and telling him to go.

Roman snaps his fingers and sinks out.

He’ll come back when he’s less desperate.

---

I know I could be more clever, and I know I could be more strong.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It wasn’t his idea this time. He’d been perfectly happy avoiding Roman any chance he got. But Virgil had come running into Janus’ room, insisting that Roman had been on-and-off panicking for the past few days, and begging Janus to do something about it.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Janus had said. “I’m not exactly the best side for the job, and I’m sure he’d love to see me.”

“Please,” Virgil had said.

Janus had always been weak for Virgil, a fact he abhorred, and Virgil was asking him for help. Janus. Virgil trusted Janus to help Roman, even though Janus had done nothing but help Roman sink to even greater depths.

What was Janus supposed to do, just turn Virgil away?

So now he’s here, knocking twice on Roman’s door, ignoring the nerves that crawl up his throat and tickle under his scales. He hopes Roman isn’t here. He hopes Roman is in a good mood. He hopes Roman is okay.

There’s no answer.

Janus knocks harder.

“Go away,” he hears.

Janus contemplates shifting into Patton or Virgil or someone else. But Roman is remarkably good at catching him in disguise, and the idea just feels wrong to him. Besides, that would certainly get Roman to trust him--once again impersonating one of his closest friends.

Janus knocks once more.

“Go away, Patton,” Roman calls.

Janus opens his mouth to correct Roman and finds that it’s gone too dry for speech.

He settles for knocking again.

“I’m coming!” There are rustling noises. The irritation in Roman’s voice is plain, but so is the fatigue, and so is a crackling, cutting edge that betrays he’s upset.

The door flies open. “I told you, Patton, I’m not coming to dinner--”

Janus waves sheepishly.

Roman stares at Janus for a few very long seconds.

“Roman?” Janus asks. “I...I came to check on you, Virgil says you’ve been upset lately and you seemed rather--volatile when we last spoke. So...I...is everything alright? Would you like to talk?” He laughs to himself. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I could fetch Patton, or--”

Roman keeps staring at Janus.

“Roman?” Janus asks again.

And Roman bursts into tears.

He tries to stifle them, if the way he presses a fist to his mouth is any indication, but it doesn’t work. Tears drip from his eyes and he starts sobbing softly. It’s a pathetic sound and it makes Janus’ chest ache.

“Hey,” Janus says frantically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“‘S not your fault,” Roman chokes out between sobs, “just bein’ stupid--”

“You--” Janus gives up on words and reaches out, touching Roman’s shoulder. He expects Roman to throw himself away from the touch. Instead, Roman whines and throws himself forward, latching onto Janus’ clothes and curling up against his chest.

Janus bites back a gasp--when was the last time he’s been hugged? He doesn’t remember--and slowly slides to the floor, bringing Roman with him. He sits in the doorway with Roman practically in his lap, sobbing into his shoulder.

He expects Roman to stop crying soon. He waits for Roman to realize exactly what he’s doing--that he’s in the arms of a side he hates. But Roman doesn’t. He must be really upset.

Janus swallows and shifts into Patton’s form. A cat hoodie settles around his shoulders and he clucks his tongue, running his hands through Roman’s hair.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says in a voice that’s not his own, “let it out, okay? Let it out.”

Roman makes an unidentifiable wailing noise and pushes at Janus’ shoulder.

Not Patton, then. Janus slouches and lets a purple hoodie form around his arms. It’s surprisingly comfortable. He huffs, his bangs fluttering a bit, and rubs circles in Roman’s back.

“What happened, Princey?” he asks in Virgil’s growling tones. “Who do I need to yell at?”

Roman shakes his head vehemently.

So Janus straightens again--as much as he can, he’s still gay, and why is he making ridiculous jokes when Creativity is crying into his shoulder--and a tie knots itself around his neck.

“Breathe in for four,” he instructs in Logan’s clipped voice. “Hold for seven, out for eight. You are figuratively breaking down and you need to steady yourself.”

Roman flinches away.

Janus switches back to Virgil, because he’s feeling anxious and he’s run out of people and Virgil seems to be the person Roman likes the most.

“Stop,” Roman pleads, looking up into Janus’ face that isn’t Janus’ face. His eyes are red and tears cling to his eyelashes.

“I don’t know what you want,” Janus blurts out. “I can be Thomas, I can get the real Thomas, I can leave you alone--”

“Don’t leave.” Roman clings to him tighter. “Don’t.”

“Thomas, then?” Janus coughs and shifts into Thomas. It’s the hardest one yet and it makes him feel rather bad. He’s never impersonated Thomas before. That’s been an internal rule for him--Thomas is off-limits. But if Roman needs it... “Keep breathing, buddy--”

“Stop!” Roman yells. “Stop pretending to be people!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Janus asks, his panic probably showing. “What do you want me to be?”

“You!” Roman shakes his head. “You’re who I want, stop hiding and just be you.”

Janus is silent.

Roman starts crying again, making a mess of Janus’ clothes, but he finds himself barely caring.

“Shh,” he says, cupping the back of Roman’s head, remembering all the nights he had to talk Virgil down, the little spider curled up next to him. “Shh, easy, okay? In and out. You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

“I--” Roman stumbles over his words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk. Focus on breathing.”

“I’m sorry!” Roman insists. “I-I’m so sorry, Janus, please--”

“I know.” And Janus finds he does, at least right now. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Roman murmurs into Janus’ shoulder.

Janus smirks. “Don’t tell me what to do, Roman.”

“You--” Roman sits up straight, eyes wide. “You--please don’t make me leave--I’m sorry--I can do better, I promise, I know you want to but I don’t want to leave--”

“Leave?” Janus repeats. “Where on earth are you leaving?”

“H-here.” Roman waves a hand, his face crumpling again. “‘Cause I’m bad. I’m the evil twin.”

Janus feels horror clench in the pit of his stomach. “That is not--I said that as an offhand jab! Roman, you’re not evil--and for that matter, neither is Remus--Roman, listen to me.”

Roman has disappeared into Janus’ arms again, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Listen,” Janus orders. “You’re not leaving. Remus is not replacing you. I have no idea where you got that.”

“You’re lying,” Roman says miserably. “That’s all you do.”

Janus hisses between his teeth. “That’s not--”

“I know. Sorry.”

“It’s not.” Janus pauses. “Your name is Roman. You are the embodiment of Thomas’ creativity. You like Disney and love to write and want to find Thomas the prince of his dreams.”

Roman shifts a little in Janus’ arms.

“You have a brother named Remus that you aren’t proud of. You are friends with Virgil, who you used to dislike. You often fight with Logan but you care for him nonetheless, and he feels the same for you. You are good friends with Patton.”

“Not anymore,” Roman says.

“You are. Things will work out between you two. He still views you as a close friend.” Janus reached out and swept Roman’s hair off his forehead. “You are Creativity. You are strong, passionate, and indispensable. Everyone here cares deeply about you and forgives you for your mistakes. You are not broken or evil or a dark side.”

Roman shudders.

“I can speak the truth,” Janus says, and it sounds wrong but also so right. “I am not only my lies, and you are not only your mistakes, and I speak the truth when I say that I will never make you leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman says. “I’m so sorry.”

Janus sighs. “I’m sorry, too.”

And they fall silent, with nothing left to say, Roman still clutching Janus like a lifeline, Janus rubbing the back of Roman’s neck and bringing out another arm or two to help keep Roman in place. Roman doesn’t flinch. Janus finds this oddly reassuring.

“It’s late,” Janus finally says. “I’m sure you’re tired after that.”

“Yeah,” Roman admits. “But I’ve got work to do, I can’t just--”

“You can’t possibly get any work done in this state, unless your creativity is increased by mental breakdowns.” Janus sighs and pulls Roman to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears. “Go to sleep, Roman. I’ll be able to tell if you haven’t.”

“Creepy,” Roman mutters, but he grins shyly and turns to go into his room.

"Roman?” Janus asks before he can talk himself out of it.

“Yes, Nag-gini?”

“Ouch,” Janus says blandly, to convey that he isn’t hurt at all. On the contrary, the nickname makes him feel somewhat bouncy. Ridiculous emotions. “I wanted to...extend an invitation, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Janus tucks one hand behind his back so he can fidget. “I...my room. Tomorrow afternoon at three or so? Just knock on the door.”

“What’ll we do?” Roman asks.

“Whatever we feel like.” Janus swallows. “Of course it’s perfectly understandable if you wish to spend your time elsewhere, I was only raising the possibility--”

“Calm down, you sound like Logan.” Roman laughs a bit. “‘Course I’ll come. Um--thanks.”

“It’s no trouble,” Janus says smoothly, neatly avoiding mentioning the several weeks he’s spent trying to work up the nerve to talk to Roman. “I’ll see you then. Now get some rest or I’ll send Remus to knock you out.”

Roman laughs again. It sends fluttering happiness through Janus’ chest. He hasn’t heard Roman laugh for weeks.

“Bye,” Roman says, closing the door and waving.

“Goodbye,” Janus says back.

Janus lingers for a few more moments before turning away.

He’ll come back soon enough.

---

I'm waiting for the day you come back and say "Hey, maybe I should change my mind."

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It should be easier this time around. He’s been invited! Janus expects him to knock on this door, and if he hasn’t suddenly decided he hates Roman again, Janus will welcome him in.

What if he has changed his mind?

No, that’s ridiculous. Janus wouldn’t do that. He’s steady and ridiculously one-note--if he says one thing, he sticks by it.

He said Roman was the evil twin.

Then he said Roman wasn’t.

And he’s a liar, a trickster, so Roman can’t figure out which one is right.

One was said during a fit of anger. The other was said to calm Roman down. One is the truth, one is a lie, and Roman knows well enough that he’s very bad at telling when Janus is lying. Maybe Janus only complimented him to manipulate him later--maybe it was all flattery--maybe it was a joke Roman was too stupid to get--

Roman’s mind is spinning. He needs to stop overthinking this or he’ll start panicking again. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Janus invited him and it’s going to be fine--

Unless this is a trap. Maybe everyone’s waiting in there, ready to send Roman to the Dark Side. Or maybe it’s a test, and Janus will interview him, see if he’s realy changed. And he’ll find ouut that Roman hasn’t. That Roman is a failure and always will be.

He doesn’t want those piercing eyes staring him down.

If Janus can sense lies, he’ll know all the things Roman lied about.

Is he lying? Is he telling the truth? Roman runs back and forth in his head, exploring every possibility, but it all comes down to the fact that he doesn’t know Janus at all. Janus could be doing anything with this. He could have changed his mind and Roman could be pushing himself into a space he isn’t wanted. He should just leave before he causes any more trouble--

“Roman?”

Roman flinches back as the door opens.

And Janus smiles. “There you are. Come inside!”

Roman does, hesitantly, still feeling like any moment the other shoe will fall. He tries to look around at Janus’ rom like he’s never seen it before. Janus would surely be mad if he learned Roman had snuck into it before.

“What are we doing?” Roman asks after Janus has settled into his armchair and Roman has perched on the edge of the bed.

“A little bird told me you’re struggling with your ideas,” Janus says, pulling a few books off the shelf. “I figured a change of scenery might help? And I fancy myself rather good at telling tales.”

“Really?” Roman asks.

“Of course.” Janus smirks. “Would I lie to you?”

Roman’s indecision must show on his face, because Janus sinks a little bit and sighs.

“I know you can’t trust me,” Janus says quietly, “but I really am just trying to help.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman agrees.

“You shouldn’t.” Janus nods. “It’s not wise.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman says again. “But...I think I could trust Janus. If I got to know him a bit.”

Something flashes across Janus’ face. “Janus doesn’t exist.”

“It’s you.”

“No, it’s not, it’s--” Janus is getting worked up now, and Roman has no idea what he did. “I can’t explain it. Janus isn’t real. Deceit is who I am.”

“Janus is real,” Roman argues, because he doesn’t know Janus that well but even he knows that. 

“No it’s not! I’m not!” Janus throws up his hands. “I’m a liar, I’m a fake, I’m a fraud, why don’t you get that?”

“You’re not.” Roman leans forward. “You’re a dork and ridiculously dramatic and you like musicals and you don’t like being wrong and you look good in a suit and you can pull off a hat the way I can’t and you love sarcasm and--” Roman shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not Deceit. That’s Janus. And I’d like to see a little more of him sometimes.”

“Don’t...” Janus pauses. “Just...I’d like not to be Janus. For a while. Janus...I’m scared of that. I’d just like something between Deceit and Janus, if that’s alright. ”

“Dee?” Roman asks. “Does that work?”

“Dee,” Janus repeats. “That’s...” A smile flashes over his face. A real smile. “I like that.”

“Dee, then.” Roman smiles. “Aladdin?”

“Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Snow White.”

“Black Cauldron.”

Roman grins wider. “The Incredibles?”

Janus laughs. “Not Disney.”

“Pixar, and we’re doing it.” Roman pauses, searching for words. “Um... you alright, Janus? Are we...good?”

Janus is silent for a long time.

“We could be,” Janus says. “I think we’re getting there.”

“Great,” Roman says. And finds he means it. Things aren’t perfect, but he can get better. He knows that.

Roman can leave some things unspoken for now. Janus hears them anyway.

And he’ll come back to them when he’s ready.

---

I was out on the town so I came to your window last night.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s open, so he slips inside, sits next to Roman on the bed, and stares at the swirls of paint across the ceiling. They look like the currents of an ocean, the sweep of galaxies across the sky.

“Everything’s changing,” Roman says.

“Yes,” Janus says.

“I don’t like change.”

“Nobody does.”

“This...this is good change, though.” Roman pauses. “Right?”

Janus thinks of the discussions they’ve had. The way Thomas is really trying to put himself first when necessary. Patton’s cookies, Logan’s debates, Remus’ little octopus plushies that he gifted them all after getting accepted. Virgil, who gave Janus a quick “sorry” over breakfast cereal, and somehow that said everything that needed to be said.

He thinks of Roman. How wrong he was about Roman. Roman is not broken and never has been--he simply stumbled, and with help, he is rising again. He smiles more often. He sings along to Disney movies. He laughs at Patton’s puns. He’s started reading wit Logan in the afternoons. He’s even sparring with his brother, and it seems less vindictive than it used to be, as if it’s only a playfight now.

Roman is happier. Not happy, not perfect, but better.

And Janus feels...a little better, too.

“It’s good change,” Janus agrees.

“You want to do some Shakespeare?” Roman offers.

“I was thinking Dante’s Inferno,” Janus responds, like he always does.

“Boring,” Roman says like always, wrinkling his nose. “Disney?”

“Disney,” Janus agrees.

“I’ll get it ready, Janus--” Roman pauses. “Um...is Janus good today?”

Janus thinks about it. Because Janus has connotations and weighty moments and Roman’s laughter still rings in his ears. He doesn’t want to be Deceit. He’s scared to be Janus. He wants a little space in between, to find out who he is without the lies, to find out how he could be...more. More than his job. Maybe a friend, maybe a confidant, maybe somebody worthy.

Janus could be that. If he wanted.

Some days Janus crawls over his skin, wrong and itchy and reminding him of how much of a lie he is. Today it settles in place--strange and a little new, but not bad. A change. Not a bad change.

Sometimes things need to change.

Sometimes you need to talk a leap of faith and knock on the door.

“Janus is alright.” Janus smiles. “Janus is good, actually.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees, smiling back, “he is.”

The door is open. It’s remained so for weeks. And even if it wasn’t, Janus would find the courage to knock. Because he knows Roman would do the same for him.

He’ll always come back.

He’ll always try again.

---

Now I'm causing a scene,

thinking you need a reason to smile.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

Taglist sourced from @the-taglist-repository:

@callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @idont-freaking-know @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks @aceawkwardunicorn @just-your-typical-trans-guy @legendsgates @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @k1ngtok1 @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @potatsanderssides @arya-skywalker @somehow-i-got-an-account @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @locked-prism @kieraelieson @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

[rosesgonerogue]

How to be a Dad 101

Chapter Three - A Single Red Rose

Jasonette July Day 4

Masterlist

He knew his brothers were wondering what on earth was up with him, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care in the least. Jason left them behind without a thought, telling Marinette to direct him to wherever she was staying. 

Jason felt restless. The image of Marinette dangling from the ladder, seconds from death, it had burrowed into his mind, sending him more and more panic. He knew she was okay - she was standing right beside him. But the what-ifs were enough to drive him mad. 

A large part of him was balking at the fact that he cared so much. What was so special about this tiny French girl?

They barely spoke on the way to the hotel, and after he’d watched her get in safely, he found himself perching on the rooftop of said hotel, safeguarding it from nonexistent threats. Up there, he had entirely too much time to think. 

The intensity of his emotions right now was concerning to say the least, but he hadn’t felt so close to losing himself to anger since the first few months after coming back to life. Seeing Marinette safe seemed to be the only solution to the condition, but it wasn’t sustainable. He wasn’t a big enough asshole to force himself and all of his emotional minefields on her but he couldn’t pull himself away just yet. 

Jason would never pretend to be any sort of saint, but he knew that Marinette deserved someone better than him. She had an entire life waiting for her in Paris, and doubtlessly a whole host of perfect, non-homicidal men just waiting for her. It wasn’t fair or kind to her to encourage anything more from their acquaintance. She was too delicate to be faced with the things that life threw at him daily, too precious.

If he were truly a good man, Jason would have made his excuses and bowed out of his agreement, or maybe simply not shown up at all. But Jason was not a good man, so he let himself have this one day, a single day to forget his life.

It ended up being a great day. He’d had misgivings at first, but Marinette’s friends were pretty fun. Alya finally got her footage, a frankly impressive video of Adrien and Marinette tag-teaming a mugger – that definitely didn’t help him break his growing attachment to the girl, although it did make him rethink the whole “too delicate” thing.

By the end of the day, Jason had been accepted into the group. He couldn’t remember laughing that much for a very, very long time. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of the motley crew, but they definitely kept him on his toes. It was pure chaos, with moments where Marinette tripped, only to somersault and land perfectly on her feet, holding her hands out like Dick did whenever he pulled one of his gymnastics stunts. At lunch, Adrien got so distracted that he ordered his food in at least four different languages before Nino finally took pity on him and ordered it in English. Meanwhile, despite Nino and Marinette constantly kidnapping her phone, Jason was pretty sure that Alya had already finished an article to accompany her footage of the mugger.

It seemed that Marinette hadn’t told any of them about the incident with Killer Croc this morning, so he forced himself to take every opportunity he could to remind them never to walk around alone.

He was also forced to make his excuses about being gone for the rest of the week for a sudden family emergency. Just the words were almost enough to make him gag.

Marinette looked a little sad, which made Jason feel so weak. But with the same smile as always, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to show us the best things today.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She raised her own, putting her hands on her hips. “Is that white patch of hair on your head fake?”

“It’s actually natural.”

Mirth glittered in her eyes. “I don’t believe you, but get a move on! We’re wasting daylight.”

The following day, no matter how much Jason tried to forget, or pretend that it didn’t happen, was ingrained on his very soul. It was the best day of his life, and it quickly turned into the best night of his life. Never before had he… well, Jason laid awake long after Marinette had fallen asleep, wondering if this was what love felt like.

Leaving her was worse than being shot, worse than being resurrected, and worse than dying in the first place. Jason felt like he was leaving that best part of himself with her, but it was the only way he could protect her.

Moving as quietly as possible, Jason collected his things. He couldn’t have known how much he would think of and obsess over this day, this woman. He couldn’t have known that this day would change his entire life, or that it would do the same to Marinette.

We cannot know the future, and the same held true for Marinette in Jason. Almost in mourning, Jason would go on a two-month road trip around the country, trying and failing to distance himself from the memory of her. Understanding that everything about that final day meant goodbye, Marinette would never try to find or contact Jason again – although it would have been nearly impossibly had she tried. She didn’t even know his last name. No, in some ways she was completely alone the mornings she woke up nauseous, and when she finally decided to buy a pregnancy test. She had her friends and family to hold her when it came back positive, and again in the delivery room.

Marinette’s joy would be more than she could have ever imagined, but it would always come with an edge. A part of her mind would always dwindle on Jason with every first word or step.

Years later they would reunite, and together lament their lost time and experiences. Jason would be surprised at how sweet it felt to be called “dad.” But the unknowable future is always held captive by the cruel present,  and although it grieved him, all Jason knew was that in the present, it was time for him to leave.

It pained him to think of abandoning her without leaving a trace of him behind, so Jason gave her the two parting gifts he could afford to give her: a kiss on the forehead, and a single red rose.

Taglist: 

@jasonette-july-2k20 @ira-sairain @myazael @pawsitivelymiraculous @nik-nak-3 @dast218 @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

Note: 

Sorry if you ask to get tagged and I don’t get to it right away, things are super chaotic rn. On that same note, the next couple days might not come out strictly on time, my life is a complete disaster at the moment. I look forward to seeing what you guys think. 

[kill-for-cookies]

Hi! Could I request literally anything Whittaker!Master please?!

Also justt want to say that I love you’re writing and that you’re incredible 💕 have a great day

Aaaaaw, that's so nice of you! Thank you so much. At one point, I thought about stopping writing altogether, but you proved me wrong. Unfortunately, this took me longer than I thought (I was out of writing and fandom), but I hope you enjoy it. This is my present for you on my birthday :)

Dealing with the Devil

---------------------------------------------------

Another morning of another day. A normal morning. That's an odd word for you, considering you've been traveling with the Doctor, but not anymore. You'll have to get used to this word, to a new lifestyle and daily routine.

You didn't have an argument with a time traveler. You just outgrown these endless adventures. Of course, travel in time and space is wonderful, but it seems you're tired of constant stress, concern, anxiety, waiting for danger. From this point of view, it's not as exciting as it used to be.

Besides, you're tired of helping people all the time, risking your own life. Sometimes people have to overcome difficulties and let them save themselves. Maybe you've become more selfish over the years, but no one is perfect, so you weren't too worried.

The day was clear, almost cloudless, with no bright sun. Peace and tranquility. At such moments, you liked to go to a cafe, take your time, drink coffee with a bun in a pleasant and cozy atmosphere. In addition, it was where you made friends for the first time with a girl who works in cafe and is not associated with traveling in a blue police box. For that, you appreciated this place even more.

When you arrived at the cafe, waiting in line, you met the eyes of Lucy, your friend, who greeted you, but somehow without emotions, which wasn't like herself. Maybe she was just tired. Or was it just the morning? It's only 9 am.

You decided to look around for now. In the farthest corner on the right sat a man with an orange cap, typing something on a computer. And in the middle sat a lady in a big black hat, looking out of the window and holding a cup in both hands.

When your turn finally came, you ordered everything as usual, namely coffee with a croissant. You tried to start a conversation with Lucy while your coffee was being made, but nothing much came of it. Your friend didn't answer much, just smiled.

Everything would have been fine, but something was clearly wrong. Your instincts told you that and one thing you've learned from your adventures with the Doctor is that you can't ignore your instincts.

Your friend were just smiling, nothing suspicious or strange, but for some reason you felt uneasy, your back went all goosebumps. And you couldn't explain why.

'Please, Y/N, stop. Why do you always have to think about the bad things? It just seemed to you, stop looking for a catch' you thought. And it was true. What makes you think you're a trouble magnet and not the Doctor? The answer is obvious, isn't it?

After receiving your order, you sat down at a table and sipped some coffee, which was as always delicious. Well, the robot definitely couldn't make such a divine drink. So all your previous doubts were disappeared, dissolved in a fog of pleasure.

But something inside you said it was worth coming here tomorrow. God knows why. Maybe the coffee was so good or something else...

The next morning. The weather got a little worse, but that didn't spoil your mood. You were lucky to have two days off in a row. You didn't have to get up early and do anything special.

This time you were late - you left the house at 11 am. It was because first you decided to stay in bed and not get up, then you took a long time to get ready, and then you went to the cafe on foot, and not by bus as usual.

Once inside, you took a couple of steps forward and looked at the entire cafe, out of old habit. It was just like yesterday. Nothing changed. Also noisy and cozy, Lucy with a cold face, all the same people at the tables - at the farthest corner man with a computer and an orange cap, and in the middle a lady in a big black hat... Stop! Nothing changed at all! You have a photographic memory for faces.

'Okay, that's weird. Should I leave? Yeah, I think it's a good idea' you couldn't help but agree with your voice of reason and calmly, behaving completely normal, turned around and headed for the door...

But unfortunately, you didn't have time to get out - you ran into some big man. You were hoping you could get off with a quick excuse and sneak out, but he grabbed you by forearms hard, spun you around and pushed you forward a little. Everyone in the cafe looked at you with cold, unfeeling eyes, like robots.

At that moment, you had no doubt that something was wrong. Why do these things happen to you? Maybe it was a new version of Cybermen with invisible armor? Or Daleks masquerading as humans? If only the Doctor would arrive here, as usual, at the right moment...

"Oh, don't worry, I did everything I could to keep him out of our way" oh no, it was even worse than the Daleks and Cybermen put together. You knew exactly who said that. How could you not notice her blonde head and smug grin with red lips? Right now, you were just cursing yourself with every possible word and wanting to sink through the ground.

"Master..." you said it through clenched teeth, almost growling her name, which makes you weak, defenseless and annoyed you. And surely, the blonde grinned even wider, showing snow-white teeth.

"It's nice to know you haven't forgotten me yet, sweetheart" now the Master stood in front of you with all her arrogant majesty. She was watching you closely, waiting for your reaction. Her gaze seemed to look into your soul and ignite something in you, thus adding fuel to the fire.

"Don't call me like you and I are old friends" you barely restrained your anger, not to spoil a difficult situation, from which you still need to somehow get out. At least alive...

"Aren't we?" the Time Lady was feigning surprise. "Didn't you enjoy our moments together?" her lower lip pushed forward, as if offended, though you didn't even need to know the Master to know she was secretly exulting.

Not to say that you didn't stay alone with her, but the Master certainly didn't show any special interest in you. Just as a Doctor's companion, that's all. At least, that was what you thought.

You chose not to answer her question. It wasn't even you didn't want to please her. You just didn't know the answer to it. The blonde just gave you a toothy smile. She was having too much fun. You couldn't even remember when she was like this.

"What do you want from me?" you had enough of this. The sooner you found out what this arrogant Time Lady wanted, the sooner you'd turn her down and maybe be able to return home. Although knowing the Master, the last one was unlikely.

She walked around you like a snake encircling its prey and, standing behind you, whispered in your ear:

"An offer you can't refuse. But before I tell you about it, I suggest you sit down" the blonde pointed to the table with her hand. You didn't have much of choice: anyway, you'd end up at that damned table and listen to her. Voluntarily or by force.

So you reluctantly sat down at the table. A few moments later, the Master was sitting across from you. You tried to read her face to see what she was going to offer, but you couldn't. But you noticed something else.

The Master behaved somehow differently. Well, arrogant as always. Well, Time 'What is personal space?' Lady. But there was something else and it was eluding you, but it was clearly bothering you... Why did it bother you at all?

"What's the deal?" to be honest, you were really curious to know. Of course, your answer would remain unchanged in any case, but what exactly prompted the Time Lady to come to you and not just to annoy the Doctor.

"You can travel with me" she said, perfectly casually and serenely, glancing at her fingernails.

On the opposite, you were like being struck by lightning. Wow! Were we really talking about the same time traveler? Because it didn't really look like a Master.

Usually, she always laughs at the whole thing about companionship. But here we were, Master asking you to travel with her. Well, that was something you definitely couldn't predict. And what should you do in this situation?

"Do you want me to be your companion? Why?" there was a clear surprise in your voice, but you didn't try to hide it (her suggestion affected you so much). You could even feel your eyebrow go up and not down.

"I would say a partner. And to answer your question, why not? Not only the Doctor can have companions. Besides, he doesn't suit you at all" if that was even possible, your eyes widened even more. The second eyebrow rose to the first at the top. "You're more like me..."

Ha! A nervous laugh escaped from your throat. This was already out of the realm of science fiction. If you're impulsive and don't control your emotions well, that doesn't make you a psycho killer.

"That's not true!" you leaned back from the table, arms crossed defensively, and your nose wrinkled in displeasure.

The blonde looked up at you with her hazel eyes which glittered with mischief and pleasure. She got up from her chair, obviously coming up with something. The Time Lady came and stood behind you, her heels clacked on the floor with each step.

"Then tell me, why don't you care about these people?" the Master leaned toward you, her velvety voice sounding in your ear, like the devil was whispering in your ear. "If you did, you'd immediately ask what is wrong with them or beg me to fix them."

You turned your back on the Master and particularly on the people in the cafe. As much as you hate to accept it, she was right. Not to say that you didn't care about them, but now you were trying to get yourself out of this situation. You are not the Doctor, who can save everyone (or many people). You're only human, and of course, if you can save these people, you certainly won't mind.

"I'm still waiting for an answer. I hope you understand that otherwise these people will die, right?" well, of course, how can you do without blackmail? Now you understand very well the Doctor who has to make difficult decisions in such moments. That sucks, actually.

It's strange, but somehow you wanted to say 'no' even more than before. Not only to annoy the Master, but something told you that she wouldn't kill these people. Something has clearly happened to the smug Time Lady, something beyond your comprehension... For now.

And what if... It's very risky and may cost you dearly, but you had to try. What if it works? Actually, two can play this game, can't they?

"No" it's a good thing the blonde was standing right in front of you now, so you could see her really surprised face. It's worth a lot.

There was a grin on your face, which certainly couldn't please the Master. And it wasn't even followed by any weapons pointed at you or anyone nearby and that confirmed your assumption.

"What?"

"No" you repeated, getting up from your chair and slowly making your way back to the exit. "I am not the Doctor, who falls for your provocations. I'm not their savior and certainly not a babysitter," you pointed to the cafe visitors. "It was nice chatting, bye!"

You turned around and walked confidently and quickly to the door. Maybe you could still get home before the Master came to her senses. Although you certainly couldn't anywhere in the universe (and even more on Earth) hide from her...

But by the Murphy's law, things didn't go the way you planned or wanted them to. Just before you raised your hand to the doorhandle, you heard a soft, but definitely unexpected word:

"Please" if you didn't know the Master, you would have said her voice trembled.

You were supposed to keep going to the door, just keep going and get out of here. But your feet betrayed you. They just stopped and refused to go.

'It must be some trick or I just imagined it... Anything, but it can't be true' but that thought didn't stop you from turning around and asking:

"What?"

"Isn't that a word you say when you want something?" even from where you were, you could feel the irritation and... embarrassment? Your surprise was boundless.

"Yes, but I'm just surprised. This is the first time I've heard you say that"

Apparently, your mind was too clouded by emotions, because you really started to consider the offer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt sorry for the Master. You never thought about it, but she doesn't have anyone. No one deserves such fate, not even the most dangerous person in the Universe.

"Fine..." surprisingly, the word just came out of you as if you had replayed this situation hundred times.

Before you got it, the blonde had already closed the distance, grabbed your arm and led you with quick steps to the TARDIS, which you just noticed. After all, the Master had the chameleon circuit working.

Before you put your foot in the time machine, you pulled your hand away. You had something to say. If the Time Lady wanted to travel with you, it would be on your terms. Well, as far as it was possible.

"But I have two conditions: first, no killing, I hate it" you didn't really believe that the Master would be able to contain it. But at least, in most cases. And that was worth something.

"You ruined all the fun..." the blonde rolled her eyes, but didn't respond further.

"What did you want from the Doctor's companion?" a smug grin appeared on your face, and the Master couldn't but just grin. "Second, bring these people back to normal."

Apparently, the Master assumed you would forget about them, because she snorted with displeasure, disappointed with your request. But she kept her word - after a snap of her fingers, all the people in the cafe seemed to wake up from a dream and began to look around, not understanding what had just happened.

The next thing you got, you were in the Master's TARDIS. And this is where a new chapter in your life begins. It probably won't end well, but who cares? You were willing to take the risk. Maybe this will be the best period in your life...

[juyeoniemyhoney]

can this morning never end

Namjoon is the most beautiful human being to ever walk the earth. It is natural that you have a crush on him. You expect that eventually, your feelings will die out but then, you find yourself squealing uncontrollably outside of the library that you and Namjoon had agreed to meet at for your pair-work assignment. You have always watched Namjoon from afar. It surprises you when you find out that Namjoon has been observing you too. Well, there’s a first for everything. 

-pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

-genre: FLUFF, a lil bit of angst, high school/secondary school au (where i live high school is called secondary school;-;)

-warnings: vulgarities, pretty self-depreciating writing if im gonna be honest so be weary, Namjoon is a little bit of a simp for oc in this one, the ending is lowkey shit rip im sorry

-word count: 3208 words

-A/N: hi hi im back, this time with a Namjoon fic. i havent been writing a lot because im so preoccupied with my exams. in all honesty, i shouldnt be writing at all but i have absolutely no sense of self control, so i wrote this. it’s not my best but i really like how joon’s so soft in this so i decided to post it anyway. don’t be afraid to tell me how you liked (or didnt like) this imagine! and requests are open! hope you enjoy this one:)

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As you approach the entrance of the library, your heart starts beating a mile a minute.

You stall outside the automatic sliding doors, mind racing with a million scenarios. You freak out a little and silently squeal, earning you disapproving frowns and judging eyes from passers-by. But you don't care. You've waited a whole week for today.

A week ago, during English class, you were busy writing instead of paying attention, as usual, when your teacher had given the class the assignment to write a scenario, of any genre but it had to contain the writer's techniques she had taught in class. And she made the whole class pair up. You, too lost in the world of fanfiction, had not been listening and frankly, you didn't really care, passing her words off as just more homework.

The next thing you knew, Kim Namjoon had turned around in his chair, calling your name in that deep, gravelly voice. At the sound of his voice, your head immediately shot up, eyes wide in surprise.

"Do you want to partner up?" he had asked, lips slinging into an easy grin, eyes curling up and that goddamned dimple making itself made known on his left cheek. He patiently waited for your answer, eyes periodically glancing down to your desk that was in disarray, pieces of paper containing your words messily covering every corner of your desk. You pray that he didn't catch a peep of your (admittedly) cringeworthy fanfic as you tried to subtly gather the papers before he could read too much.

"Um, partner up for what?" you questioned, confused, head tilting ever so slightly to the right in question, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. He mirrored your actions and your heart had unwontedly skipped a beat. A beat of silence passed, "For the assignment?"

Before you could ask what assignment?, your teacher had interrupted your conversation with a satisfied clap and a smile. "Alright, I assume you have all found your partners. I'll give you time to work on your assignment right now. Remember that planning is the most important stage of writing. Do approach me if you have any questions."

Namjoon had turned back to you with a wry grin that looked a tad bit awkward, saying, "Well, I guess we're partners now."

Which is how you find yourself freaking the fuck out in front of a library on a Saturday morning, mind racing with different, absurd scenarios and outcomes of this meeting. You decide to take another minute to compose yourself.

You wouldn't say that you like Namjoon per se. You just think he is the most handsome man to walk on this godforsaken planet. But seriously, that man is far too beautiful to be real. From the first time you met him til now, you have no doubt that that man is a celestial being, gifted to the world from the gods, purely to cleanse the eyes of us, mere mortals. To make matters worse, he is smart too; of a wisdom thousands of years beyond his age. You still can't believe you've had the god-given opportunity to meet someone like him.

Okay so, maybe you kind of like him a lot, more than you let on, but you're not really sure if you like him because he's Namjoon or if it's because you are lovelorn, touch deprived, or both.

You reckon it has taken more than a minute to compose yourself because by the time you snap out of your daze, you are five minutes late when you had actually arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed timing. You sigh and finally walk through the doors that welcome you into the cooling library, cold blasts from the air conditioning cooling down the fierce blush that had taken refuge on your cheeks.

You immediately proceed to find a seat but Namjoon texts you, telling you that he's already a step ahead of you, having secured a seat in a room with tables on the second floor.

When you reach the second floor, and make your way towards the rooms, you can see Namjoon through the glass walls, sitting down and silently reading a book as he waits for you. The closer you draw to the room, the faster your heart pounds in your chest. The sound is deafening and distracting and you don't even realise how fast you had walked until you are finally knocking on the glass door, sending Namjoon a small smile when he looks up at you.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets, smile widening into a grin so wide that it hides his eyes. Your heart stops but you hide it with a small smile as you settle down your things and yourself opposite him.

"So, what genre did you want to write about," he asks as you take a pen and a piece of paper out from your bag. You freeze when your brain registers his sentence. "The assignment is to write a story?"

Namjoon stares at you wordlessly for a while, speechless that it's been a week and you still don't know what the fucking assignment is. You, however, have no idea that he is thinking about how stupid you are and happily stare back at him, taking in his mono lidded, almond-shaped eyes and the dark brown of his irises. His nose bridge is straight and the tip of his nose is a little flat, like a koala. You have never wanted to boop a nose so bad in your entire life.

"Yeah, that's the assignment," he responds patiently, giving you a gentle smile. You can't help but feel that it seems a little tight and forced, like he is regretting asking you be his partner, and regretting that he didn't have enough time to reconsider. You ignore the feeling of dejection that slowly bubbles up inside of you.

"I thought that it'd be easiest to write romance since you're so well versed in that.". You freeze. Time seems to have stopped and your ears refuse to register the rest of what Namjoon is saying, tuning everything out but your deafening thoughts. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

"You know that I write?" you interrupt Namjoon. He stops and fixes you a look of confusion, like it is so obvious that you write. It's not that you've been trying to keep it a secret. The thing is, for most of your stories, Namjoon is the main male character. In most of your stories, you have described every single part of him in excruciating detail, his eyes and lips especially. When your friends had first read your stories with Namjoon as the male protagonist, they had caught on quickly, almost immediately asking you if you were describing Namjoon because of how well you had described him. A bad feeling washes over you.

"Yeah, you're always scribbling away during English so I got curious and asked a few of your classmates," he responds, flashing you another lopsided smile. If this were any other situation, your heart would have been absolutely eliminated because of that smile but in this situation, all you can think about is if he's read any of your work. Because if he has, you're done for.

"What did my classmates say?" you question hesitantly, still deciding if you want to know his answer.

"Well they said that you've been writing since forever. They also said that a lot of people know that you write. Oh, and they also said that you had some published works so I went to check them out—" Namjoon's voice fades out as he continues to talk.

This is it.

It's the end of your social life. Namjoon is going to tell his loud ass group of friends that you write stalker-esque stories about him and then one of his friends is going to accidentally tell their girlfriend and then the girlfriend is going to spread it across the school and you'll be known as the loser who writes creepy stalker stories about Namjoon—

"It was amazing," you hear Namjoon say in between your mild quarter-life crisis. You pause and look him square in the eye. You want to come off as serious but you falter slightly when Namjoon stares back at you, irises a whirlpool of dark brown and glittering fascination, a swirling vortex that draws you in with a vicious intent of drowning.

"Yes?" Namjoon questions you after a beat of silence passes. You want to ask him if he knows that he is reading about himself but you stop yourself. "You like my stories?" you ask instead, feeling a tad bit shy now that you've realised that Namjoon likes what you write about him.

He lets out a small laugh, "Is it that hard to believe that I like what you write?"

"I was just surprised." He flashes you another wide grin and there it is, those cursed dimples show themselves again, grinning tauntingly at you and your heart commits the highest act of treason when it starts to beat faster. You gulp.

"You shouldn't be surprised. It was really good. I really liked it when you described the male character. It felt like I was looking at him myself. That's why I asked you to be my partner. I'm sure with your talents, we can get a really good mark on this assignment."

Your heart thuds a little faster when Namjoon tells you that his favourite part was reading about how you described him. But it falls to your stomach when he tells you that he picked you solely for your supposed talents. You don't know why, but a part of you had thought that maybe Namjoon wanted to get to know you better, and was using this assignment as an excuse. You thought that it was finally happening, someone you like has finally noticed you. But it looks like you thought wrong.

"Thank you," you say meekly, flashing him a half-hearted smile that you're sure he notices from the way he stiffens. "So, you said that you thought that romance would be a good genre, but what do you want to write about?"

Namjoon is silent for a while, lips pursed in ponder. You wait patiently for his answer.

"Well, I thought that I'd wanted to write romance too," he answers flashing you an awkward smile. The silence that follows is palpable and suddenly, you feel so very exhausted. "Well then, that's settled. Now we just have to think of a situation."

"How about this one?" Namjoon asks immediately after you finish your sentence. He says it rather suddenly and it startles you a little. You can't help but hear a certain extent of desperation in this voice. He wants to get this over with, you tell yourself.

"How do you mean?"

"Kinda like us now," he starts but stops to think about what to say next. You remain silent. "We should just write about us but make it a love story. For example, the two main characters are supposed to do a project together so they meet at a library," he pauses to gesture to the shelves surrounding the both of you.

"Then they start working on the project and they start talking. Then, somehow, the boy confesses to her. And the girl tells him she's always felt the same way. We can come up with how he confesses since I myself haven't come up with that yet," he continues, softening the last part of his sentence into a mumble that you barely hear, but still do. You pause. What the fuck?

"What did you say? I didn't hear you," you ask against your better judgement, curiosity getting the best of you. "Huh? Oh, it was nothing."

A furious blush begins to spread on the apples of Namjoon's cheeks, and for some reason, your body begins to mirror him, heart pumping hot blood to the blood vessels that lay beneath the skin of your cheeks. Namjoon shyly directs his gaze to his lap, dark brown bangs, the colour of his eyes, coming down in luxurious curls and waves to hide his eyes. You can't help but think that you like to see Namjoon like this; soft and shy and vulnerable because he is usually so confident and suave. It feels like he is showing a new side of himself to you, like he is peeling back the layers of masks and personas he has built until he is left raw and natural, allowing you to see everything that he is. The thought of that leaves you feeling winded because it is exactly what you want. And suddenly, you don't feel bashful or shy because of his words. Instead, you are determined, hellbent on making something out of this and you hope with your whole being that it is a relationship.

You are about to say something, to question him, bombard him until he is spilling his feelings in fumbled words and sentences of desperation and want, clawing at you until you too, are raw and vulnerable. But he beats you to it, speaking in a soft, hushed tone, as if you are a stern silence that he is afraid of interrupting.

"I think you're amazing, Y/N. What do you think of me?"

He stares meekly at his lap, too afraid to even spare you a glance. You remain silent, building his desperation like you are some professional flirt. In all honesty, you really just want to tell him you like him too but you're just so scared. The evidence that he at least feels something for you is right in front of you and yet your brain rejects it like a vending machine rejects a bill, walls built far too high and thick that words are no longer enough to convince you. He has to show you. And you think he knows that too.

Namjoon's head shoots up to stare you in the eyes, a new found determination and confidence burning in his eyes. The way the light finds his dark brown irises makes your heart do a million somersaults. They light up and turn into a golden brown you can't help but compare to a sweet, caramel syrup that coats your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. You swallow so hard, you feel the sides of your throat rub together painfully. 

"I think you're freaking amazing, Y/N. Every time I look at you, I always want to make myself better. For you. I want to become the best version of myself in hopes that it'll satisfy you and garner your attention. And I really like that you do what makes you happy. I absolutely love it when you write in English because you're always so focused and serious, plus, you make that really cute face when you're concentrating and it always makes my heart beat a little faster and it makes me hate that I sit in front of you because I have to keep finding stupid reasons to turn around just to look at you and I just think you're the most amazing, admirable, lovable person ever," Namjoon lets out. His words are rushed and desperate and you melt like goddamn candle wax.

"I'm— Wow, I'm— thank you, Namjoon. That really means a lot to me," you stutter, not really knowing what to say at first but finding your words soon enough. "Oh, and I feel the same way," you add, somehow missing the main point of your response. It doesn't matter anyway. He knows now. That's all that matters.

"Wait, really?"

You let out a laugh. "Yeah, Namjoon. Is it that hard to believe that I like you too?" you reply, a homage to your previous conversation.

Namjoon smiles a small smile, then it widens, and widens, and widens, until he is flashing you a blinding grin that could outright beat the glare of sunlight. "You said that you like me," he points out, eyes shining.

It is your turn to blush in embarrassment, cheeks feeling hot as you begin to sink into yourself, hair falling from behind your shoulders to hopefully make itself useful as a curtain to shield your red face from Namjoon. Something in Namjoon's chest begins to splinter at the sight. He is so very tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture of you but he holds himself back at the thought that he is positive he has many more chances to do so. His ribs nearly break in half because of how hard his heart beats.

"It's a good thing that I like you too," he says gently, smile now gentle instead of blinding. "Also, we have a plot now!" he exclaims in excitement as he slides the pen and paper closer to himself, ready to start on your assignment.

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"So, we're, are we? You know... Um, dating now?"

Namjoon's eyes widen in horror and he deflates himself, a disappointed frown pulling his eyebrows together at the centre and turning the corners of his lips down. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't ask— I just assumed—" he cuts himself off, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. Somehow, he still feels nervous even though he knows that you answer is a resounding, "Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Namjoon lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and it comes out in a relieved sigh. "Thank God because if not our story would have a horrible ending," Namjoon comments, picking the pen back up and clicking it open.

"Let's write that," you cut in before he can say anything else. "Write a sad love story?"

Namjoon is going to tell you no, to completely disapprove of your idea because writing a sad love story is one thing but writing a sad love story that will be handed up to your teacher for her to grade is another thing. But then, he sees your eyes glisten in determination and he dispels his thoughts immediately, folding into himself like a goddamn lawn chair. He can't believe he was just about to say no to you. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Please? I'm better at writing angst. Plus, we have a happy ending and that's all that matters," you press, trying to convince him. You don't have a real reason other than the fact that you write angst better. You also don't really know why you want to write angst right now when you feel as if you could fly. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. Namjoon is your's now. 

Namjoon flashes you a dimpled smile, eyes curling up and glittering with mirth and unadulterated belief in you. You can't help but think that you want him to never stop smiling like that, looking at you like you are some sort of celestial being, hailed from the sky solely to bring him every sort of merriment known to mankind and the heavens. The thought of him thinking of you like that scares you, because you are always afraid of not being enough. But Namjoon diminishes all of your worries with a short sentence, manhandling them by the throat and shoving them off a cliff.

"Okay, I believe in you."

[somedayonbroadway]

aaa hii! i was wondering if you could do the hercules au, please? thank youuu 💕

Hello, friends! This is an AU based off of @racetrackhigg original Mood Boards that you can find right here!

Hercules AU

Characters

Spot Conlon — Hercules

Racetrack Higgins — Megara

Jack Kelly — Phil

William Snyder — Hades

Morris Delancey and Oscar Delancey — Pain and Panic

Also, DeMarius Copes is all of the Muses. He just is.

So…

We are basing this off of the Disney rendition of Hercules, for the most part, even though their telling of this tale is very much modified for younger viewers. I mean, who are they kidding? The Greek Gods aren’t the loving, family friendly types that Disney tried to trick us into thinking they were when we were children, but it’s fine. We’re gonna roll with this, maybe change a little bit of it. And it is going to take place in modern day (excluding quarantine, because in fantasy worlds, worldwide quarantines don’t exist) because, why the heck not?

Back when the world was new, the planet earth was down on its luck. Chaos reigned and earthquakes and volcanoes ran amok. But then along came Zeus.

Ya’ll know the song.

There’s a party on Olympus, one of great importance. A son has been born to Zeus and Hera. A son they’ve named Hercules. Every single God shows up to celebrate the child’s birth and congratulate the ruling couple of Olympus who is adored by all but one; Zeus’s brother Hades.

Despite typically never leaving his kingdom, Hades has made a special exception on this joyous occasion to meet his new nephew, a new golden boy who is showered in gold and glitter already, although only having been born the day before. Zeus had even fashioned the child his very own flying horse, which he calls a Pegasus. Everyone adores the child and Hades dismisses him, looking disgusted at his very existence.

See, Hades knew something that the other gods didn’t. Hades just so happens to be great friends with the fates. He had a meeting with them prior to this celebration he had never intended on going to. The sisters explained to him that the great plan he’d been wielding could be successful, that one day the planets would align, making way for his rule over Olympus and then Earth. There was only one problem.

Hercules.

That fateful day when those planets aligned would be eighteen years from that very night. Hercules’s eighteenth birthday. And on that day, should Hercules fight, Hercules would win.

Hades saw only one solution. If there was no Hercules, there was no fight.

On Olympus, Hades has all eyes on, giving his two right hand men the opportunity to hide on the great mountain and wait out until nightfall where they would steal the child and force him to drink a potion that would make him mortal.

That night, chaos erupts among the Gods and Zeus cries, sending a storm down onto Earth as Hades men carry out his plan, taking the baby down to the land below and forcing the potion down his throat, knowing that he must drink every last drop to become truly mortal so that they can kill him.

Unfortunately for them, a young couple comes running when they hear a baby cry. The two henchmen drop the potion before the child can finish it and shapeshift into snakes before going to bite the kid and kill him. Having not drunk the whole potion, however, Hercules held onto the strength he’d been born with and was able to protect himself from the two monsters, sending them slithering back to their master.

He then gets taken in by the couple who’d been praying for a baby that they were unable to have. They claim him as their own and name him Sean. Sean Conlon.

The occupants of Mt. Olympus are crushed at the news of their prince becoming mortal. Still, they carried on, watching as their Hercules was raised from afar in a city that never slept, one he grew up to adore. Brooklyn, New York.

Growing up for young Sean, however, was anything but easy. With a physical strength he couldn’t begin to understand or control, he seemed to make a mess anywhere he went. People were wary of him. Kids his own age didn’t like him and he so he didn’t like them. He closed himself off from the world and hid himself away, only entrusting his parents with the fear that he didn’t belong there, that he was too different. It was beginning to get to the point that people were truly frightened of him and his abilities.

Sean didn’t have any friends. He didn’t have a phone. He didn’t need one. He didn’t have anyone to talk to. Girls would sometimes get flustered when they saw him because of the muscles he seemed to get from nowhere, but the second they realized he was the freak he was, they ran the other way. Sean didn’t mind. He could never look at the girls the way the first looked at him.

Eventually, while accompanying his father downtown, he destroys an entire building. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him. So his parents finally came clean. They admit to him for the first time how they found him, how he was all alone and already had these abilities that they didn’t understand. He asks them why they never told him and they don’t have an answer. They can only offer him a small necklace that had been around his neck when they’d stumbled upon him, one written in Ancient Greek. One that Sean can read, having never read Greek in his life.

It says Hercules.

Running off, feeling scared and alone and so confused, Sean finds himself wandering into the woods where he is met by a man wearing a white suit with a golden tie. The man claims to be Zeus, his father.

Initially laughing at this, Sean tries to leave, but is pulled back by an invisible force as Zeus takes him in, studying his face for the first time in nearly eighteen years. He looks happy to see him and tells Sean what happened, how he had been stolen from his home and in order to return, needed to prove himself to the gods. Sean is still a bit skeptical until Zeus whistles for a horse to come out of the shadows.

It isn’t until Sean sees Pegasus that he thinks there might be some truth to this man’s story. All his life he’d been obsessed with what he’d thought was a mythical creature. He’d made drawings of it, studied their mythology, had even learned to ride horses when he was young.

Pegasus missed him.

While reuniting with his old friend, Zeus tells Sean of a man he needs to meet in order to ensure his return to Olympus, where he belongs. He described the man as the son of a demigod, one who trains heroes and teaches them how to hone their skills and use them for the greater good. So Sean takes Pegasus up into the air, going to seek out this man, Jack Kelly.

When he manages to find the man’s apartment with Zeus’s help, he lands Pegasus down on the roof and knocks on the man’s apartment door.

The man is less than willing to open it up for him.

Jack tells him to go away, obviously not much of a people person. But Sean persists, finally calling out that he needs help and that Jack was the only one who’d be able to do such a thing.

Recognizing this desperate plea, Jack reluctantly opens up the door, asking what Sean wanted. To Sean’s surprise, the man is very young, probably only five years older than himself. When Sean admits he needs someone to teach him how to be a hero, Jack tells him that he’s closed for business and would never reopen.

That’s when Sean begs him for help, claiming to be the son of Zeus. He explains that he never fit in on Earth and needs Jack’s help to make it to Olympus. Jack has the same reaction Sean had to the news. He laughs, not believing it. Not until he hears lightning crackle outside.

With no other choice than to believe him, Jack tells Sean that he’s not the first kid that had come knocking on his door. Jack explains, while painting a picture of a girl that lives in the apartment across from him that he’s fallen madly in love with despite never having spoken to her, that his father assigned him with the task of training new heroes and keeping them safe on their quests and adventures, something Jack loathed greatly as he wished to have his own life and go on adventures. However, after one hero in training had been reckless and stupid, a demigod, son of Ares, he’d died, making his father angry.

Jack had been cursed after that day. He can’t die. He can’t age. Most people would consider immortality a blessing, but Jack explains that it’s not a blessing when he’s been trapped in New York City, unable to leave as there were invisible barriers specially catered to keep him inside. He’d always dreamed of running away and seeing the world, and it was as though that dream was being dangled right in front of him, just out of his reach. He’d been stuck in an endless cycle of nothingness for years and he didn’t want it to get worse. But Sean makes Jack a deal. If he were to train him, he’d ask his father to lift Jack’s curse and allow him to continue aging and growing like normal while also being able to see the world.

So Jack agrees, still skeptical, but slightly hopeful. He tells Sean that they would begin the next night in the woods where Sean had met Zeus and he better not screw this up for either of them.

To Jack’s surprise, Sean is a much better hero than he’d originally thought. He admires the boy’s strength and endurance and constantly tries to push Sean to his limits to see how much he can take. He never found a breaking point. He teaches Sean how to use a sword as well as a gun, he trains him mentally and physically for every situation he can. He explains that his own strong suit is knife throwing and archery. Sean begins to look up to Jack and treat him more as a friend than anything else. He likes Jack. Jack is the first person who didn’t go running the second he’d walked into a room.

So after weeks of training and testing, Jack tells Sean it’s time for the real deal. They’re gonna go see what Sean can do in the real world to help real people. Sean asks how they’re gonna do that and Jack replies with “Have you eva’ walked around New York?”

They begin to explore, trying to find any kind of trouble they can until they stumble onto an alley where a young man, about Sean’s age, is struggling to get away from an older guy who’s literally pinning the kid to the wall. Jack tries to help Sean come up with some kind of plan before Sean just runs off, leading Jack to resign himself to the fact that he’s doomed and his curse will never be lifted.

Sean goes in and demands the man get off only to find that when the man turns around, he’s got three eyes and a snake's tongue. Sean pulls out a knife only for the kid to tell him that he can handle himself, calling Sean “Wonder Boy” before the monster in front of him throws him to the ground and punches Sean in the stomach, sending him flying back into a wall. Jack can only watch from afar, not allowed to help any hero in his battle.

The monster turns back to the boy who tries to scramble away. It is clear to Sean that the monster is trying to take advantage of the kid sexually. So he steps back up, plunging his knife into the monster’s back before picking him up and throwing him into the opposite wall. He then scoops the boy up into his arms and rushes him over to Jack.

Jack immediately tries to check the kid over to make sure he’s okay, but the boy just seems mildly annoyed, making sarcastic comments about how The Incredible Hulk over there just saved a damsel in distress while he watches Sean fight the monster with the hell of Pegasus who helps him kill the thing.

Realizing that this other boy was genuinely concerned for him, the blond kid softens just a little as Sean walks back over to him. He introduces himself as Antonio, or Race as his friends call him. At least they would, if he had any. He calls Sean a variety of flirtatious names as he thanks him, including “Spot” because of Sean’s freckles. Spot introduces himself as Sean Conlon, or Hercules as he’d been named by his godly father. He offers Race a ride to anywhere he wants to go on Pegasus, but Race refuses, admitting that he’s terrified of heights and is a big boy that can take care of himself, but still thanks Spot for coming to his rescue.

Sean falls a little bit for him much too quickly and much too easily before Race gives him a wink and a wave and walks off, seemingly fine.

Jack then tells Sean how stupid he is before leading him off further into the night and forcing Sean to listen to him even though the boy’s mind clearly kept drifting off to the mysterious stranger he’d just met.

Meanwhile, Race is off to the woods where he is met by two young men he refers to as Morris and Oscar and Hades himself, who is wearing a grey suit and a blood red tie. Morris and Oscar force Race to bow to the god after the boy initially doesn’t. Race fights all the way until Hades snaps his fingers and forces him to submit, having full control of the boy’s body anytime he wants it.

The king of the underworld asks Race why he doesn’t have the monster that he had requested an audience with by his side and Race explains that the monster made him an offer he had to refuse. Hades takes the boy by the chin. He loves to manhandle Race whenever he can, reveling in the fact that the kid would fight back against his hold only to have nowhere else to go. He tells Race that instead of removing two years from his sentence, he’ll be adding two on. In attempts to save himself, the kid blames the stranger who’d saved him, calling him Hercules.

Morris and Oscar, the shapeshifters originally responsible for the murder of Hercules, pale at this as their master burns with rage. Hades demands to know what happened after his servants lied to him only to turn to Race and tell him that he still had use for him. Race rolls his eyes, still defiant after nearly three years. Still, he has no choice but to do as he’s told.

A couple of days after rescuing Race from the ally, Spot and Jack are once again exploring the city, trying to find more trial runs for Sean, who Jack has taken to calling “Spot” to tease him. Spot’s doing rather well, especially considering he hadn’t died yet. So Jack is ready to start getting him attention before they hear a commotion in front of them.

Race rushes towards them, near in hysterics. He is relieved at the sight of Spot and begins begging him for help, stating that two little kids got trapped under a collapsed overpass. Without even waiting for Jack’s help, he whistles for Pegasus who reveals himself to the world in broad daylight and Race hesitates, still terrified of heights, but Spot grabs him and puts him on the back of the flying horse, asking him where to go. Race clings to him as he screams out street names.

Jack is understandably annoyed at being left behind and is forced to run in order to meet them at their destination.

Meanwhile, Spot lands Pegasus and Race crumbles to the ground, nearly vomiting as his entire body is trembling from being up so high.

Spot manages to get two small children to safety and does not stop them as they run off, unbeknownst to him, right to Hades.

Race crawls over to a nearby wall to support himself as he catches his breath and silently prays for Spot to get out of there while he still can.

A crowd gathers nearby, applauding Spot as they’ve just witnessed his heroism. Jack runs up to find Spot unsure of what to do. Before Jack can help him a hiss falls over the crowd. He pales before trying to scream at Spot to get out of the way, but the minute he reaches for Spot’s sword, his hand is burned. He’s not allowed to help.

So Spot grabs his own sword, turning around to find a monster rising from the fallen overpass. Jack recognizes it as a Hydra. Spot just starts swinging at it. After cutting off one head, he believes the fight to be over only for the thing to grow back with two other heads at its sides.

Race can do nothing but watch as Spot is nearly beaten and eaten alive by this monster he’d lured him to. He is horrified at himself, finding that he actually likes Spot. The guy is sweet and loyal, but Race knows he can’t fall for him. He knows he can’t.

Spot continues cutting the Hydra’s heads, even as Jack yells at him to stop.

Hades is watching from afar with a grin on his face. He is ready for the Hydra to kill the only thing standing between him and his eternal rule, but Spot manages to burn the monster alive, effectively killing it.

Race is relieved at that and barely manages to hide a smile as he saunters back up to Hades who is furious at the turn of events.

After this, Spot is made famous throughout the world, having been on camera whilst fighting the Hydra. He is asked for interviews, he’s given money, he’s made a hero in the eyes of the public.

This goes on for months.

Spot revels in the light of being the main attraction after being an outcast for so long. Jack is annoyed with him, but sticks by his side as his own life depends on it. Eventually, Jack just starts to roll along with it all as it becomes more and more stressful for Spot to keep up with his own fame as he continues his training and continues fighting monsters. It becomes abundantly clear to Jack how protective he’s becoming over the younger boy and he doesn’t like it, so he gets harder on Spot and pushes him further, only tiring Spot out faster.

Race watches every minute of it, finding himself enthralled by the man who’d saved him all those nights ago.

Hades, however, is not happy in the least. His two servants have given up and his slave is falling for the boy who would be his undoing. Race teases him smugly, telling him that he might as well accept defeat. This just makes the god even more angry. So Hades orders Race to find him a weakness. Race laughs at him.

So Hades reminds him why he’s there in the first place. He retells the boy the story of a child, a merely fourteen years old runaway who’d fallen in love with another, three years older than him. When the elder boy had tried to prove himself to the gods, he’d gotten fatally wounded and Hades had come to collect him. Unable to cope with the loss of his love, the child who knew nothing about the gods or love, for that matter, begged and pleaded for the god of death to take him instead. The god accepted, letting the not-so-heroic-hero live in exchange for the other boy’s soul for the next hundred years. Finding out what the young child had done, the resurrected hero ran off, finding another to worship the ground he walked on while the boy who’d given everything to save him rotten in possession of Hades, the cruelest god there was.

Race insists that he remembers and that he’d learned his lesson and would not be making the same mistake twice. So Hades hands Race a cellphone with a picture of Spot on it and explains to him as though he were a child that all he needed was to know what Spot’s weakness was. Race does not respond. So Hades leans in close to his ear and promises Race the one thing he craved above all else in exchange for this simple task.

His freedom.

Race drops the phone at the words, having never expected to hear them outloud. So he does as he’s told.

Back with Spot and Jack, Jack is trying to work out Spot’s schedule while Spot wallows alone in his mansion after speaking to his father in the forest again. His father tells him that he has not yet proved himself worthy and must still remain on earth.

Breaking into the giant house, Race finds Spot who is relieved to see him after so long. He asks Spot if he wants to get out of here. Spot is hesitant, because he’s supposed to meet with Jack for training, but Race convinces him to take a night off and run away with him.

And Spot can’t say no.

Exploring the city, Race flirts with Spot and Spot is the perfect gentleman, only making life so much harder for Race who wishes that this boy could’ve just been a jerk who deserved all of this. Spot buys him flowers and makes him laugh and makes him feel free for the first time in years.

While they’re walking, Race accidentally trips, falling right into Spot’s arms. Spot carries him to a bench to inspect Race’s ankle even though the other boy insists that he’s fine. He explains that he has weak ankles and flirtatiously inquires if Spot has any to which Spot replies he doesn’t think he does and he scoops Racer up again, putting him back on his feet to make sure Race is okay. They dance beneath the stars for a long moment before Jack flies overhead on Pegasus and jumps down in between them.

He screams at Spot and tells him he’ll be training like hell for the next week and he warns Race to stay away, feeling bad about it later as there’s something in Race’s eyes that tells him this was not the whole story.

Spot gives Race a kiss goodnight and leaves and Jack goes to follow him before feeling too guilty and turning back to apologize. And he accidentally hears a conversation he was not meant to hear.

When Race is alone, he has a sinking feeling in his chest and feels as though he’s floating on air all at once. He knows he has fallen for this new hero and he stares at the flowers Spot gave him before he is forced to stand by the air around him and he looks up to find his master waiting in front of him.

Race tells the god that he quits, that he won’t keep doing this. Hades only laughs and cruelly reminds the boy that he owns his mind, soul and body and Race has no choice in the matter. The boy tried to explain that Spot doesn’t have any weaknesses. He says it proudly, blushing as he twirls the flowers around in his hand.

That’s when it hits Hades. He smugly tells Race that he is sorely mistaken and snaps his finger, vanishing right along with the boy.

Having only heard a small piece of the conversation, Jack rushes to warn Spot who calls him a liar and a jealous, ungrateful loser who will never be able to talk to the girl that he’s in love with. Hurt by this, Jack leaves, knowing he’s not wanted or needed anymore. It shouldn’t matter to him what happened next.

Spot goes outside to train, trying to blow off some steam, knowing he needs to apologize to Jack but not fully knowing how to.

There’s a man waiting outside. One that Spot recognizes.

The man’s name is William Snyder, a business man who’d been around town for the past couple of months. Spot had no idea that Snyder was a god, just like him. Hades, to be clear.

Hades begins talking to Spot about his heroism and strength and says he wants to offer him a deal. Spot initially refuses, trying to walk away only for Hades to reveal that he has leverage. With a snap of his fingers, a stunned and scared looking Race appears right in front of him. Race tries to run to him, trying to tell him not to listen to this man, but Hades waves his hand and Race goes silent, chains wrapping around his body and mouth immediately, rendering him helpless.

Hades then snaps Race to him and manhandles him, trying to enrage Spot even more. He tells Spot that if he doesn’t want to hear the deal, he’ll just take Race and keep him like that forever, claiming he likes Race in chains better than anything else. So Spot agrees to hear Hades out, all the while asking him to let Race go.

Hades grins and tells Spot to consider giving up his strength for a day, the next day, in order to save Race. Spot asks if people are going to get hurt in which Snyder simply smiles. So Spot asks that Race be left out of it. Hades gives his word that no harm will come to Race should Spot accept.

So Spot accepts, shaking the gods hand to finalize it and falling to his knees as his strength is drained from him.

For a moment, Race is left in chains as Hades has his fun knocking around the mighty Hercules. But Spot croaks out that he has to let the boy go, to which the god laughs. He complies, saying to Race that a deal was a deal and that he was now free of his sentence before he draws Race to him and gloats to Spot about what a wonderful little actor the boy was.

Race struggles against him, trying to get away and explain, but Spot just walks away, heartbroken.

Though his strength is gone, Spot still feels obligated to fight against whatever attack was headed for them. He goes on his own to the center of the city where the titans have begun to roam free after Hades released them. Though the crowd cheers at his arrival it is quickly made apparent that he is no match for these monsters and he will not win this fight.

After trying and failing to stop Spot from fighting, Race rushes off to find Pegasus. His legs are already shaking in fear just looking at the thing that had been bound by Hades before. He releases it and Pegasus senses that something is wrong, so he allows Race to climb onto his back. Race screams when they take to the air.

Finding Jack wandering around, oblivious to the takeover happening behind him, Race begs him for help. Jack initially refuses, revealing to the boy that he knew who Race worked for. Race quickly explains the situation to Jack and Jack takes the reins, flying out to find a passed out Spot in the middle of the chaos. He ignores the burning of his arms and scoops Spot up, flying him to safety so Race can plead with him to wake up.

When Spot does eventually wake up, he scrambles away from Race only for Jack to tell him that this wasn’t Race's fault and he still needed to fight. They couldn’t let Hades win. So Spot goes out to fight again only to get knocked down in front of a car speeding to get away. Race panics and rushes to push him out of the way, taking the hit instead nearly getting stomped on by the titan Before Spot screams and rushes to his rescue, catching the Titan’s foot before it can kill Race.

Jack rushes in to get Race out of the danger and Race lets him, curling into him in pain.

Not understanding what happened, Spot rushes to the boy he quite possibly loves who explains to him that Hades promised he wouldn’t get hurt and he had. The deal had been broken.

Hesitant to leave Race, Spot looks to Jack for help. Jack promises to stay with Race while Spot rushes off and fights.

That’s when Race starts crying. It’s the first time he shows weakness in front of Jack and Jack can’t help but cry along with him, trying to promise him that everything’s gonna be okay even though they both know it won’t. As he starts coughing up blood, Race begs Jack not to let him die alone and Jack holds his hand and pets his hair back, promising him that he’d be right there the whole time.

Race is scared when he dies. His cries about not being able to breathe and can’t move without being in pain. It’s the most heartbreaking thing Jack had ever witnessed. When Race takes his last breath, Jack presses a kiss to his forehead and closes the boy's eyes for him, hugging him to his chest and telling him how sorry he was.

Flying up to Olympus with Pegasus, Spot frees the gods who are being held captive by the Titans and helps them trap the monsters once again before flying after Hades who tries to get away. It’s only when Spot remembers Race that he stops, rushing back down to earth where he finds Jack crying over Race’s body.

So Spot does what he has to do, even as Jack begs him to come back. He flies down to the underworld (how he knows where to go? I don’t know… but he does. Maybe he walked a long way, around the back. That ain’t easy walkin’, Jack. It ain’t for the sensitive of souls— oh wait…) and demands that Hades tell him where Race’s soul is.

Still smug and arrogant as ever, Hades reveals Race’s soul in the River Styx and tells Spot that he is more than willing to let Spot dive down for him. It’s only after Spot does so that Hades calls after him any mortal to enter the river will die.

Spot swims down for Race’s lifeless soul. It breaks his heart to see the boy so lifeless. As he reaches for him, a power surges through his body, making it easier to move and breathe. He pulls Race to him and holds him in his arms, stepping out of that river as a god with the love of his life in his arms. When Hades goes to stop him, Spot punches him down and walks out with Race’s souls, climbing onto Pegasus again and flying back to New York, where Jack still sat with an unmoving Race on the sidewalk. Everyone else was so busy with their own concerns, no one paid them a second glance.

Returning his soul to his body, Spot waits patiently and Jack watches with so much hope in his eyes it hurts. But then there’s a glorious sound of someone taking in a gulp of air.

Race opens his eyes.

He launches himself at Spot who holds him tightly in response and Jack laughs in relief at the sight, letting Race hug him too before Spot confesses he has to go. Race refuses to let him go so Spot takes him along, flying back up to Olympus where he is greeted as a god and Race is left standing awkwardly all alone at the gates, proud of the other boy, but sad that he may never see him again.

But Spot kneels before his father, asking to be blessed with mortality so that he can live his life with Race and Jack. He asks that his father lift Jack’s curse and allow them to live in peace because he finally found where he belonged.

Zeus, although a bit sad, agrees, and sends Spot and Race back to Earth where they meet Jack and take him to the border of New York to show him he is no longer cursed.

Race and Spot and Jack are friends for the rest of their lives. Spot reconnects with his adoptive parents. Race and Spot get married. Jack finally meets the girl he’d fallen for and marries her.

And they all live happily ever after.

Thanks for reading!

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[millenniumsilver]

Title: A Dark Night

Main Character(s): Kwon Junseo. Cha Yejun.

Summary: There were a lot of things Yejun expected prior to moving into the dorms, as his group’s debut approached, but having his ex show up at his front door in the dead of night was the last thing that crossed his mind. 

Warning(s): Discussions of mental health. Bad mental health/mental state. Cursing. 

When Yejun was younger, he harbored a small fear of the dark, which equated to not being entirely too fond of the night. It originally stemmed from watching too many scary videos before bedtime, and it always ended up with him running to his parents’ room in absolute tears. It didn't take much for Yejun to realize that whenever he was scared shitless, it was dark, and whenever it was dark, it was nighttime. Thus, as a child, Yejun's aversion to the night began. 

Even now, as a 23 year old, Yejun still wasn't fond of the night. He never truly understood the appeal it had to some people, where they genuinely preferred being awake when the sun set as opposed to when it rose, and how people simply were night owls, or how they started enjoying the day the moment it ended. 

His dislike towards it intensified when he found himself standing side by side with his ex (and current group member), on the roof of his family’s house, only a few weeks prior to his big move into the dorms with the rest of his group. 

Maybe Yejun was biased and was quick to blame the moon that followed him around whenever something bad happened in his life, as never once was the sun present when the tears began falling for him. The bad things in Yejun’s life were always accompanied by the taunting glow of the moon. 

“Can you kiss me again?” the sound of the city filled the empty space that lingered between Yejun and Junseo, neither of the boys inching to close the gap between one another. 

“Junseo-“

“Just one more time.” Junseo’s pleads bleed into the sound of the city being alive, allowing for himself to excuse the desperation in his tone that was barely audible. 

“It’s not right, Jun-“

“We weren’t right when we started, why does it change anything now?” Yejun could tell from the way Junseo was speaking that he was both fighting to hold himself back from letting any tears slip, and he was fighting his own mind to be able to even speak his heart. “If we do something wrong one more time, what difference does it make?” 

A siren blared in the background of the boys, allowing for yet another bit of noise to slip in between the cracks of silence between the boys, letting them both a second to try and collect their thoughts that had slowly been swept away with the wind.

“I miss your touch.” 

There wasn’t a moment Junseo didn’t shock Yejun. From the moment they met, and let their hearts skip a beat in the form of an unspoken spark when their eyes landed on each other. Even now, in the cold night with both boys looking like strangers and almost feeling like strangers to one another. Junseo was a surprise in every sense of his being. 

“I miss your lips.” 

In the short while they first met, Junseo quickly became one of the best parts of Yejun’s life. It didn’t take more than a few times of the two hanging out for Yejun to like what he knew about Junseo, and count down the moments until he had the chance to learn even more about him. 

“I miss the way you always treated me.” 

He would never admit it, because even in his own mind it sounded like nothing more than a cliche from a romantic comedy, but Yejun finally discovered the meaning of falling fast and falling hard when Junseo walked into his life. Never once in his life did Yejun want to know every single thing he could about someone, while also wanting to keep things a secret so he could learn of them through memories he could always keep in his heart. 

“I miss how you always spoke to me like I mattered.” 

In his 23 years of life, it was the first time Yejun felt true love. He wasn’t shy of love, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t dated previously, but it was never like this. It never felt like his world had been lit aflame with a new purpose whenever he simply looked into Junseo’s eye; a glaze of hope always staring back at Yejun. 

“I miss the way you held me.” 

Yejun let himself give his heart to Junseo in between small kisses in empty rooms, and quick glances that only they knew of in crowded rooms.

“I miss the way you made me feel safe.” 

Junseo gave his heart in between nights spent clinging onto Yejun in bed and moments where he could let himself fall, knowing Yejun would be right there to catch him. 

“I miss your love.” 

Both boys lost their hearts in one another, and even when the love for each other was only existent in memories, neither of them made a move to retrieve their hearts. 

“I miss you.”

Their hearts belonged to one another, even if neither boy could cherish them the way they wanted. Their hearts were like puzzle pieces that finally found its rightful places, completing a puzzle that seemed to have broken away. 

Yejun missed Junseo. 

There was no way the young actor could deny that, or even interpret his feelings in a different way. He didn’t want to. 

But he knew better. 

The love the two boys had for one another was as brilliant and hot as a flame, and just like a flame, it was gone as quick as it came, leaving nothing but the cold darkness. 

It didn’t take more than a quick glance for Yejun to know that while Junseo’s pleads were nothing but truthful, that Junseo hadn’t changed. Maybe he was worse than when they were together. Junseo always came off as someone who held appearances to a high degree, and it he made it a goal to make it clear with always dressing to the nines with what was in season, and simply having himself look like he was always coming back from a photo shoot. 

However, in the nights where the older had slipped into Yejun’s home in order to find the warmth of his embrace, Yejun finally had a chance to see the real Junseo. Or at least, as much of the “real” Junseo, that he himself was willing to show. 

Gone was the man who didn’t pay any mind to those around him, the man who walked the earth as if it was built for him, and the man who was far from comfortable with letting anyone see him as anything but his absolute best. Instead, there was the man who wordlessly found himself wrapped around Yejun’s body, wanting to receive the type of attention he never knew he needed. There was the man who stumbled in his thoughts and words, wanting to prove how much he cared for Yejun with every breath he took.

There was the Junseo who showed off how much the world was chipping away at him. Through bags underneath his eyes that seemed to become more and more prominent as time slipped by. Through nights where he couldn’t bring himself to speak and simply came for the affection he never felt before. Through confessions of how scared he was every time he opened his eyes in the morning. 

Through it all, it became apparent to Yejun that he was far from the Junseo that everyone knew of. He was lost in himself, and he gave Yejun the chance to see him as his most vulnerable. He gave Yejun the chance to help find him. 

But, if anything, the dim glow of the lights on the roof showed that while Yejun desperately tried to help Junseo, he had lost himself even more. 

Before, he was wandering aimlessly in a maze built from everyone’s expectations for him. Now, he was drifting away into a typhoon of thoughts he had no intention of swimming away from. 

“Have you gone to see someone like we talked about?” it was a cop out, a cheap one at that, and Yejun knew. But, if he told Junseo he missed him too, he knew what it would lead to, and he didn’t know if he could handle being the wave that swallows Junseo whole. 

“My mom almost found out and that was enough to make me give up.” Junseo’s hands were quick to reach up and wipe at his eyes, his head ever so slightly tilting away from Yejun. “It’s a habit, I guess. Giving up on what helps.” 

“You can always go back-“

“I gave up on you too, didn’t I? Can I go back to you?” 

Gone was the soft tone embedded with the ghostly appearance of desperation in Junseo’s voice. Instead, there was a harsh anger in his words. Although, it didn’t take Yejun longer than a second to realize that the anger was directed at himself. 

“You need to start looking after yourself, Junseo.” the younger finally made a move to eliminate the space between them as he put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re important, Junseo. For reasons I know you don’t understand just yet, you matter so much. You can’t let your life slip away from you, it’s yours. Not for someone else to own and control.” 

“You make it sound so fucking easy.” 

“And it’s not, I know.” Yejun put the slightest amount of force on Junseo’s shoulder, trying to squeeze it comfortingly. “It’s never easy to go against everything you’ve known in life, everything that's become a habit, even if it’s not a good one. But if you don’t start somewhere...if you don’t start soon, Jun, I’m scared you won’t be able to in the future.” 

Yejun never thought that when the famed model showed interest in him, that he would fall in love with someone who had become so attuned to self-destruction that it was like second nature. To the point where he didn’t even know what he was doing would end up hurting himself. 

The second he felt Junseo’s body lurch ever so slowly to the side, wanting to pull away, Yejun found his hands reaching up to cup his ex’s cheeks, allowing for him to finally glance into the eyes he had been so desperately avoiding the whole night. 

The eyes that glittered with tears, and was nothing but a seemingly growing void of hurt. The same eyes that Yejun found himself smiling at the first time he saw them. 

“I’m not promising anything.” 

“I’m not the one you should be promising to, anyways.” the faintest of smiles began to linger on Yejun’s face, although it was void of the same warmth it always had. It hurt him that Junseo thought that he would be doing this for anyone but himself, but he knew it probably hurt Junseo even more. 

Yejun didn’t know what was in the future for them, but it wasn’t what his mind was focused on. He wanted Junseo to get better for himself, so he can finally begin to live life the way he spoke of it in his sleepy rambles during the nights they were together. 

If that future didn’t include Yejun, it would be ok. He just needed Junseo to be ok.