#but no one was going to look cool a few years ago

[screamingatanemptyroom]

“Happy Birthday, my dearest sister!”

Iris walked into her home, the rotting door’s hinges squealing in protest against the movement, only to be greeted by the sight of a brightly decorated room, with a prince holding a cake in the center of it.

Iris let out a quiet sigh, closing the door behind her. She set down her basket of unsold flowers and carefully removed her shoes, cleaning the muddy snow off of them before setting them down in their proper place. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she looked around again.  Her clean but rundown room was all but unrecognizable, with cheerful banners and streamers hung in every available space. The few magical lamps she kept and used sparingly due to the high cost of fuel, were all on at the highest setting, making her frown at the waste.

“…” Iris stared silently at the prince and his advisor behind him, who both stared equally silently back.

"Are you sure this is the one?" He broke first, whispering to the man on his right.

“We are sure, Your Highness. It has been triple confirmed by the court sorcerer. She also bears a star shaped birthmark below her right ear, which was noted at your sister’s birth. This is your long-lost sister, Theodora.” His advisor whispered back.

“…Then why doesn’t she seem excited to see me?”

“Perhaps she’s just overly surprised?”

Iris sighed again.

“Why don’t you have a seat, and we can talk about this over tea.” It had been a long cold day selling flowers on the street, her fingers and toes were numb. She was tired, cold and cranky. This may be a pivotal moment that would change the course of her entire life…

But that was not going to stop her from getting her tea.

The prince shook his head, seeming to break from his shock. “Ah, yes… tea… Gareld…can you…”

“I’ll do it.” Iris interrupted. “He doesn’t know where anything is.” And she didn’t want him snooping around her home, either.

“I can help…” Gareld stepped closer, an uncertain look on his face.

“Both of you. Sit.” Her tone did not allow for argument, and both men sat down, staring silently as she moved around making tea. Iris checked her stock. She still had some dried fairy flowers, which made for a cool refreshing tea when brewed correctly. She hesitated briefly, not really wanting to waste her best tea on these visitors.

I guess Royalty should get your best tea. She tried not to sigh again and failed.

The tea was made quickly. The prince watched appreciatively at her calm, practiced movements, her neatly tied red curls swaying behind her.

“You look just like our mother did, you know.” His voice was wistful, remembering.

“I wouldn’t know.” Her voice was cold.

“…I suppose that is true.” The Prince took the tea she handed him, taking a sip to cover up his embarrassment. He was clearly not expecting much, given their surroundings, but his eyes widened in shock and appreciation. “This is good tea!”

“Thank you.” Iris accepted the complement calmly, drinking from her own cup. “Now can you please explain your purpose here today?”

“Yes. Well.” He was clearly thrown by her calm demeanor but seemed to collect himself. “I am Prince Anthony, the second born prince of the Royal family. I am here because you… you are actually my sister Theodora. You are a princess.”

“…” A silence fell over the table. After drinking more tea and warming herself up, Iris finally picked up the conversation once more.

“I see.”

She stirred her tea, staring down at the dried petals floating on the surface. “If I am your sister, why has that only been discovered now? I have grown up on the streets for as long as I can remember. I have been making a living selling flowers, since the old woman who looked after me died several years ago.”

“…” Anthony seemed embarrassed. “You were switched at birth.”

“By who? And with who?”

He didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes in the face of her calm questions. “I don’t know who switched you two… but you were switched with another girl, who we raised believing to be you. I only know her as Theodora. I don’t know what her name was before the switch she was a newborn, like you.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He still wasn’t meeting her gaze. Guilty conscience? She wondered.

He seemed to read something in her tone, getting slightly worked up. “Theodora is innocent in this! She was horrified to find out that she wasn’t who she said she was! She cried for days, wishing she could trade places with you, return everything she had taken from you!” He shook his head. “Silly girl, she blames herself for the sins of others. Of course you wouldn’t blame her!”

Iris raised an eyebrow at his confident tone. “Of course.” She smiled, the expression polite but cold. “So, are you here to bring me back to the palace?”

“Yes! When the court mages finally located you, the whole family was anxious to bring you back!” He pointed to the decorations and cake he had brought. “It’s actually your eighteenth birthday! You probably didn’t know.”

“…” Iris studied the cake and decorations. “So why just you?”

“What?” Anthony’s smile faded slowly.

“If the whole family is anxious to get me back, why only send you?” She thought it over. “The Queen died giving birth, but I have another brother besides you, correct? The crown prince, Dominic? And my father is still alive and well?”

There was a long pause, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask that.

“…They are at your sister’s party.” He finally answered.

Iris chuckled. “I have a sister? I was not aware of another princess in the family.”

“It’s Theodora.” He shook his head. “The OTHER Theodora, I mean. We had been planning this celebration for months. We couldn’t move it. In fact, we should probably be leaving soon, or we’ll be late for the party.”

Iris rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Are you planning to bring me to this party?”

“Of course!” Anthony seemed shocked she would even ask. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my sister!”

“And how are you planning on explaining my identity… and more importantly HER identity, when I show up? Are you making the announcement that she’s a fake princess at her birthday party?” She leaned back, taking another sip of her tea. “That seems unkind.”

“WHAT?” His hand slapped down on the table, rattling the cups and teapot sitting on top. “Theodora is not a fake! She…” Anthony hesitated. “She’s just… a victim, like you.”

“I see.” Iris sat her cup down firmly and smiled again. “Then let’s plan for me to return to the palace tomorrow then. You can go enjoy the birthday party with Theodora, without my presence complicating public perception of her.”  She stood up, not subtly indicating to her guests that they were expected to leave.

Anthony’s expression was complicated. “But… I’m here to bring you back.” He stood up dazedly, his advisor standing up as well, having stayed thoughtfully silent the entire conversation. Iris became guiding them towards the door.

“I know, and thank you. I’ll take tonight to pack my things. Just send a carriage to pick me up in the morning.”

“But… Theodora…” He was obviously calling her, and Iris interrupted him, frowning.

“Just call me Iris. I grew up with the name, and it will be too confusing with two Theodoras running around the castle.”

Anthony grabbed her hand. “But it’s your name. Our mother gave it to you.”

“And someone stole it from me, gave it to someone else and dropped me in the slums to die.” Her tone was dry, but Anthony winced as if she had struck him, letting go of her. “Just call me Iris. It’s easier.”

“Okay… Iris.”

“Good, now goodbye for now. Enjoy the party.”

With that she pushed them out of the door, closing and locking it behind them. She put her back against the wooden panels, ignoring the rough grain digging into her skin, and froze for an unknown amount of time. Slowly, she made her way back to her table, turning down the magical lamps to save fuel, cleaning up the used cups and tea pot, before sitting down and putting her head in her hands.

She was a princess.

Perhaps if anyone else had heard the news, especially someone who had been living in the slums, they would be ecstatic. It was a path forward full of opportunities, a chance to completely change her difficult, cold and lonely life.

But Iris was not excited.

Not that she didn’t want change. She hated her current life, the dangers, the struggle to get by, the constant wariness to protect herself. She was not indifferent to finding her family, either. She had longed for family affection her entire life. The old woman who raised her did so mostly to have someone to run errands for her. There was very little affection between them. To have a father and brothers who would care about her… it was a dream come true…

And unfortunately for her, it was a dream come true.

Every year since she was ten years old, she had had recurring dreams. Odd strange, vibrant dreams. Visions that sometimes seemed more real than the world around her, vividly remembered when she woke up in the morning. At least once a month, sometimes with more frequency, but always in a similar theme.

In her dreams, she lived in another world. A different life, filled with technology and science rather than magic. Of elections and leaders rather than royalty. And in this world she was still called Iris, but was an actress. She participated in many television shows and movies, had a moderate amount of fame, and many fans to cheer her on. But the project she was embroiled in, was a complex plot about a magical realm. Her character was a young woman, a princess who had been separated from birth from her family. She grew up on the streets until her eighteenth birthday at which time she was found and returned home.

An interesting, dramatic story. There was just one problem:

Her character wasn’t the heroine.

She was the villain.

Or one of the villains. Not even the main threat to the hero and heroine. She returned to the palace, only to find a replacement her family loved dearly in her spot. Filled with jealousy and spite, she spent most of her time trying to set traps for the woman who took her place, only to have each and every plot go wrong. The woman she hated escaped time and time again, and slowly, her father the king and her brothers grew weary of her trouble, sending her overseas to be married to an old and perverted foreign king. They had thought she would be married to one of his sons, but didn’t spend enough time or effort to show her importance to the royal family. Coveting her beauty, the old king took her into his harem.

She jumped off the roof of the palace on the night of her wedding. None of her family knew of or mourned her loss.

The heroine, the girl who had grown up as the princess she was meant to be, thrived under the love and care of the king and princes. She ended up marrying a neighboring prince, the fiancé that had been promised since birth, a man who Iris’ character had also fallen in love with, but failed at all attempts to get close.

Most of her dreams centered around the filming of this project.

Iris had always been confused by these dreams, convinced it just a strange experience that meant nothing, until one year ago, when she heard a story teller in a tavern talking about the royal family:

The crown prince Dominic. The second born prince Anthony. The princess Theodora.

All names she knew very well.

The characters in the story her dream-self acted in.

And the more she pondered this, the clearer it became. Her age, her features, the distinctive birthmark… Iris remembered having the make up artist draw it on below her ear in her dream, but she didn’t need make up in the waking world. She had the birth mark, a clear small star, since she was a child. A mark that meant something horrible:

She was the lost princess.

She was the villainess, doomed to be hated, to be sent away and kill herself in despair.

Over the last year she paid close attention to her dreams, writing down what she remembered, trying to understand the story of her possible future. Even as she prepared, she hoped, deep in her heart, that her dreams were wrong. That they were a strange delusion, a mix of stories of the royal family and facts about herself, combined in her sleeping brain. Maybe it was just what she had thought it was before: a peculiar dream.

Until her eighteenth birthday arrived.

And Prince Anthony arrived with it, right on schedule.

She stared down at her clenched fists, as the multicolored streamers hung around her, a cake sitting coldly in front of her, the icing starting to melt, and sighed.

She was unsure why she had been given these dreams, this warning of her future.

But she did understand one thing:

She would not suffer the same fate as the character Iris had played in her dreams.

_____________________________________________

Prince Anthony sat in his carriage, traveling back to the palace. He leaned back against the cushions, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. As they drew closer to home, he finally spoke up, breaking the tense silence.

“Gareld… did I do something wrong?”

“Your Highness?”

Anthony opened his eyes, a confused light in the dark pupils. “I thought she would be excited to learn she had family. All the information about her… her struggles to survive by selling flowers… with no one to help her… I thought she would leap at the chance to go home.”

“She didn’t seem UNHAPPY, sir.”

“But she wasn’t happy, either.” He sighed, twisting a ring on his right hand. “Should I not have brought up Theodora?”

Gareld shook his head. “It’s not like you could have avoided it. Better she know now then find out at the palace.”

“I know it’s not her fault… she’s a victim too. So, she shouldn’t blame Theodora, right? But why do I feel so guilty?”

“Princess Theodora and Princess Iris were both the subject of this malicious swap… but Princess Theodora grew up loved and cherished, a princess where she may not have enjoyed such luxury before, but Princess Iris… She has suffered more.” Gereld hesitated. “Besides, your father and Prince Dominic have not determined how to settle Princess Theodora’s identity. If they fully restore Princess Iris to her place, that will cause many issues for Theodora, not excluding her marriage arrangement to Prince Greyson. If you had brought Princess Iris to the party tonight… they may have made a rash decision to protect Princess Theodora, even at the cost of your new sister.”

“I almost caused her harm, didn’t I?”

“Not intentionally, Your Highness.”

“I just wanted to bring her home.” Anthony whispered, feeling pain in his heart and her bland, cold expression when facing him. “Why is it so complicated?”

“You father and brother will figure things out. I would just focus on making your sister feel welcome. It will be a difficult transition, no matter what.”

Anthony seemed to come to a determination, an excited light in his eye. “All right then! I’ll make sure she’s taken care of! Let’s go make sure Iris’s room and servants are arranged properly!”

Gareld looked confused. “What about Princess Theodora’s party?”

“I already gave her my gift, she’ll understand. There are hundreds of people there. But my sister… she doesn’t have anyone. I need to make sure she’s welcomed!”

_____________________________________________

Iris ate a piece of the cake her brother had left, enjoying the high-quality treat. It reminded her of the cakes in her dream. There had a been a special bakery she had gone to, usually on her birthday. She had to sneak there, her agent and personal trainer strictly forbid sweets. She had not had the chance to taste such delicious things in this world, though, her money was better spent on things for survival.

After she finished, she made her way to her room, opening a secret panel behind her bed. Her home was small, and even smaller after she built a secret compartment in the back. But it had been worth it, to keep her secrets safe. As she entered the room, she was surrounded by flowers. Hundreds of colorful bright flowers, each in the state of perfect bloom. On the wall, small pots of herbs grew heartily, their grassy scent combining with the sweet smell of the flowers.

Her first advantage was knowing her story, and with that came certain benefits.

Like knowing she had magical abilities solely available to royal blood. In the story, one of the reasons the king brought Iris back was that he needed to use her gifts, which included the ability to grow plants in any environment. She had agreed readily in the story, hoping to earn her father’s affection by aiding him. Unfortunately for her, her usefulness did not outweigh her shortcomings, as she targeted Theodora again and again. And the king chose to abandon her with little hesitation.

Iris frowned, feeling a stabbing pain in her heart. She thought she had come to peace with her knowledge of the future. However, at the thought of the father she had never met, a strong desire for family affection and love still rose within her. She firmly pushed it down, focusing on the room around her.

Once she suspected the reality of the dream, she had used the knowledge of the story to tap into her royal magic. There was still strict limits on her abilities, mostly by the seeds she had access too and the space she had to grow, but it allowed her to sell fresh, beautiful flowers, even in the midst of winter.  

The herbs had proved useful as well.

She carefully packed a few small choice plants and seeds, only carrying a tiny fraction of the room within. She wasn’t ready to reveal her knowledge of her abilities just yet. The more she knew, and the less they knew, the better.

Iris packed the remainder of her belongings, fitting everything into two small bags. She then laid down, and prepared to rest.

Tomorrow she would see her family, and the heroine of this story, Theodora.

She was ready.

_____________________________________________

As promised by Anthony, a royal carriage arrived in the morning to pick her up. She handed her bags to the footman and prepared to step in, only to pause at the sight of a hand reaching out to help her in to the carriage.

Surprised, she saw Anthony’s grinning face and took his hand, letting him help her to the seat across from him. “Why are you here?”

“I can’t let my little sister come home alone, can I?”

He spent the ride to the palace chattering in a cheerful tone about the arrangements he had done to set up her living space. Iris listened in somewhat of a daze, feeling unsure.

Iris had not been arranged living quarters in the story. In fact, that was the source of one of the early conflicts between the heroine and the villainess. Iris had been mentally preparing for that confrontation… only to find out the story had already changed.

Did delaying my arrival to the next morning already change things so much? It both relieved Iris to know she COULD change things, and terrified her about whether she SHOULD. Her advantage was based mainly in her knowledge of the story, but if that changed… she would be on her own.

“Are you okay?” Anthony noticed her distraction, pausing in his descriptions to check in with her.

Iris smiled at him, the first genuine smile she had given him since his arrival on her birthday. “I’ll be okay.” And I will. My goal is to get a different ending for myself. A better ending. And the only way to do that is to change things. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. This is a good start.

She looked out the window, unaware that her brother had frozen in shock at the sight of her bright smile. When she smiled like that, her eyes lit up, and she looked just liked their mother. He cheered himself on, glad he had chosen to spend time arranging for her arrival.

As the carriage came to a stop, Anthony helped her down from the carriage, leading her in excitedly towards the royal quarters. As he entered a central sitting room, he called out:

“Father! Dominic! I brought her!”

Two men in the room stood up at his words, turning to look at Iris.

And iris studied them as well.

Tall, handsome, with light hair and grey eyes, they looked very different from her, who resembled their mother with her red hair and more delicate features. Anthony pointed at them, and grinned to Iris.

“This is your father, and your oldest brother!”

The older of the two stepped forward, a solemn look on his lined face.

“Theodora, you’ve returned.”

At his words, a beautiful young woman who was sitting on a nearby couch stood up, her lightly curled blond locks swaying behind her. She reached forward, grabbing the King’s hand with a brave smile.

“Silly me, I almost thought you were talking to me, Father! But of course you are talking to your real daughter.” She turned to Iris with a tearful expression. “Sister, I must beg for your forgiveness! Even though I am a victim of this switch as well, and have lost my blood relatives, I have grown up with father and brothers, who have treated me well. You deserve to take everything, it should have been yours from the start!” She began to cry, while Iris watched on.

Good tears, nice volume, angles her face well to take advantage of the shape and appear more remorseful.  

As someone who had lived years inside her dreams as a professional actress, however, it was too fake.

Iris recognized this scene, although the setting was different. It was the meeting between Theodora the heroine and Iris the villainess.

_____________________________________________

“Scene 4, Take 2. ACTION!”

CLACK!

Theodora stepped closer, tears still running down her face. “Sister, I can never repay what you have lost, but first, I will give you back your name. I have held it for too long!” She sobbed prettily into her hands. “I don’t know what I’ll go by… but you can be Theodora… the real Theodora from now on!”

“Wait!” The King spoke up, patting Theodora gently on the head. “Let’s not be too hasty. We have been calling Theodora by this name for eighteen years. It would be silly to change things now.”

Theodora smiled at him, but then cast a worried glance at Iris, as if afraid of her anger. “But what should we call sister then?”

“My name is…”

“Let’s call her Dora.” Dominic spoke up, interrupting his sister’s words. “We shorten Theodora’s name to Theo sometimes, so Dora would be the most appropriate.”

She stared at her family with growing rage. “Theodora is MY name! Why can’t I be called by MY NAME? Why does this… this… FAKE… get to keep MY NAME!”

Theodora broke down. “I knew sister hates me! I should leave the palace! I’ll just make her sadder if I stay!”

Anthony stepped in. “Of course you’re not leaving! You’re our sister no matter what!” He turned to his sister. “Apologize to Theodora… Dora!”

“CUT!”

_____________________________________________

Iris looked up, just in time to see Theodora step closer, right on cue. “Sister, I can never repay what you have lost, but first, I will give you back your name…”

“No, that’s okay, you keep it. I’ll just go by Iris.” Iris interrupted her, bringing up a gentle, kind smile. Using her memories of acting, she looked at Theodora as if looking a loved family member. “I know you must be uncomfortable, with me showing up out of nowhere. You have been with my father and brothers all these years, taking care of them when I couldn’t. I must thank you, dear Theodora. I couldn’t possibly take your name!”

“…What?” Theodora forgot to keep pretending to cry, staring at Iris with consternation.

“It’s nice to see you are a sensible girl.” The King spoke up, smiling approvingly at them both. “We will refer to you as Iris. Welcome home!”

“We’ll need to settle their identities.” Dominic looked at Iris cautiously, his eyes calculating. “After all, Theodora has publicly been the princess for the last eighteen years.”

Iris smiled. “I will follow whatever you and father think is best.”

Before Dominic could speak again, Anthony jumped in. “Let’s discuss it later. Iris has to see her new rooms!” Ignoring any awkwardness, he grabbed Iris’ hand and pulled her further into the palace.

Iris turned and smiled at the three as she was led away. She especially enjoyed Theodora’s annoyed face, before she quickly gained control of her expression.

Alright, first confrontation is a point for me. Only a few hundred more to go. She turned back to her brother who led her away, feeling warm. I don’t know why he’s different… but I’m glad he is.

As she was about to speak up to thank him, however, Anthony came to a sudden halt, causing her to crash into his back.

“Ouch!” She grabbed her nose which had been the main point of impact, her eyes tearing from the blow, and looked past her brother at the point of obstruction.

“Mage Vicente! What brings you to the palace?” Anthony seemed confused, but not nervous.

The man who blocked them looked at them both with a calm smile. He was a young man, good looking enough to make even Iris who had memories of working with multiple top-level actors take notice. His hair was covered under a hood, a large cloak covering most of his tall form, but his eyes, a bright green color, were filled with a knowledge that made whoever looked in them nervous.

Iris stared at him, confused.

There was no mention of a Mage Vincente in the story in her dreams.

Who is this? A very minor character?  Iris felt she would have remembered him.

“I was just here to confirm something.” Vincente studied Iris carefully, then nodded. “Welcome back, Your Highness.”

Iris felt like his words had a deeper meaning, but was unsure of what it could be.

“It was Vincente whose magic confirmed that you were the true princess, Iris!” Anthony spoke up.

“I see.” Iris was more confused than ever, made worse by the fact that he seemed very familiar… but she couldn’t remember from where. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure, Iris.” He bowed solemnly, but his eyes seemed… amused… more than anything. Without another word, he walked away, his robe swaying with his wide steps.

“Don’t mind him, Iris. All mages are a bit odd.”

“Odd…” Iris watched the man’s leaving back. “That seems to be the right word for it.”

They arrived at her rooms, which were carefully decorated and filled with beautiful furniture, jewelry, makeup and clothes. Anthony showed her around the room, pointing with glee at the different choices he had made.

“I don’t know if the gowns will fit, so I’ll have the dressmaker stop by later today to help fit you! Hopefully these will be a good start!” He grinned at her, and Iris smiled back.

“Thank you… Brother.” She stepped forward, giving him a cautious hug. Anthony hugged her tightly back, blinking back tears.

“Welcome home!” After a few more words he left, and Iris was alone.

She looked around the rooms, overwhelmed.

The story is already so different. My brother, these rooms, the meeting… the mage.”

She remembered vividly the scene of her character jumping to her death in a foreign land.

“Not different enough.” She muttered.

She would change the story completely.

This… was just the start.

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[ghast1yghosts]

i wanna see old musician wayne. someone eddie always thought was cool (when he still had all his hair) growing up. someone who ended up with this sad little kid who needed an outlet and teaching him the basics. the kid falling in love with music.

watching him be something he never could’ve done, he wasn’t good enough, but his boy is good enough, his boy is going places. be it music or otherwise, his boy has a passion he knows it special.

then spring break happens. and his boy’s spark is dimmed, flickering, hanging on by some miracle.

wayne notices. he sees it not just eddie’s aching body, bandaged gashes and sore stitches. he sees it’s not just injuries. his boy doesn’t want to play, not just because he can’t.

he gets a flinch in reply to a question about a guitar. he gets brushed off when he asks if he’s itching to play. he gets sudden distant eyes, and a static reaction when he sets up his record player.

his boy doesn’t heal as fast he should. his boy avoids going out. his boy struggles to get his feet under him, let alone to stand back up.

watching his boy become a husk in front of his eyes. monotone and vacant, he seems checked out without the narcotics.

once brazen and defiant, he’s watching it get snuffed out. and by god if he’s going to stand idle any more. he’s not letting his boy give up on himself like he did.

he avoids the more typical eddie style, and sits down with his acoustic. wayne snagged it when that harrington boy dragged him out of the house the other day, eddie didn’t even notice it’s absence.

it’s been years, far too long, having let eddie take the reins of tight strings over frets all those years ago. he plays something mellow, something by ear, something by heart, something eddie will know.

he’s only playing for a maybe a minute before a curious head peaks out from around the corner, and then a whole body leaning against the wall.

“can’t believe you still know how to play.”

“sound that bad, huh?” eddie snorts, shaking his head slightly, uncrossing his arms and making his way to join on the couch across from wayne.

he starts again from the beginning, playing the old tune from his favorite album, the last one his sister listened to—the last one eddie’s mom listened to.

making room for eddie to join him, he doesn’t hum along, just plays the melody.

the first few seconds go by quiet, just the two of them listening to the gentle strums. eddie starts to mutter the words, tapping his knee to the beat, like he’s unable to kept himself away from the lull of music.

steady rhythm, eddie closes his eyes, bashfulness at softly singing or falling right into wayne’s obvious trap it doesn’t really matter. his boy starts to bounce his foot, body thrumming with the noise.

“but listen carefully to the sound,

of your loneliness,”

he looks at home, a nice picture to the empty shell he seems to be. he’s still there, just hiding himself, feeling far too exposed, to open. it’s not the first time wayne’s had to crack the shell he locks himself away in.

a bit rusty and corse, wayne joins him.

and for what it’s worth—the small smile that breaks across his face—it’s worth millions to him.

“thunder only happens when it's rainin'”

he’ll keep playing if his boy can’t. he’ll keep playing for his boy. till his fingers bleed, till he’s at deaths door, it doesn’t matter.

and whether eddie adds more kindle to his flame or not, wayne isn’t letting it get smothered any time soon.

[tiedyeflannels]

Never Let You Go

Park Jimin x reader

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 -- Masterlist

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre: Angst to Fluff

A/N: What's up! I finally got around to writing this fic again after a few months. I figured that if I didn't write this now, I probably would never finish and I really wanted to write this since forever ago. Anyway, here's part one and I'll post part two whenever I'm done, which could be in an hour or a couple days *shrug*. Enjoy tho!

“I can’t believe you said that,” Jimin yelled as we walked into the living room.

“Are you seriously getting upset with the fact that I had told you that I thought you looked a little unwell at the shoot today,” I calmly asked, following him into the room.

“Yes! Especially when you just had to let the entire staff know about it too!”

“Anybody would’ve brought it up. Jimin, I was just concerned about you,” I tried to reason, but he spun around and looked at me with a furious face.

“You were concerned!? Why don’t you worry about yourself for a change?”

“How can I, when I know you haven’t been sleeping or eating well recently?”

The tension was starting to build in the room the longer we stood there in silence. Jimin was silently fuming and anyone could see it on his face. I was trying my best to stay calm and defuse the situation, but anything I said seemed to make him angrier until…

“Well, maybe you should worry about not being in this relationship anymore.”

“What…” I quietly asked as all the blood rushed out of my face in shock.

“Guys, maybe we should calm down,” Namjoon said calmly.

“No, I'm done!”

“Chim… you don’t actually mean that,” I tried as tears started welling up in my eyes.

“Yeah. I do,” he huffed before storming out of the living room, toward his room.

The tears slowly escaped from my eyes as I watched him angrily close the door behind him.

“Oh, Y/n…” I looked to the side and finally realized that the other members had been sitting in the living room, listening to our fight.

“He didn’t mean that,” Namjoon tried to reason as he hugged me from the side and rubbed my arm soothingly.

“Yeah, you know how he can get when he’s mad. Just give him some time to cool down,” Tae spoke up from the couch.

I sadly nodded as Namjoon gave me a squeeze before guiding me to the couch and letting me join them in whatever they were watching.

~

Sadly, it seemed like he didn’t calm down. I tried knocking on his door over the next week when I went over so we could talk, but he told me to leave or just simply wasn’t there. I tried texting him, asking if we could talk about the fight, but they always went unread. 

The worst thing about it was that I was supposed to leave to work in the States for a couple years, next week. I did my best to get him to talk, I even had some of the members try to talk to him about the fight so I could see where he was, but he dismissed the topic as soon as they brought it up. 

Which brought us to today…

“Please let us know when you land, okay,” Jungkook said as he gave me a hug.

We were standing in the driveway of their house because they wanted to see me before I left for the airport. Well… all except one.

My eyes were darting around the group and the windows to see if I could spot a glimpse of Jimin before I left, but he was nowhere to be found.

Namjoon walked up to me, “We all told him that he should, at least, say bye before you left…”

“He’s an idiot,” Yoongi chimed in, making me chuckle at his bluntness before continuing, “We’ll make sure to tear him a new one when we see him.”

The guys nodded in agreement, making me smile at how much they cared about me.

“It’s fine! Though if you could convince him to talk with me about this situation that we’re in, I would really appreciate it,” I said, looking around the group with a small smile.

“We will definitely do that,” Hobi said with his reassuring smile.

“...After we tear him a new one,” Tae added in, completely serious. 

I smiled and nodded, “Thank you. I’ll try to reach him as soon as I get situated in my new place, but I won’t expect him to reply.”

“We’re right behind you,” Namjoon assured.

I sighed, “Thank you and good luck in the military! I’m sorry I won’t be around to see you guys off individually. I really wanted to.” 

Jin waved me off, “No worries! We’ll see you when you come back, just be safe.”

He opened his arms and I happily slotted myself between them, giving him the last hug for a while. Some of the others cooed and gathered around for a group hug.

“I’m gonna miss you, guys.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” they said and kept hugging for a bit before stepping back to let me go.

I sighed, “Stay safe and healthy. I’ll be back to pick you up when you’re done.”

They nodded before I sighed one more time and started slowly backing away from them and to the car waiting for me.

“Love you guys! Take care while I’m gone!”

“Love you too!”

~

Once I landed I texted the group to let them know that I got there safely and that they should take care of themselves while I’m gone. I took a cab over to the apartment I would be staying in for the next two years that I was going to be here and started to get situated as soon as I stepped inside.

After a bit of unpacking, I took out my phone once I took a break to lay on my bed and opened Jimin’s contact.

Sighing, I typed out, “Hey, I made it safely to my new place! It’s really nice here, but it’s nothing like being home. I would love it if we could talk soon. I miss you a lot… <3”.

I turned the phone off and let it drop to my side, hoping that he would come around soon.

Part 2

[wild-typo-turtle]

Home for the Holidays - Part 1 of 3

On your way home from work, you see a mysterious door. And since you're the only one who can see it, there's really only one call you can make...

A Steve Rogers x Reader fic for @stellar-solar-flare Stella's Starry Winter Sky Challenge!

Rating: T

Themes: Meet-cute, Reader has a secret, other worlds

Home for the Holidays - Part 1

The door wasn't much to look at, actually.

You stared at it, your hands clutching the cup of steaming hot chocolate that had been your indulgence as you'd closed down the bookstore. Your breath plumed out into the night, but you barely noticed how cold it was. Or how dark - it was the solstice, the darkest night of the year, and the air around you was black and frozen.

There was a door.

You knew you'd never seen it before. You crossed this park almost every day, twice a day: once on your way to work, once on your way home. You had certainly never seen a door standing there all by itself with no walls around it. 

You weren't sure that anyone else could see it. You stood there gaping at it, but no one else seemed to be. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket, pretending to be absorbed in it as you slowly approached the door.

It was an old door. The wood was weathered and splintered; it had been neglected. The handle, also wood, was a round knob, worn smooth and shiny with years and hands. It looked as though it belonged in a barn, as if opening it would take you into a feed room or a tack room.

Your phone lit up, and you really did look down at it that time.

Ben: Done with rehearsal. Doing anything?

You could just walk away. You could head home, and you could text Ben back when you got there. And his blessedly uncomplicated self could come over and you could enjoy a few hours with him before it was time to go to sleep. Maybe he'd stay the night, and you could get breakfast in the morning at the little cafe down the street that made the best cinnamon raisin bread.

But on the other hand…

There was that door.

The door where there shouldn't be a door. The door that no one could see but you.

Were you losing it? Were you hallucinating?

But then you noticed something else. Everyone walking past the door walked around it, deliberately avoiding the obstacle. On some level, they knew it was there. 

You weren't crazy.

And as you looked at it, you remembered something you'd seen on the news a few months ago. Something about a tip line for unusual occurrences in New York.

Back to your phone. And it was an easy search to find the number, and a woman's voice answered after only one ring. 

“Avengers Initiative, how may I assist you?”

“Yes, um…” You cleared your throat. “Um. Hi. There's…there's this door…”

-~-~-

They had asked you to wait until they arrived, assuring you that it wouldn’t be long. And so you found yourself an empty bench within sight of the door, huddled in your coat and sipping on your cooling hot chocolate, your breath pluming out in clouds in the clear and frosty air. For all the bustle in the park, it was quiet, a perfect winter night at the height of the cold and the dark. 

You watched the door. Nothing happened.

People kept walking around it absently. You watched their feet for something to do as you waited; they seemed to feel the door’s presence about ten feet away, their steps slowly angling around it. Far enough that the motion did not need to be sudden or jerky; it was subtle, smooth, easy not to notice. And no one did - even those few whose heads were high, looking forward and not buried in their phones - seemed unaware that they had adjusted their paths.

It was quiet, and that made it easy to hear the new footsteps. They crunched briskly through the snow, and you turned away from the door to see them coming towards you.

Eek.

You’d figured the Avengers would send some sort of preliminary team - the equivalent of a beat cop, just to check things out and make sure you weren’t lying. But no, they had sent the big guns, faces you’d only seen on television and the Internet, striding toward you and ignoring the gasps and stares that greeted them and that followed in their wake.

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. 

And Steve Rogers himself. Captain America, at the head of the group. 

It was a good thing you’d finished the hot chocolate several minutes ago. It would have ended up splattered on the ground.

You had about thirty seconds before they reached you, and you frantically tried to gather your composure. You stood up and brushed off your coat; you threw away your empty cup in the garbage can next to your bench. You’d given the woman on the phone your name, but they wouldn’t know what you looked like, you would need to - 

Oh. They were coming straight for you.

You gulped as they came up to you. Rogers gave you a nod of greeting; he was the only one to do so. The rest of them were busy scanning the park; their postures said they were relaxed, but their faces maintained alertness, looking for any and every possible threat. 

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “Thank you for waiting for us.”

“I, uh - um, yeah, no trouble,” you fumbled. “I wasn’t…wasn’t expecting…”

“Oh, us?” He grinned, chuckling, as you flapped your hand at him and his teammates. “Well, yeah. Normally we wouldn’t come right away, but we verified your report at the Tower. It’s not anything that would have tripped up our early detection systems, but once we looked for it, you’re absolutely right. There’s definitely something going on here. So we called in the cavalry.”

You couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief at the confirmation that you hadn’t lost your mind. Rogers saw it, and his grin softened a little bit.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You did the right thing by calling us in. This is exactly why the A.I. even exists.”  

You nodded mutely, but you weren't sure if Rogers saw it. He was already turning to his teammates, Wilson and Romanov, his brow lifting in inquiry as Barnes continued surveilling the park.

“Anything?”

Romanov was holding some kind of tablet, and she was poking at the screen in unmistakable frustration. “Something, but that's about all I can tell you,” she grumbled. “It's like a fly in your house. You know it's there, but finding it's a bitch.”

Captain Rogers looked back at you, and the expression on his face was heavy. “Look, I'm sorry,” he began, and you did not like the sound of that. “I'd do it, normally. One of us would. But since you're the only one who can see it…”

“He's asking you to open the door,” Barnes said, not even turning back to look at you. “And he would do it, the stupid punk.”

Rogers let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan, a grumble, and a snarl - but you noticed that he didn’t attempt to deny what Barnes had said. Either part of it.

You looked at him, your insides trembling, and he laid a hand - a big, strong hand, and you were certainly noticing those details - on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, very quietly. “If you don’t want to, we can find another way. There are people we can call.”

People, but those people hadn’t come with him, and there was probably a reason for that. They would take time to arrive, and who knew what would happen while they were getting here?

You were no hero. You worked in a bookstore, you lived alone with your cat, and the closest thing you had to a romantic relationship was a friends-with-benefits actor. You weren’t like these people. 

But maybe you could be, just for one night.

You squared your shoulders, looking up at Rogers. 

“I’ll do it.”

-~-~-

They made a plan. And after they’d done so, more agents arrived, garden-variety this time, cordoning off a circle around the door and setting up a perimeter of barriers and screens. You were still the only one who could see it - Rogers had checked with everyone as they’d arrived - but they’d given you some plastic stakes to mark where it was. Everything was terribly efficient, and it was easy to forget the chill in the air with the bustle of activity. You stood huddled in your coat, watching, until Rogers waved you over to a section of the perimeter. It was draped on three sides with tarps, creating a small tent, and someone had set up a little portable heater that was doing an excellent job of warming up the space. 

As you got there, sighing happily at the heat, you noticed that Rogers was holding what looked like a climbing harness and a coil of rope. 

“Ever worn one of these?” he asked. When you shook your head, he continued. “Nothing to it - just a safety precaution. We’ll have the rope attached to the harness and we’ll secure it here. That way if something tries to pull you into - uh, well, wherever that door goes - we can get you out of the way fast.”

You nodded, trying not to think about being pulled into wherever that door goes. Instead you let Rogers help you into the harness, easing it over your coat and helping you tighten the straps, and tying the rope to a metal ring on the back. 

And then, what seemed like a mere second later, you were standing in front of the door.

Behind you, Rogers and Barnes were holding onto the rope. The sight of the two supersoldiers didn’t exactly banish the butterflies in your stomach, but their solid forms did inspire at least a little bit of confidence. They weren’t going to let you go anywhere.

You offered Rogers a small, trembly smile, before you turned back to face the door. Romanov was right beside you, and she nodded at you. Just once - but it was, in its way, just as reassuring as the two men holding the rope. You got the impression that there was very little she couldn’t handle.

“You ready?” she said softly. 

Off to your right, Wilson was standing with his wings extended. He was the backup plan: if Rogers and Barnes lost hold of the rope, he would dive in and try to grab you before you were pulled in too far. You were no hero, and yet they were treating you as if your life was just as precious as theirs. 

Well. Perhaps that was what made a hero, a hero.

In answer to Romanov’s question, you shuffled forward two steps and placed your hand on the doorknob.

It was cold. Ice cold, and you hissed as the chill bit at your skin even through your thick mitten. Your teeth chattered, and you stumbled back a step, as Romanov caught you. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you gritted out. “Just - ‘s just cold.”     

But you were all right. And now that you were braced for it, it wasn’t as bad when you touched the knob again. You twisted it, and it moved easily in your hand, and the door fell open.

You were not sure what you’d been expecting. But it definitely had not been an older gentleman standing on the other side of the door. 

He didn’t move. 

His hair was an ashy, golden white - a color that made you certain he had been as blond as Steve Rogers in his youth. He was dressed in brilliant green, a tunic and trousers and a thick cloak, green with accents of gold and red. A thin golden circlet sat on his brow, and as you looked at him, he bent, sweeping into a deep bow that almost left him lying flat upon the ground.

It was winter beyond the door, too. A light snow was falling, and it was piled up high around the gentleman’s brown boots. 

No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone was staring at the strange man as he straightened from his bow, and looked straight at you.

“Your Royal Highness.”

TBC...

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

i almost bailed on new year’s because i was sleepy and the weather was horrendous, but it was three short blocks from my apartment and i’d said i’d go so i really had no excuse; when i got there for a moment i was worried it was populated exclusively by Fashionable Gay People, but then i peered into another room and found the mutual aid contingent and was relieved even as i remembered with amusement a few parties ago, back in october, someone remarking, not harshly, on our collective habit of going to parties to talk to the same 10-20 people we already know. the first thing i did in 2025 was go see no, the gael garcia bernal movie about the campaign to vote no on the 1988 plebiscite on pinochet; the second was family brunch; the third was watching the shop around the corner and confirming i am truly jimmy stewart pilled now. thursday i got a great haircut and hung out in the mulberry street library reading js&mn (i have most recently arrived at the portion after strange comes home from the war) and met a friend for dinner before seeing teeth, my second time getting around to a michael r. jackson musical just in time for closing week; not a perfect show but a wild time and i’m very glad he gets to be out there doing his thing. friday i got pleasantly fucked up and went out dancing until 3:30 in the morning with like ten people all of whom once again know each other because we like making it possible for people to get free stuff, which i guess one day i will accept is just my life now but on some level has not yet sunk in. i thought a lot as i have been thinking a lot about how for my entire twenties and then some loneliness was the defining color in my emotional landscape and i am still awkward and neurotic and shy but that just isn’t true anymore, when i thought it would be true forever. an absurdly cool trans girl i know told me she loved my hair and i went to sleep having achieved my step count for friday and saturday mostly in the span of about four hours. saturday i thought was to be for laundry and sleep but n. said a movie was playing he remembered loving so i made it into the city (after laundry) to watch todo mudo, a 1976 political thriller with a somewhat inscrutable plot (to me, knowing nothing about italian politics after the fall of rome other than that mussolini happened) and impeccable vibes, and back at home i managed to muster up the will for full body day to hit my fifth workout of the week, because i am very tough and brave.

today i tutored for the first time in two weeks and screwed up what was supposed to by my second by forgetting my own schedule, but it’s fine. i reviewed & resolutioned & brought my mom a change of clothes at the hospital and made a little page i can duplicate in my planning app that looks just like my little notebook weekly log pages except it lives in my ipad :) i have had an extremely good staycation and already have a series of nice things to look forward to in the days ahead. i feel very lucky here at the dawn of 2025. i keep thinking that, over and over.

[rust-official]

This time round trying emacs is different because I'm using doom (at the brilliant recommendation of one of my partners, mentioned above), which is kind of like one of the neovim distributions but for emacs. Good defaults that match what a 25 year vim veteran wants, enough customizability to fit to what I need. Like any massively complex piece of software, it's taken a lot of getting used to, and there's always more to learn. The doom docs say that learning emacs is an adventure, and I agree.

org mode is cool! There are some plugins that simulate it in (neo)vim of course, but nothing really manages to match org. The more I learn about org, the more I love it--it is always the marquee feature which gets me playing with emacs every time I've wanted to try it. Of course, the most basic features for outlining are state of the art, even among commercial outliners like omnioutliner, everyone knows that. But it also supports cool things like tables with integrated calculator support and exports to every format you can think of and and and. org's manual is hundreds of pages and it can do so, so much. And it's just one package!

Continuing from the above, neovim can't have a plugin that does everything org mode does, for a variety of reasons. It's too mature and has too many people working on it for a few loosely-associated plugin writers to be able to accomplish the same thing. Beyond this, even neovim just doesn't have the same extensibility that emacs does. Most of neovim is still written in C with a thin layer of lua for extensions, whereas the emacs philosophy is a small core in C and the rest in elisp--a lot like atom or, more recently, visual studio code--but using a real language, of course, and not JS.

evil mode is a far better approximation of vim than I was expecting. Just about every other vi mode falters and has bugs / missing features. I've not run into any such limitations or bugs with evil, again probably due to its popularity compared to the vi modes in those other tools, which are often an afterthought (or just removed / dropped entirely, like in the new repl for python 3.13).

The emacs philosophy is as it was 30 years ago when I first tried learning it: it still expects you to open the editor when logging in and never close it. As such it has better tools for managing lots of open buffers (I particularly like ibuffer, it mostly approximates vim's bufexplorer plugin, but it's missing a few things from vim or I don't know about them yet; will be looking at the manual).

There's seemingly a package for everything, and often a few different ones for the same thing. The "emacs is my operating system" mantra makes a lot of sense when viewed from this angle. Lots of things have good documentation, too, and of course, as I said above, so much more is possible in emacs than neovim.

doom's out of the box LSP support seems nicer than neovim's. I'm sure I could get similar results with configuring neovim, perhaps with more plugins or config, but things just feel more robust right from the start. I still need more time to evaluate this, as I've spent the least amount of time editing code. Mostly I've been focusing on editing documents with org mode and the occasional dabbling with magit for doing git stuff. magit is quite nice and very mature; I know it'll work quite well for managing code repos once I'm more comfortable with emacs as a code editor. I have lots of custom keybindings for neovim's LSP support that I'll need to relearn if I want to use emacs as my code editor.

One criticism I do have is that none of the emacs terminal emulators I've tried work well with vi keybindings in my shell; when I press esc to enter normal mode in the shell, the buffer for the terminal emulator goes into evil's normal mode. There may be a way to fix it, but I've not looked into it yet.

Am I going to switch? I don't know. I'm giving it an honest try, a more honest try than I have in the past, and having someone to ask questions is proving absolutely critical. I can't answer this question right now. Maybe? I cannot say how helpful evil has been with this. Modal editing is how my brain works and I don't think I'd be able to learn non-modal editing.

Given how @neovim-official hates me (see here) I have started learning @emacs-unofficial , using @doom-official and hence @emacs-evil-mode.

(this is not entirely a shitpost, one of my partners has been showing me around, largely for org mode but I've always been curious. Back when I got my start with Unix/Linux in the late 90s on a shell provider, emacs was the first editor I tried, but it was so slow to start back then that I switched to vim. How things would've been different for me if computers were faster when I started!)

[iwatcheditbegin]

I miss when liking Taylor meant you were a loser with no friends. That was our brand

[egophiliac]

I have never been more concerned for a JP update from your art than I am seeing a Cheka knowing the context of Leona’s dream.

My bois ok right?????? My sweet nephews ok right??????

well

uhhhh

I'm sure the real one is fine :)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Misc. photos from the past year or so ~

[gobstoppr]

and btw im in my hater arc rn. as time goes on the more i find a lot of 'fandom' stuff insufferable (i like art n stuff. just the way that fandom refits every media to fit a single mold and set of boring archetypes is exhausting.)

i just get really easily annoyed lately. and have been unfollowing people on a whim a lot. its not personal i promise

[averlym]

hi, i see you are on hiatus, but thought at some point you might like to hear that january 28th is henry’s deathday ~ holiday anon

another one bites the dust (haha because you hoover dust)

[butch-himbo-king]

genuine question how do you make friends in a new place since we’ve moved i have literally no one to talk to or hang out with here other than my gf

[graff-aganda]

I'm all for my fellow merch makers making whatever decisions they want with what they produce. But I wish it were more widely known that a clear epoxy coat over acrylic pins and charms will yellow over time. ;;

[hooved]

every single day i experience symptoms of ocd and every single day i'm somehow surprised by it

[teddytoroa]

i can't find it but ages ago (like several days) i saw a post that was about how fanfic turned into romance novels is like the tiktok of books bc they dont have any breathing space and just jump between the main plot points and it makes the book unsatisfying and im like yeah actually thats absolutely true. And imo it feels in line with the antiintellectualualism problem we have where people just wanna be spoonfed the "interesting" bits.

But also the flip side of that is when theres entire books of like,,character interaction that doesnt go anywhere and its marketed as slice of life or light romance or whatever and yall know me i LOVE some chill slow paced low stakes character exploration but even slice of life stuff needs like actual plot to hold it together or it just feels a bit like mush. some of my most favourite stories are slice of life with characters who dont do very much at all but theres enough actual development of relationships and an underlying thread of a plot (not always a conflict even) to tie it all together so its not just a loose collection of characters in a bag rattling around like marbles and going nowhere. does any of this make sense

[rosicheeks]

🤔