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obviouslyelementary · 8 years ago

Text

Come what may

This is my proudest work so I am tagging all of you I don’t even care. Also, it was very hard to choose who would play as who, so just so you know, we have Prince as Satine and Anxiety as Christopher, just so no one gets disappointed.

Moulin Rouge AU with Prinxiety and side Logicality.

Warnings: sexual harrassment, slurs, implied prostitution, main character death

Tags: @dan-yuna @clutzyrevolution @liberalautisticnerd831 @purple-chaos-buttonmaster @inalandofmythandtimeofmagic @deafchildcrossing @prinxietytrash @idk-and-idc-and-idr @romanass @killerfangirl3 @prinxietyhell @the-sanders-sides @a-wannabe-canadian @velocifoxy @jetsnacks @prinanalogicality @the-prince-and-the-emo @prinxietys

PS: if you don’t want to read it for any of the reasons stated in the warnings, don’t worry, you don’t have to.

______________________________________________________________

Alex was nothing more than a poor, visionary poet.

When he moved to Paris, his father told him to never come back to London. He wasn’t planning to anyway.

Arriving in Paris, he met a theatre group, one of the bohemians. He fell in love immediately, that small group being exactly what he had been searching. A five man group that drank all night and wrote fantasy stories.

He was living the dream.

Soon, however, they were left without any money to continue their play. So, they decided to go to a big dance club in the middle of the region, called the Moulin Rouge. There, they could try to find someone to bank their plays.

“Prince. That’s who you need to look for. The dancer Prince” Logan, his best friend from the bohemian group told him, and Alex nodded, fixing his tie. “We will try to fix you a little meeting so you can convince him to bank us”

Wait.

Him?

Alex looked at Logan with wide eyes, but the man just smirked and rolled his eyes.

“This is the bohemian life, mate. No one cares” he said, and Alex relaxed a little before shaking his head and swallowing thickly.

“So… Prince… He’s the-”

“Prettiest” one of the other four said, smirking.

“Smartest” another said.

“And most stupendous dancer you will ever meet” the last one said, and Alex bit his lip.

“Does he have a name? A real one?”

“You will have to find out, dear Alex” Logan said, fixing his glasses and nodding. “Shall we go? None of us want to miss the CanCan”

“Nah, you are the one that can’t take your eyes off that beauty that is Plums, right boys?” one of the others said, and Logan frowned, a light blush over his cheeks.

“Shut it” he said, walking away, and Alex looked at the others.

“Plums is a dancer as well, Prince’s best friend” one of them explained, and Alex nodded, smiling lightly at his best friend as he walked away from them.

Time to go for it, he guessed.

-----

“Roman. Roman!” Marion asked, running around the backstage, eyes wide. When he got to the man’s room, he opened the door, frowning worried at his friend’s tired smile. “Roman, what are you doing here? The show starts in half an hour”

“I know…” he mumbled, sighing and rubbing his eyes. “I am not feeling very well. I can’t stop sweating and because of it I can’t put my make up on”

“Oh…” he mumbled, rushing to his side and placing his hand on his forehead. “Ro, you are burning up. Do you want me to tell Harold…”

“No. I will do the show” he said, quickly, sighing deeply. “Can you… Get some cold water to clean me up and help me with make up?”

“Okay” Marion mumbled, biting his lip before walking to the bathroom and getting some wet cloth and a bowl of water.

Slowly, they cleaned Roman’s face and applied all the makeup needed, and the man smiled, checking the result on the mirror.

“I feel so much better as Prince” he mumbled, and then looked at Marion, who smiled back. “Are you ready, Plums?”

“Of course” he said, happily, and walked with Roman out of his room. “Do you think Logan will come tonight?”

“He always does dear” Roman assured, holding his best friend’s hand and squeezing it with a smile. “I think you should just go with him one day. You two can be really happy together”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone” Marion pouted, and Roman chuckled, nodding.

“Of course not. Come on, let’s go”

-----

When they arrived at the Moulin Rouge, Alex was impressed beyond belief.

“This place is… enormous.” He mumbled, and Logan chuckled as they found a place in the crowd around them.

“You haven’t even seen the show” he said, smirking widely and looking up as an old man appeared from inside a small staged house over the crowd.

“ARE YOU READY FOR THE CAN CAN?” the man yelled from up there, and all men screamed, while Alex and Logan stared , quietly. Alex moved closer to his friend, feeling a little breathless in the middle of the crowd, but then a beat started and all the men started to move away from the middle of the dancefloor, and both Alex and Logan followed the flow to the sides.

Where’s all my sold sisters

Lemme hear ya flow sisters

Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, flow sister

Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister

Alex’s eyes widened as he watched women and men coming out from the most unusual places, singing, dancing, and suddenly the music’s beat started to get some pace and all the men walked to the middle of the dance floor again, while him and Logan stood by a corner, staring. Logan seemed unaffected, while Alex was… breathless.

We do the CAN CAN CAN

The song was loud, there were women and men all around, dressed in suits or in wild clothing, and Alex moved even further away from the mess, eyes wide, until he hit his back on something and turned around, only to have a woman’s skirt on his face. She was singing and dancing around him, and he was getting dizzy with everything that was happening, and before he noticed he was in the middle of the crowd, dancing and a little more drunk than he should be and how the hell had someone even put drink in his mouth without him noticing?

And suddenly, it was all over, and Logan was at his side again, filled with lipstick marks on his face and neck and a few hickeys. Alex raised his eyebrow, smirking, but Logan just waved it off, cleaning the lipstick with his suit.

“Come on. We have to get a good place so you know who Prince is” Logan said, pulling Alex inside the club and looking around, smirking when he found a small cabin that was perfect for watching Prince’s show.

-----

“Time for the show, my dear” Harold said, smiling at Roman, who smiled back, fixing his sparkling corset. “You will do as perfect as always”

“Thank you Harry” Roman said, smiling with those perfect white teeth, before he fixed his feather crown and his jewels. Slowly, he walked to the center of the stage and made his starting pose, the entire room dark so no one would see him there.

The song started, and he smirked in the provoking way he always did.

‘An actor. That is what you want. You are doing this because you want to be an actor. You can do this. One more time, like we practiced.’

The French are glad to die for love

A light illuminated him in the middle of the stage and the room went completely silent. He smirked, glad that he couldn’t see any faces, only shadows of an enormous crowd.

His heart was beating fast, he was dizzy, he felt like throwing up.

A kiss on the hand may be quite continental

But diamonds are a girl’s best friends

Roman… No. Prince. He was Prince now. The Sparkling Diamond. There was no more Roman.

Prince looked around, starting to move on the stage, singing, waving his hand in front of the men’s faces, showing off his white gloves and his expensive rings. Slowly, he made his way to the other side, still singing, waving his hips, while a swing moved down from the ceiling. That was for the second act.

But square cut or pear shaped

These rocks don’t lose their shape

Diamonds are a girl’s best friends

He moved down, stepping in the middle of the crowd, walking around the men, touching their faces, winking, and honestly he did not understand how so many people loved him at night, as Prince. He was nothing more than a man in heels and yet… When he was like this, he attracted crowds.

No time for thoughts, Prince.

He stepped back on the stage quickly, and suddenly Harold was there, and they were engulfed in the middle of several plums and he started changing as he was supposed to.

“Where is the duke?” Roman asked, pulling his corset off and grabbing the other one. Harold looked around and moved a few feathers away, showing a little cabin in a corner.

“The one that Logan boy is waving his cloth to”

Roman looked through the plums and hummed, seeing the bohemian waving his blue cloth over a skinny man that didn’t seem to want to be there in the first place. Roman frowned, confused, but nodded anyway, looking back at Harold.

“I saw him” he said, smirking. Harold smiled back.

“He will make you a star”

“A star…” he mumbled, biting his lip before regaining his attitude and smirking. “A star!”

He emerged from the plums once again, changed completely, and danced around one again, heading for the swing, watching his new tail of beautiful fabrics adorned with precious rocks. He then started to swing, smirking to the boy Harold had pointed to, as the swing went up in the air, coming close to him by his swing and winking.

Diamonds are a girl’s best

Diamonds are a girl’s best friends

Several other singers and dancers started to moan and sing as well, letting Prince to swing back and forth in the duke’s direction, until the last part of the song came up.

Cause that’s when those louses

Go back to their spouses

Diamonds… are a… girl’s… best…

He couldn’t breathe.

Looking up, Roman gasped in thin air, throat closing. He felt dizzy, the world blackening around him, and he closed his eyes, losing consciousness.

When he fell, he only heard Marion yelling his stage name and he blacked out completely.

-----

“Okay, keep calm. Everything will be great” Logan assured, fixing Alex’s tie and smirking. “He was already interested. Now you just go and impress him with a great poem and we are done!”

“O-okay” Alex mumbled, biting his lip before Logan pushed him inside the elephant’s room. He walked inside, swallowing thickly, specially because when he did, Satine was laying on the bed with a black corset that left little to imagination, black heels, a thigh, heavy makeup…

He was a very handsome man, indeed.

“Oh… There you are. I thought you would never arrive” he said, slowly, standing from the bed and making his way to Alex. Alex swallowed thickly, again, feeling his body trembling in nervousness and anxiety.

“I-I… H-hello I-” he tried, but soon Prince was close enough to touch, and he was putting his hands on Alex’s waist and pulling him closer and oh my…

“Shhh. No need to speak. I know who you are” he whispered, tilting his head, and Alex bit his lip, staring with wide, innocent eyes at Prince, who was slowly moving his hands over the smaller man’s waist and pulling him closer. “Tonight it’s all about what you want”

“W-what I w-want?” he asked, shakily, while Prince moved closer, his heart beating faster, butterflies rushing around in his tummy, his breath shaken. “I-I-I want to s-s-say something!”

Prince stopped his advance and raised his eyebrow before he nodded, smiling lightly.

“Fair enough” he said, and Alex stepped away, walking away from Prince and swallowing thickly before taking a deep breath, back to the dancer.

“My gift is my song… and this one is for you

And you can everybody that this is your song

It may be quite simple but, but now that is done

I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mine

That I put down in words…”

Alex froze, for a second, swallowing thickly before he turned back, only to see Prince staring at him from the bed, eyes wide as he pay close attention to what was being sung.

When had he started singing?

Alex wasn’t sure.

“How wonderful life is… Now you’re in the world”

He was in love.

He had seen the man once, watched him dance around and sing for other men’s pleasures, and yet, there he was, singing a love poem to a stranger that was the most beautiful and talented human being he had ever seen.

And the worst… He seemed to be falling in love as well.

“I sat on the roof and I kicked off the moss Well some of these verses, well they've, they've got me quite cross But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song It's for people like you that keep it turned on”

Now, Prince was standing up while Alex pulled him up by his hands, their eyes connected as he sang, Prince’s eyes shining brighter than the moon, and Alex was smiling like the stupid man in love that he was, because he could see how he was affecting Prince and maybe, maybe all of this was going to change his life somehow.

“So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen”

Alex grinned widely as he saw Prince blushing behind all the makeup on his face, and slowly they were dancing around the room, and the writer had never felt so complete, so full of happiness before. This was why he had come to Paris in the first place. To know and feel love in its rawest form.

“And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is, now you're in the world I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is, now you're in the world”

They were close. Oh so close. Prince was speechless, staring at him with wide, shining eyes, and blushing cheeks. Alex was smiling, widely, happily at how he had reacted. Prince’s eyes slowly narrowed to a calmer expression and he smiled fondly, looking at Alex’s eyes all times.

“I never thought… A duke would be so… Poetic” he mumbled. “I think I’m in love…”

“A duke?” Alex asked, smiling, too focused on Prince’s eyes. “I am not a duke… I’m a bohemian poet”

The mood completely broke. Prince’s eyes widened again and he pushed Alex away, scared.

“You’re not the duke?!” he asked, loudly, and then they heard voices coming from outside.

‘I am very sorry, duke. I think she confounded you for some random boy’ they heard Harold speaking, and Prince gasped, before pushing Alex out of the elephant.

“Get out of here! Get out!”

“B-but I… I want to know if you could bank our play!” Alex said as he was being pushed back, and Prince growled at him.

“Get out of here before anyone sees you! If the duke sees you in here there will be no play and there will be no life for me!” Prince said, gasping as the door started to open and pushing Alex behind the curtains. “Stay here” he growled and turned back, stroking a pose.

“Duke!”

-----

After that horrible confusion, where all the bohemians had to come in to save both his and Alex’s skins, Roman was a mess.

He laid down on his bed, tired, dizzy, while Marion sat next to him, cleaning his face and humming softly. Roman looked at his friend, smiling weakly.

“How was your night?” he asked, softly, and Marion shrugged, smiling back at him.

“Well, way less confusing than yours”

“Did you find Logan?”

An uncomfortable silence surrounded them and Roman bit his lip.

“I did. He had several hickeys” he mumbled, shrugging weakly and cleaning the cloth on the warm water before cleaning Roman’s forehead gently. “I know it’s hard to expect, in a life like this… But I…”

“You know the Can Can dancers are crazy. Maybe it wasn’t even his fault” Roman said, but Marion just smiled and shrugged.

“Don’t worry. The night was fun nevertheless. I was with him the whole night, until he left to help his friend to get inside your room” he giggled, smiling fondly at Roman. “Is it bad, falling in love with a bohemian?”

“It is terrible…” Roman mumbled, biting his lip and looking away. “Even though… I might be going through the same path”

Marion smiled and brushed Roman’s hair back.

“Don’t worry. That’s how love normally works”

Roman didn’t want love. He wanted a life out of that hell.

-----

How he had done it, Alex had no idea. But now, he was on top of the elephant, singing with Prince again as the dancer avoided his advances. At least, he tried. Suddenly, they were inside the elephant again, and they were kissing, breathless, intense.

Alex had never felt more complete.

“I love you” Prince mumbled, and Alex nodded, holding his waist, looking at his eyes.

“What is your real name?” he asked, softly, caressing the dancer’s face, stealing him a kiss and making him smile.

“Roman. That’s my real name”

“Good…” Alex mumbled, looking deeply into Roman’s eyes. “I was tired of calling you by your stage name. I love you too much for that.”

“You know this will end in hell for us both, don’t you?” Roman asked, taking Alex’s face in his hands and brushing their noses together as he closed his eyes. Alex watched him in silence. “I can’t give up on this. I can’t… Let go. I need this. I need the duke. I need the money”

“Why? I can make you happy without any of that” Alex said, holding Roman’s waist, and the dancer smiled weakly, shaking his head and opening his eyes.

“I have a dream, Alex. Just like you. I want to be a star. I can’t give that up. It’s the reason I started with all of… this… to begin with”

“You can be my star” he mumbled, biting his lip. “Please, Roman. I see how much you suffer in here. You need to come with me… Be happy with me”

“I can’t Alex” Roman sighed, stepping away, walking to the bed and being followed by the poet. “I have an objective. I won’t give up on it”

“Love is all we need”

Silence.

“I know”

-----

“You can’t continue with this any longer, Alex” Logan insisted as they walked through the Moulin Rouge backstage. All the dancers were there but Prince, who was having his night with… the duke.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Logan” he groaned, sitting down in a dark corner. Logan raised his eyebrow before he walked to the dancefloor, nodding to the band. The tango started, and he hummed as he walked to Plums, who was watching him attentively, eyes wide and innocent as always, hiding all his real emotions.

Then, the song really begun.

“First, there is desire” he said, as both him and Plums, Marion, walked in circle in the middle of the stage, until they met, holding each other in the first tango position. “Then… Passion” he continued, taking Marion’s wrist and turning him around, pressing their bodies together and moving his nose over the dancer’s neck. His sweet, sweet perfume still lingering on his skin, Marion’s body moving fluently with his own as he slowly melted in his hands. “Then, suspicion” he said, pulling Marion to be face to face with him, holding his wrists tightly. They danced, more harshly now, and both more serious than anyone in the room. “Jealousy, anger, betrayal” Logan added, turning Marion with his hand until he was laying down on the ground, the dance becoming way more intense at each word. “When love is for the highest bitter, there can be no trust” he said, pulling Marion up again and holding his hands behind his back, while the two stared at each other, their eyes on fire. “Without trust, there is no love!” he said, louder this time, pressing their bodies together in the middle of the stage, Marion staring at him with those lustful, dark eyes. “Jealousy… yes, jealousy… will drive you… mad…” he finished, pushing Marion away as hard as he could and making him fall in the arms of a few dancers around, his eyes showing fear and betrayal, something Logan was incredibly used to by now.

They stared at each other quite often like that.

“Roxanne

You don’t have to put on that red light

Walk the streets for money

You don’t care if it’s wrong or if it is right”

Logan walked around the dancers, keeping his eyes in Marion, who was now standing, dancing with one of the other dancers in the stage, pressing their bodies together, while constantly watching Logan with his dark eyes. Alex watched it all unfold bothered, quiet, biting his lip at every word, fighting back the tears, the fears he felt.

What if Roman didn’t love him?

What if Roman gave up?

“His eyes upon your face

His hand upon your hand

His lips caress your skin

It’s more than I can stand”

Alex cried out, standing up as Logan continued dancing, singing to his lover as Marion danced with all the dancers in the room, teased them, teased him, the room getting hotter and the air getting denser.

Roxanne

Why does my heart cry?

Roxanne

Feelings I can’t fight

You’re free to leave me

But please don’t deceive me

And please, believe me when I say

I love you

Roman could see the madness in the backstage by the tower him and the duke were staying. He focused on the light song that came from the club while the duke put his hands on his naked waist, moved them over the body as he wished, pressed his lips to his skin, smelled him, pressed their bodies together in a way that would never feel right.

Not when Alex had been the one to do it before. Not when Alex was in his mind.

“I will make you an actor” the duke whispered against his ear, and Roman closed his eyes, holding onto the rail in front of him. “I will make you… a star”

He could cry. He felt his stomach turning, his eyes burning, his heart being ripped apart, because he knew this would hurt Alex, would break him inside, but he needed it, he had to be strong, he could do it.

“What about the ending?” he whispered, and the duke hummed, smirking against his ear.

“Let them keep their fairy tale ending”

Roxanne

Why does my heart cry?

(You don’t have to put on that red light)

Feelings I can’t fight

(You don’t have to put that dress tonight)

Logan grabbed Marion’s arm, pulling him away from whoever he was dancing with, pulling him close, not even dancing with him anymore, simply holding him tight, staring at his eyes.

“What do you want?” Marion asked through his teeth, the song still playing behind them. “I thought we were over. You were very clear”

“This is your fault. This life you live, I can’t bear it” Logan said, pressing his face to Marion’s neck while the dancer moved his head to the side, not being able to hold back, to be strong. “You dancing to all those men and women, selling yourself like this… This isn’t a life you deserve”

“It is the life I have” Marion said, looking down at Logan, eyes sad, but decided. “If you can’t live with it, then maybe we were never meant to be”

They stared at each other, quietly, eyes burning with rage and passion and love.

They couldn’t have any type of love.

Roxanne

Why does my heart cry?

(You don’t have to put on that red light)

Feelings I can’t fight

(You don’t have to put that dress tonight)

Alex walked out of the club, unable to stay inside, unable to deal with all those dancers and music, the guilt, the rage, the jealousy corrupting him inside, making him want to scream, to cry, to throw it all away and destroy everything he and Roman had.

Then, he looked up at the tower, and saw him there, beautiful, staring down at the street, staring at him, while stranger’s hands moved over his body, and Alex looked down again, tears filling his eyes, hands curling up in fists.

He didn’t need Roman. He didn’t need love. It was all a joke. An evil joke.

Come what may…

I will love you

Until my dying day

“No” Roman whispered, staring down at Alex as he stared back, his entire body rejecting the duke, his heart speaking louder. The duke froze behind him, and looked over his shoulder, growling deeply.

“The sitar player…” he mumbled, and then pulled away, making Roman gasp and fall on the ground as he was pushed down, his legs giving out. He was weak. He was so, so weak. Then, he felt the duke’s hand moving down his neck, sliding between the skin and the necklace he wore, and suddenly he was being chocked, his breathing failing him again, throat closing again. The necklace then broke and the duke’s hand came full force over his cheek, making him fall on the ground with a gasp, his eyes wide and scared because he was so, so weak.

“No…” he moaned out, dizzy, frozen out of pure fear, while the duke moved down, pressing his hand to his neck, chocking him harder while he touched him, started removing his clothes, and he tried to fight, he tried to move but he couldn’t and there was so much going on and Alex and everything was fading out and everything was becoming black and Alex Alex Alex no no no.

And then it was over.

He gasped out a breath and opened his eyes for a second, seeing Leo, one of his friends, looking over him with a piece of wood, and he passed out completely.

-----

“Please, Alex, just listen to me! I did nothing!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Roman!” Alex cried out, tears in his eyes as he gathered his clothes. “You don’t want this, you don’t want me. All you want is money and fame. So go get it!”

“That is not true!” Roman begged, reaching out for his lover. “Please just listen to me! I l-”

There was a gasp, and Alex turned around, eyes wide. Roman kneeled down, holding his throat, and Alex moved closer, holding him.

“Roman? Roman!” he tried, but soon the dancer was passed out in his arms again. “Help! Someone help please!”

Quickly, both Leo and Marion were getting inside the room and pushing Alex out as he cried out, desperately.

Something was wrong.

When Roman woke up again, Harold was there, and Marion was cleaning his forehead, tears in his eyes as he smiled weakly.

“Ro…” he said, softly, and Roman groaned, sitting up slowly and looking at Harold.

“This has to stop” Harold said, a few minutes later, when they were alone again. “You need to stop with this love nonsense and go back to being Prince”

“No. I found someone that loves me for me. Alex wants me as I am!” he said, standing up, grabbing his clothes. “I will run away with him! We are leaving and we will be happy together! I am tired of this life, of being like this Harold! I have a chance now! I have a love! I h-”

“Roman, you are dying”

Roman froze, eyes wide, and slowly turned around, facing the owner of the Moulin Rouge.

“W-what?”

“You are dying Roman. You are sick” he said, lightly. Roman could see the pain in his eyes. “And if you don’t accept the duke’s wishes, he will kill Alex”

Roman felt his world crashing under his feet. He sat down on his bed, staring at nothing as tears filled his eyes, his heart being ripped apart. He was… he was dying… he had no way of recovering… the plague… and even so, Alex was in danger…

“The show must go on” he muttered, looking back at Harold, tears filling his eyes. Harold smiled weakly and nodded. “Call Marion here. I need his help”

-----

The ending changed again. The show had to go on.

Alex was on the backstage. He had to find Roman. After everything they had gone through… After everything they had accomplished… after all the promises and nights together… it was all a lie.

Well then. He was paying for the service.

He found Roman almost in the stage. They were under it, and as he stepped to talk to him, the platform they were on went up to the place where the show was happening, and both of them appeared to the audience, the duke in the front roll.

Roman was laying on the floor, weak, crying, vulnerable and exposed, and yet Alex was able to stare at him through his tears and take the money out of his pocket.

“This is yours” he said, bitterly, and Roman shook his head, eyes wide, tears ruining his makeup, before he threw the paper on his head, staring down at him in disgust. “This is for all of you to know about the story of how a whore could fool a kind hearted man”

“A-Alex p-please” Roman begged, quietly, and Alex stared down at him, tears falling from his eyes.

“Good luck in becoming a star” he whispered, before he walked out of the stage, staring at the duke while he walked past him. “He’s all yours now. I hope you have fun with your little toy”

He then walked away, right to the exit. And then…

“Never knew… I could feel like this”

Alex froze, eyes wide, before he slowly turned around, only to see Roman standing in the middle of the stage, weak, soft, ruined, and yet beautiful. So, so beautiful.

“Like I’ve never seen the sky… before

Want to vanish… inside your kiss

Seasons may change

Winter to spring…”

Alex was staring at him, and Roman was staring back, broken, but so strong.

“I love you” he whispered, and Alex felt his heart beating again, his body being completed, just like that first time, just like before.

“’Till the end… of… time”

They stared at each other for a little longer, before Alex swallowed up his hatred, now long gone, and sang.

“Come what may”

He stepped forward.

“Come what may”

Roman moved down the stage.

“Come what may!”

I will love you!

Until my dying day!

Come what may!

I will love…

I will love you

Until my dying day

They met in front of the stage, and suddenly there was screaming and Logan fell from the roof somewhere. Both lovers turned around, staring scared as a gun fell down onto the stage, and all of the dancers and actors yelled together with the crowd, while Alex and Roman held each other tighter, watching everything unfold together, surprised but happy, full again.

They had won. Love… had won.

-----

The curtains closed.

The roses fell.

The show was over.

Roman held onto Alex, dizzy again.

This time, he knew, it was the last.

Alex was smiling, so beautiful, so happy, but everyone around them was quiet.

Especially when Roman fell.

“Roman?!” Alex asked, kneeling next to him, holding his face gently, keeping him close. “Roman?! What is wrong?!”

“I’m… sick” he mumbled, coughing, blood leaving his mouth and covering his hand in red. “I’m… so sorry Alex”

“N-no you will be okay” Alex said, his eyes wide, filled with tears once again as he held him closer, caressing his face, desperate. “We-we can find a cure! I know we can! You will be fine! You will be f-fine…”

“I love you” Roman whispered, moving his clean hand over Alex’s cheek, caressing it, only love and pain in his eyes. “Please… go on. Live your life. You are… an incredible… poet”

“N-no… R-Roman… Please…” Alex whimpered, his eyes closing and letting the tears fall down. “Please… we are together now… Please…”

“I will love you… until the end… of… t…” he stopped, and Alex looked down, erupting in sobs.

“Roman! ROMAN!” he yelled, hugging his dead body against his chest and sobbing harder than ever before, while all their friends watched in pain as a man mourned his lover.

It was over. The show wouldn’t go on.

-----

“The greatest thing

You’ll ever learn

Is just to love

And be loved

In return”

#my fanfic #my proudest work #prinxiety #logicality #moulin rouge #moulin rouge au #satine!prince #chris!anxiety #come what may #i am in love with my own fanfic #can you believe it #this is something ive been meaning to do for all the fandoms but never had teh guts #welp #here we have it

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topsolarpanels · 7 years ago

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Know Your Enemy: Celebrating 50 Years of the Forever War

Robert Sammelin

No one drank more than the scientist. Every night, after whatever patriotic black-tie gala marriage played props at, he could be found at the hotel bar, trying to extract existential meaning from a banana colada. It was an odd drinking of option for such a serious human, but only once did he respond to our interrogations about it.

It pleases the nerve fibers, he said, all baritone to his voice, before disappearing into the chilled yellow muck again. We were in New Tulsa, debriefing after a grueling dinner with a bunch of white-haired solar energy exec. Wed been on the road for months, and morale used to go the way of the glacier. I ordered a round for the table, and we toasted to the hustle. Heroes of the nation, peddling war bonds by day, drinking like froufrous by night. Our drill instructor would not have been proud.

Maybe it wasnt New Tulsa. Maybe itd been in Charlotte after the fund-raiser with the nanofinance douchebags. Anyhow.

There were 11 of us on the bond drive, 12 if you included the JngerBot. The Forever War had just entered its sixth decade, and our politicians didnt pretend they were going to end it anymore, even during elections. They couldnt. Wed tried everything: nation-building, nation-destroying, sending terrorists and their families to the Mars penal colony, sending the rebel Young Siberians to actual Siberia. Nothing had worked. We were at war because we always had been. We were at war because we always would be. We were at war because we were at war.

Matt Gallagher

About

Matt Gallagher is the author of the novel Youngblood and the Iraq memoir Kaboom: Embracing the Suck in a Savage Little War.

The government decided to celebrate the Forever Wars golden anniversary with loud, shiny bombast. We were part of that bombast. AMERICAS HEROES, TOGETHER AT LAST, ran the tagline. We were like a roving assortment act, but without name recognition or singing or sex appeal. Without anything, truly. Just pasts wiped clean with the antiseptic of narrative. So we stood there and smiled and waved while other people told our tales to the crowds. The crowd cheered. We waved again.

After the coladas, I settled the tab and excused myself. The younger veterinarians night was just beginning, but mine was nearing its end. In the queue for the teleporter to the rooms, a human about my age waited behind me. He wore a rumpled dress shirt and an overlong tie-in and a goatee on the brink of coherence.

He was looking everywhere but my hoverchair. People with legs always do that. It reminds me of the route some men used to try very hard not to look at my cleavage when I was younger. The endeavor simply underlines the fixation.

Thank you, he said. For what you did.

Thank you for your supporting, I told, a answer as hollow as it was practiced. He mustve been at the event earlier.

Cancan I tell you something?

Sure, I told. Women in military uniforms have this impact on men in dress shirts, for some reason. If youd like to.

I wanted to be a recon marine when I was a kid. He said it like it was a church confession, something hidden away in the lost rifts of his soul for decades. Did the recon workout at the gym for years, he continued. Stupid, I know.

I nodded, both because it was stupid and because I knew.

Youre a bona fide hero. The men segue was as graceful as a startled dog, but it was late. That scientist, though. Hes killing people. And not only the enemy.

I thought about “the mens” words. They were true enough. So what would you do? I asked. If you were him.

Me? The man stroked his goatee. I wouldnt even know.

Pragmatically, I told. Youre the scientist. You live in this country. The wars happening. You can perhaps aim it or not. Either style, people succumb. What do you do?

II object to the question. And to the idea. Im not him. The human voice had a quiver to it now. Not an angry quiver, either. A frightened one. I was just sayingI dont think its right. Thats all.

OK, I said. Night. It was my turning at the teleporter. I get in and went to my room. I didnt begrudge the man his opting out. We all had in some manner. Even us.

Especially us.

The Federals had discovered me at my sisters, on the porch, scrolling through a holopad article about the rabid lemur thatd killed Justin Bieber Jr. Furious George Howls With Delight! read the headline. Its always spooky when sons succumb the same way their fathers did. The past comprehend us all, eventually. Even Biebers.

I was on my seventh year of an indefinite visit, still sleeping in a bare guest room. A potted flower or framed scene would have felt like marks of permanence, somehow. Id been living in increments since high school and wasnt about to stop simply because I couldnt figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

Theywell, welived at the top of a windy mound in a suburbium of a suburbium, wedged between a stand of wild honeysuckle and a pond shaped like a swollen snout. It was green and quiet. The kind of place where big flags hung from porches with humility. I taught painting at the community center and took my nieces to soccer practice and spend my Saturday nights at the one townie bar that served ros.

The life didnt induce me happy or anything, but it could have. Maybe should have.

There were three of them. They all wore jeans and plaid shirts of differing blandness. Id have expected suits and black sunglasses, but the decay effects of after-empire were reaching and vast.

Chief Warrant Officer Valerie Speer? one said. Well, asked. I didnt look my part, either. Female veterinarians tend to cut a certain mold. A liter-sized gremlin in a gardening hat wasnt it.

They told me about the bond drive. About how it would inspire patriotism again in the hearts and minds of the person or persons. About how it would get everyday citizens invested in the wars again.( Like they ever were. I knew the history .) About how the governmental forces needed the money, how 50 years of blowing up things in strange, faraway places had taken its toll on the budget, especially since the geothermal insurgency in Blue Russia began eating away at Uncle sam foreign trade.

About how the bond drive needed a woman on it, because they had an old guy, a blexican, a mexipino, and a robot, and showing that heroes were as diverse as the country mattered.

I laughed. A female. I danced my metal fingers through the air. In the right sun my prosthetics could look like flesh. We werent in it. Thats why you need me.

That made the two men in jeans and plaid look down at the ground, but the woman Fed just stared at me.

Youre Valerie Speer, she said. The tone in her voice sounded so earnest it snapped. Do you know what you mean to my generation of status of women? I joined the agency because of you.

She was lying about that, I was almost sure. But shed appealed to my pride. I danced my fingers through the air again and took in all the green, all the quiet. Seven years here. Seven years that had induced me soft. Did people my age go on escapades anymore?

I requested information about financial compensation.

Heres the thing about being labeled a war hero: You either love it or hate it. Theres little space for mixed impressions. Take the scientist. Invented a drone mosquito that gives people the runs, sold it to the military, and stopped the Arabican conflict practically overnight. You cant fire a rifle when youre crapping out your brains. But some of the mosquitoes werent as specific as billed. During strafes, they bit foes and civilians alike. Which wouldnt have mattered much had we been fighting in the developed world. We werent, though. Outbreaks of dysentery and super-cholera followed, and the last UN estimate I watched numbered deaths in the tens of thousands.

The bond drive needed a woman on it. They already had an old guy, a blexican, a mexipino, and a robot.

The scientist had ended a war all with his mind. Yet the only thing he wanted in the world was to return to his lab, to his anonymity, and forget any of it ever happened.

The JngerBot seemed to resent the attention for other reasons. It didnt know what to induce of people, and truth be told, people didnt know what to attain of it. They could handle robots, had been dealing with them all their lives. Even the rough-and-tumble behaviour of a regular InfantryBot could be explained away. But an elite InfantryBot 5000 upgraded with the transcendental heroism and philosophical musings of decorated German World War I soldier Ernst Jnger? That caused some issues.

The anarch wages his own wars, the JngerBot said at a fund-raiser to a journalist whod would like to know whether it missed battle. Even when marching in rank and file.

Before a boxing prizefight, the JngerBot felt it necessary to remind the crowd what was what. Furrow opposing is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all, it said to 70,000 drunk revelers in Vegas. Of all the wars exciting moments , none is so powerful as the session of two cyclone troop leaders between narrow trench walls. Theres no compassion there , no going back. The blood speaks from a shrill exclaim of recognition that tears itself from ones breast like a nightmare.

And then there were the children.

It told a 10 -year old with a JngerBot poster on his wall that killing an adversary would be a finer tribute. And when a bank presidents “girls ” pointed to us and asked if we were heroes, the JngerBot objected as only it could TAGEND

Heroes deeds and heroes graves, it said. Old and new you here may assure. How the Empire was created. How the Empire was preserved. It paused. We sought the death of heroes. There is no lovelier demise in the world.

The little girls face paled to glass as her father resulted her away. We all laughed about it , no one harder or longer than Dizzy. Dizzy was a walking, talking debate for breeding the remaining cis-males out of the gene pool, if only he hadnt been so pretty. Drone pilots. They think theyre so starfish because they can laser insurrectionists dead from space. And Dizzy was an superstar. He adored every minute of the bond drive, “members attention”, the parties, the hoverfloat rides, the certain type of female patriot who wanted to see the view from his hotel balcony. Beats going back to Pueblo and coaching CrossFit, hed tell, before unleashing that smile of full, fluoride shine. God, he could charm the sorcery underwear off a Mormon.

Would try, at least.

Hed earned the Silver Star in the Iraq war. Well, the Iraq war before the last one. Maybe it was three Iraq wars ago.

Dizzy and the younger vets on the bond drive are always privateersmercenaries if youre the protest, virtual-petition kind. WarriorCorps and Foreign Legion Inc. and Armed Humanitarianism Limited and the like. I was hybrid: part contractor but also part national military, before that ran extinct during the Whig Revolt of 36. Merely Emo Carlos was old enough to have been GI from beginning to end. Hed earned the Silver Star in the Iraq war. Well, the Iraq war before the last one. Perhaps it was three Iraq wars ago. Anyhow. We asked Emo Carlos about it over sushi, after a parade in Cleveland.

Jumped on a grenade at a checkpoint, he told, defining down his chopsticks with a shrug. Didnt go off.

We hollered and banged the table just because we could. Itd been a couple decades since anything but a bot had been close enough to a grenade to do anything like that. Even the JngerBot conveyed its admiration.

Defective? I asked.

Emo Carlos nodded. One in a million, they said.

What happened then? Dizzy asked.

The creases in Emo Carlos forehead folded into one another like papier-mch. He usually never talked about anything but drumming for his old-man punk band. Theyd served together back in the day and were known across the greater Rochester area as the Infidels. Geriatric humor.

Stood up, he said. Dusted off. Looked down. Realise Id pissed myself.

We hollered and banged the table all over again.

An elderly couple came over to us subsequently. Theyd overheard our conversation and wanted to say thank you. They said they had two grandsons in privateer training.

I know our thanks is a small thing, the spouse said. He and his wife looked so cute in their nice old-people clothes, khakis and sweaters and thick-rimmed glasses. They looked like other peoples grandparents always look. But sometimes its all those of us here can offer.

The wife nodded. Were all involved, she told. We believe that. As taxpayers, as citizens, thats how it is. Were with you.

We thanked them for thanking us and they left the restaurant.

What did she mean, Were all involved? Dizzy asked. No theyre not.

There were echoes of agreement and deliberation over what the old woman had meant, and not just about the word involved . Also about the word we .

Yo, Emo Carlos told. The table hushed. Theyre from my hour. When wars had objectives. When citizens tried to keep up. America used to be young. Thats what she meant.

Then say that, Dizzy told. Taxes? Who the fucking cares.

Emo Carlos shook his head again. He was trying to clear himself of frustrations, either with himself or with us. Then he pointed at me. Sent her to the damn moon. Supposed to save us all, putting the wars up there. Preserve the land and resources, remove civilian demises. Be tidy and simple. That was the plan.

And no one ever went back, Dizzy told. The game changed.

Well. Emo Carlos giggled. Military lesson numero uno, son, he said. No plan survives first contact.

The rest of us chuckled along with the old wisdom. Everyone but the scientist, who sat off by himself in the corner. He looked up at us with something between sadness and ferocity. It was hard to decide which.

Tidy and simple, he said. I like that.

When my nieces turn 12 and gain access to FreedomNet, they will find these three paragraphs about their aunt, etched into the digital histories forever and ever TAGEND Valerie Jade Speer( born May 2, 2011) was a chief warrant officer( air) and assault pilot in the United States Army and later the privateer organization Star Spangled Security. She was awarded the Star of Valor in 2042 for her actions during the Battle on the Moon, of which she was the only survivor . Deployed to the moon as part of the NATO coalition during the course of its South Seas dispute, Speer flew a Flying Yeager fusion helocraft during the battle, destroying five Chinese Federation space-helos and two Young Siberian cosmo-planes. Struck by an enemy dwarf ballistic, Speer crash-landed into the Titius Crater. She was thus sheltered from the amaze thermonuclear strike carried out by the Young Siberians that killed all other fighters and blew the hole in the moon now known as Putins Smile . Initially presumed dead, Speer was found during NATO recovery operations two days after the end of the combat. She lost three extremities, suffered burns over much of her body, and survived over 90 surgeries. President Natasha Obama told Speers life and narrative are a testament to the American spirit at her Star of Valor ceremony at the White House .

Words can be funny beasts. Her actions suggest some sort of agency, even control. Destroy is such a clean term for such messiness. Struck by defied my memory of it. Same with crash-landed.

Less so with lost. And suffered.

Testament. As if enduring were a selection. I did what anyone would have. There are no atheists in moon craters. And there are no fatalists in survivor wards of one.

I was thinking about that ward as I zipped up my suitcase in my sisters guest room for the bond drive. Thinking about the long stills of quiet during the nights. Guessing about being “ve called the” Burn by nurses who guessed I couldnt hear them. Supposing about the full-thickness graft done without anesthesia.

You sure about this, Val? My sister stood in the doorway. Her posture betrayed opposition. She was four years older and had always asked me questions that she already had answers for. You have options.

Shed said the same years prior, before Id left for the moon.

I am, I told both times, even though I wasnt both days. Id always detected power and resolve in ambiguity, though. Most people werent like that. My sister, for one.

Youve done more than your share, she continued, moving to the bed and putting her arm around my shoulder. So much more. I leaned my head into her and tried to hold in some of the familial warmth. Id miss it, I knew. Only sisters and nieces hug people like me. I dont think its right.

I smiled at that.

Its not, I told. But. If not me, then who?

Even running can be its own form of opting out. I didnt know that the first time. But I did the second. The last night in the guest room, as I tossed and turned in bed, I thought about that. Then I thought about the survivor ward again. And the long stills of quiet during the nights. And being “ve called the” Burn. And the graft.

Somewhere between Omaha and Tesla City, I began to realize just how different the younger vets were. It wasnt simply that they were privateers, either, or that they called adversary combatants pixels as an insult. Dizzy and his crew, they crowed about their service. Owned their superiority, then basked in it.

Do soldiers think theyre better than citizens? Of course. It has nothing to do with what did or didnt happen in their service, either. It has to do with the very notion of joining up. Americas been at war since before most of us were born. We joined because we wanted to go. Wed been told we were special from day one of boot camp, doing something the rest of our nation couldnt. Or worse, wouldnt. Too fat. Too selfish. Too lazy. Which made the realization after we got out that citizens think were beneath them all the more shocking. If theyre fat, selfish, and lazy, then whats worse than that?

We werent supposed to say any of that, though. My generation didnt, at least. We were taught that part of our service was biding quiet about it. To rise above, because thats what Jesus and George Washington and Beyonc wouldve wanted.

Thats what I did. Or tried to, at the least. Let the citizenry think what it wants, ran the logic. All part of being a republic.

Maybe we had it incorrect, though.

I wondered about that the night the protester confronted us. We were in Washington for a gala. Ordinarily “were in” ushered in through side or back door for events, but the organizers of this one had us walking in on a red carpet, through a galaxy of flashing lightings and holographic cameras.

Finally, Dizzy told, pausing to adjust his bow affiliation and lick his front teeth. The treatment we deserve.

Why the protester chose the JngerBot to cream-pie, Ill never know. By the time the uproar had reached my ears and Id floated around in my chair, the JngerBot had the young man by the throat. Request order to remove home-front adversary, it said, which was funny, and then not.

We got the young man free of the JngerBots prongs. He was reed-thin and had thick brown curls with eyes as dark and mad as the moon. I didnt know what to think about him or his pie. People didnt protest war in person anymore. It wasnt sane behavior.

Youre not heroes, he told. His terms were shaky. Its never easy coming face to face with people youve demonized. Or cockpit to cockpit. Youre tools of empire. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

The cameras along the walkway started popping off like mortars. We all only stood there, waiting out his denunciation, because we were there to be seen and applauded , nothing else. His anger dazed me, and the others too. Not Dizzy, though.

Get bent, joker, Dizzy told, intersecting his arms for the cameras. War is bad? No shit. But it wont go forth just cause we want it to. Last month, two brigades from the same base get deployed. One goes to Kurd Mountain, saves those households from the horde. The other goes to Blue Russia, blows up some insurrectionists. Ones a humanitarian mission. The others combat. Both involve destruction.

Id never heard Dizzy speak with eloquence and passion before. He was good, and he knew it. He pressed on.

This JngerBot is a goddamn national gem. I dont know what brought you here tonight, and I dont dedicate a single fucking. We went so you dont “re going to have to”. Suck my hero balls.

The arrogance. The entitlement. The narrowness of thought. I loved it all, and I wasnt the only one. The red carpet explosion with applause. Dizzy even took a bow. But the acclaim wasnt universal.

After the protester had been escorted away and wed run inside for the gala, the scientist saw Dizzy. Dont do that again, he said. He loomed over the younger human like an angry parent. That guy is not your adversary. Neither is anyone else youve met on this stupid tour.

He aint a friend. Dizzy was trying to sound unbothered, and he leaned back in his chair and set his feet on the table. So what is he?

Only morons speak in absolutes, the scientist said.

Dizzy changed tactics. You know what he likely thinks about you? he asked. What all these people say when they think we cant hear? I had a woman tell me she didnt think we were whole human beings. Fuck her, and fuck that protester. Fuck all of them.

I wondered what the answers were to Dizzys questionwhat did people say about us? When they thought about us at all. Beyond the pomp and rite of the bond drive, we werent anything, I supposed. Just ciphers with tales people believed in, or didnt believe in, even before they heard them.

So. What. The scientists voice turned to iron as he responded to Dizzy. Thats the job. We have consequences.

Dizzy opened his mouth, but the scientist cut him off. You did . You did when you didnt “re going to have to”. Thats enough. It has to be. Then he stormed off, presumably for the hotel bar.

The scientist opted out that night. The rest of us did too, by doing the job. We stood there and smiled and waved while other people told our stories to the crowds. The crowd cheered. We waved again.

We walked back to the hotel as a group after the jamboree. We stopped in a park with green lawns and a marble fountain and joked about the protester, giggled about the scientist. The scientist had been right, but so what? What did being right have to do with anything? Dizzy had regained whatever force-out it was that sustained him and began chatting up a pair of young women who considered themselves patriots. I watched it all and thought about the ward and then my sisters home. The JngerBot came up beside me.

You managed that pie well, I told it. It didnt say anything, so I continued. Waiting for an order, I mean.

Here is our kingdom, the best use of monarchies, the best republic, the JngerBot told. Here is our garden, our happiness.

What a random thing to tell, I thought. Even for a robot. But subsequently, after considering it more, I decided otherwise.

The Fiction Issue

Tales From an Uncertain Future

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