#/ prince's version too.... but he leaves out a verse so i like it less.

[moonsromance]

joni mitchells a case of you is the song for virote's neon lit, wandering-through-the-streets-on-a-drizzling-november-evening night kind of romance...

oh i am a lonely painter i live in a box of paints i’m frightened by the devil and i’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid.

virote really is drawn to those that ain't afraid and he's a lonely painter… in his lil box of paints….

[presidenthades]

Finished the first big revision of Compromise Ch. 12! Maybe I will actually update before the end of the year. We’ll see how crazy Christmas is. But for now: behind-the-scenes commentary for Lavender Ch. 4.

Usual disclaimer that these thoughts aren’t necessarily canonical to the fic verse until/unless I write them into the actual story.

At the beginning of the chapter, we see one of Jace’s flaws: she hates bothering other people, even if it’s to her own detriment. She will defend and help other people, but girlie puts herself last. It’s an admirable trait until someone takes advantage of it, steadily isolating her while she refuses to complain, until she has no other options for friends…

When Aegon says his tearful “I’m sorry” litany, the last one is to the baby because he knows he fucked up and is going to be gone for the rest of the pregnancy. 😢

Jace in this universe, compared to Golds!Jace, feels way less empowered to push back against Viserys. She didn’t grow up in the Red Keep with him this time around.

Letting Jace pick Aegon’s outfit is always the way to go. 👌🏼 I couldn’t resist a dig at Aemond’s one leather outfit lol. As a prince he should have more clothes, but the 2010s black leather aesthetic is still going strong. I imagine his wardrobe is just twenty identical black leather outfits he rotates between.

The OG Rhaenys’s death is a really interesting mystery. Here, Aegon believes the version where Rhaenys was tortured until the Dornish forced the Conqueror to make peace before putting her out of her misery. His adventures in Dorne don’t explicitly contradict this version, and I was careful not to have the Dornish characters talk too much about it. But as the author, I’m not entirely sure this version is what really happened. 🧐

Anyway, as soon as I decided I was writing a Dorne arc, I knew I had to draw some Aegon I/Rhaenys and Aegon II/Jace parallels. I started laying the groundwork this chapter.

Jace has a fleeting thought about trimming Aegon’s hair before he leaves. This is a very niche and roundabout way to reference how much Aegon trusts her. Does anyone remember that GOT scene where Theon is shaving Ramsay, and he’s tempted to slit Ramsay’s throat? You have to really trust your barber, AKA the person wielding a very sharp blade against your face. Of course a prince would have a servant for this job, but I like to think Jace takes over Aegon’s shaving and haircuts as another form of intimacy. Also he prefers it when she does it.

Aegon’s memory of drunk Viserys calling him Baelon is why it reallyyyyy hurts when he thinks Jace named their baby Baelon. 😬

Jace has an easier pregnancy in this verse in large part because she doesn’t experience the traumatic events in The Golds. She also isn’t running herself ragged trying to do three people’s jobs.

Aegon and Jace’s confession scene makes me feel so warm and fuzzy. 😭 Aegon is the heir to the throne, but he’s still worried he’s too dumb for his smart wife. Luckily Jace understands that there’s different types of intelligence other than book smarts. Also, he’s 1000% serious about Jace sitting on him on the Iron Throne lmao.

Their little shepherd and shopgirl daydream is something I am REALLY tempted to write in an Ancient Valyria AU. Aegon actually seems he would enjoy being a shepherd; he gets to run around all day, and he can even play music when the sheep are grazing. No paperwork or meetings.

At one point while writing this fic, I considered a plot point where Jace rejects Larys, and in retaliation he forges evidence that she and Criston (who is frequently guarding her alone) are having an affair. It ended up not fitting in the overall story so I nixed it, but sometimes I wonder how that would’ve turned out.

Aemond and Luce definitely made out prior to the scene where everyone is saying goodbye.

Aegon really appreciated Jace’s “I’ll miss you” because it was very honest and unfiltered. She genuinely meant it, and even though he hates leaving, it makes him feel better knowing that he’ll be missed.

Cheeseball kicked because he telepathically knew his daddy was waving goodbye. 😭

Jace wishes for an ally on the Small Council, but as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. 👀 Now that Aegon is gone, Larys feels bold enough to make a move and send her the note.

Luce doesn’t think anyone on the Small Council noticed her, but Larys somehow knew she was there instead of Jace. That’s when Larys decides he needs to get rid of Jace’s sisters and cousins.

The spicy squid and pepper dish was targeting Baela and Rhaena. There was the risk the other girls might eat some, but Larys was confident that Jace, being pregnant, would refrain from a strange dish.

Criston has very little reason to be mean to the Velargirls in this verse. He barely knows them, and they’re Laenor’s kids so he doesn’t have his canon resentment about their parentage. He is able to treat his assignment guarding Jace as simply a job; it helps that she’s very easy to guard. Their conversation by the twins’ sickbed helps him get to know her a bit better, and he sees that she’s conscientious of duty, which he appreciates. He also admires Jace’s intelligence as she works through her thoughts about the investigation. Unfortunately, just as he’s warming up to her, he remembers the last time he was too friendly with a Targ princess (Rhaenyra) and immediately backtracks. ☹️ RIP Jace and Criston’s friendship.

Poor innocent cook Jorgen was killed as part of Larys’s plot, because he needed to throw doubt on whether High Tide would be safer for Jace. If a cook who worked at High Tide from years seems complicit in the poisoning, then maybe it’s best to just keep Jace in the Red Keep.

Jace is extremely relieved when her parents and grandparents arrive to assume responsibility. It can be easy to forget that she’s only 16, yet she’s been shouldering so many burdens on her family’s behalf.

Velaryons try to make a break for it, but the master of whisperers prepared for the possibility. When Viserys glances around him, once again he glances at Larys, whom he confides in a lot more in this verse.

Patriarchy in action this chapter! Women have to belong to somebody. Jace is married, so she belongs to her husband’s family now, not her father’s family. Ergo, she goes where the Targs want. Jace doesn’t like it, but she understands this is the way of things, so she tries to defuse the situation.

Note how Viserys says “your daughter has faith in my guards and whisperers.” 🧐

When Rhaenyra realizes she won’t be allowed to bring Jace back to Driftmark, she decides to stay with Jace instead. She’s determined not to leave Jace alone in the Red Keep��although that changes after the big fight. 😢

Luce also gets a taste of being dragged around by the patriarchy. She wants to stay with Jace, but Corlys says no, and the patriarch is always right.

Criston really doesn’t like Rhaenyra (the feeling is mutual), but he still has a job to do. 😩 Even though Criston has drawn hard boundaries, Jace is still attached to him because Aegon picked Criston for her. She has this feeling that if Criston is guarding her, then Aegon is indirectly keeping her safe.

Jace loves and misses her mom…but she can still find her mom smothering. 😅 As mentioned above, Jace has been shouldering a lot of burdens, so she feels like she’s grown up a lot and deserves to be treated as an adult/Rhaenyra’s equal. Rhaenyra still sees her as her baby though.

Even though Rhaenyra thinks poorly of Alicent, she sincerely believed that Alicent would treat Jace well (which Alicent has), so Rhaenyra feels betrayed (a bit irrationally, maybe) that Alicent has “allowed” the poisoning attempts.

Meanwhile Alicent is desperate to rekindle her friendship with Rhaenyra—but she has her limits (in this non-canon universe at least…) and gets annoyed when Rhaenyra keeps snarking about Aegon for no good reason.

“Aemond always has to suffer before he learns.” Helaena dropping truth bombs 💥.

Rhaenyra thinks Mysaria (before Mysaria fled) was the one informing her about Aegon’s doings, like the rumors about him boasting to his friends about having sex with Jace in the Small Council chamber. But we learn from Mysaria later that she only wrote one letter to Rhaenyra, which said that Aegon really liked Jace. This discrepancy is due to Larys of course. 🤧 I imagine even now, while Rhaenyra is in the Red Keep, Larys is planting more of these seeds to sow discord between her and Jace.

“We are the eternal bedrock beneath your feet. But a man like Aegon? The promises of devotion he has written in the sand will wash away with the tide.” Rhaenyra has picked up on the Velaryons’ maritime metaphors ahahah.

When Jace lashes out about Rhaenyra being abandoned by Daemon, we see that Jace does have a capacity for cruelty, and boy can she hit where it hurts. But she doesn’t like being cruel, so she feels sorry about it immediately (lucky for Westeros). Rhaenyra is human too, however, and her reaction is to run away and lick her wounds. She also can’t help tossing that final barb, “I trust that Her Grace will treat you like her own daughter”; if Jace is so defensive of Alicent, then maybe Jace should go to Alicent instead when she needs a mother. Rhaenyra regrets all these things once she gets to Driftmark. But Larys interferes with Jace’s apology raven, so Rhaenyra never realizes Jace wants her back.

Once again, we see one of Jace’s flaws—being her own worst critic—causing trouble for her. When she doesn’t receive any messages from the Velaryons, she believes it must be because she really is a bad daughter and they don’t want her anymore.

Helaena’s riddle is a reference to Larys, who has a firefly insignia on his cane. “Some glow green, but others glow yellow like false gold.” These are references to Team Green (which doesn’t exist in this verse, but that was Larys’s side in canon) and Team Gold (Larys pretending he’s on Jace’s side).

I have a lot of thoughts about the logistics of the Kingsguard. The seven of them can guard just the king at all hours of the day and night; they can work in shifts. But when you spread them out to the rest of the royal family, the shifts are harder to manage. They’re human, they have to eat and sleep. In this chapter, I show that even though Criston does his best to guard Jace, he can’t do it alone. He tries to vary when he rests, so sometimes he takes his break in the daytime, sometimes at night. Larys sneaks in to meet Jace when Criston isn’t there, because Criston would be more suspicious of him than a regular guard.

Larys approaching Jace at the weirwood is a parallel to him approaching Alicent at the weirwood in early S1.

“The sigil of House Strong winked at her, as if telling her a secret.” Note that Larys’s hand wearing his signet ring is resting on his cane, which has the firefly sigil.

Larys knows how to flatter Jace and start winning her over. She wants to be acknowledged as intelligent and capable, so he does that. He also knows that she’s fallen for Aegon, so he uses info about Aegon to manipulate her.

See Chapter 5 commentary here.

[krinsbez]

Super-Sizing the Superfamily: A DC Comics Storybuilding Project

So, on a forum I post on, we’ve been working on a storybuilding project. To wit, we plan to envision a selection of Superman and related comic books, if the Superman family was allowed to be even bigger than the Batman family, with multiple Superboys and Supergirls, as well as various other characters. To this end, we are be using multiple different versions of some characters, as well as occasionally decompositing existing characters.

At the bare minimum, I'd like to come up with a set of Superman Family titles (not everyone gets their own book, of course), and plot out a year of storylines, culminating in a Superman Family Crossover. Ideally we'd go beyond that as well, but given how ambitious that goal is, I'm not holding my breath.

The project has hit a bit of a wall ATM, so I figured now was as good a time as any to post what we’ve got so far on Tumblr. With his permission, I am tagging @davidmann95, the Internet’s Premier Supermanologist, to get his opinion, but anyone is free to comment or make suggestions.

We begin with... The "Core" Super-fam. Note that this is not an exhaustive list of characters appearing in this thing: -Clark (Superman) -Lois -Jon (Superboy Blue?) -Chris (Superboy Red?) -Kon (Kid Cadmus) (decomposite, based on original, Jacket version) -Conner (?) (decomposite, based on later, Geoff Johns/YJ version) -Kara Zor-El I AKA Zara (Supernova) (decomposite Modern Supergirl , based on TV Show version) -Kara Nim-El AKA Nara (Supergirl) (Variation on Silver Age Supergirl)* -Kara In-Ze AKA Iara (Blue Bombshell) (DCAU Supergirl)** -Kara Zor-El II AKA Tara (Miss Metropolis) (decomposite Modern Supergirl, based on "Cheerleader" version)*** -"Cir-El" (Tomorrow Girl) -Mae (Matrix) (I'm gonna say that for our purposes, she managed to come back after being separated from Linda) -Linda (Mighty Maid) (as per the post-Earth-Angel part of PAD's comic, with the Earth-Angel thing being backstory which we will leave vague) -Kristen (Superwoman) -Karen (Power Girl)**** -Mon-El (?) -"Uncle Carl" (decomposite Bizarro. Imperfect clone, somewhat "cured") -Bizarro #1 (decomposite, Imperfect duplicate, lives on Htrae, etc.) -Jimmy -Perry -Lucy -Kenan (New Super-Man) -John Henry (Steel) -Natasha (Steel? Starlight?) -Lana -Krypto -Streaky -Ma and Pa (I've seen good arguments for one or both of them being deceased by the modern-era...but I'm including them anyways) Possible members: -Lori Lemaris -Luma Lynai -Marvel Maid and Marvel Man -Vartox -Strange Visitor -Sally Selwyn -Lyla Ler-Rol -Thara Ak-Var -Alpha Centurion -More I'm not thinking of. 

*In the Silver Age, Jor-El had two brothers, his younger brother Zor, Kara's dad, and his twin Nim-El. We are making this Kara daughter of the former rather than the latter, born on Argo City, which survived the destruction of Krypton, named for her presumed dead cousin, sent to Earth when the systems keeping the city alive began to fail. **Keeping mostly the S:TAS backstory, with the caveats that the people of Argos were Kryptonian colonists, not a separate species, and that she's a relative of Zor-El's wife Alura In-Ze, with "Kara" and "In-Ze" being common family names. ***Something her ship encountered on her journey to Earth created a duplicate that took even longer to arrive, and was the subject of the previous Superfam crossover. ****The original "Super Girl", magically created by Jimmy wishing into existence a perfect mate for Superman.

Next, The Superfam books and casts thereof (not distinguishing between main, supporting, and recurring characters) (no villains as of yet. Mostly)

-Action Comics: Anthology title, each issue spotlighting different members of the Super-Fam.

No specific cast.

-Superman: Duh.

Somehow, I don't think we've specifically cast this one.

-Lois Lane: Again, duh. Serious journalism, with occasional Wacky Hijinks.

Lois

Clark

 Perry

 Jimmy

Lucy

Gen. Lane

Lex's administrative staff (Mercy, Ms. Tesmacher, the Loisbot, etc.), whom she is “casually bitchy” with

 As-Yet-Unselected-Police-Contact

 Bibbo

-Jimmy Olsen: Third verse, same as the first.

Jimmy

The Planet staff

 Iara (who he's dating; superspeed makes long =-distance relationships easy)

The New Newsboys (Famous Bobbie included)

Scorn

Ashbury

Misa

-Power Girl: Ditto.

Karen

Atlee

Hiro

Mae

-Cadmus: Again. We're basing this mostly on the bit of Kon's '90s book when he was hanging out on Cadmus, with the caveat that the Hairies moved the Wild Area (and thus the whole damn Project) to a pocket dimension with entrance termini in a number of different locations, including, but not limited to, Metropolis, Honolulu, the Un-Men reservation in Louisiana, and wherever the Justice League of China is headquartered.

Kon

Golden Guardian

The OG now-adult Newsboy Legion

The New Newsboys (Famous Bobbie included)

Dubbilex

Tana

 Roxy

 Serling

 Tekka

 Kenan and the JLC

 Mickey Cannon

 Sam Makoa?

Prince Tuftan and friends

-Adventure Comics: Stories about Conner, Iara, and Tara hanging around Smallville; inspired largely by Kon's late '00s title. Back-up feature is stories about Clark's Superboy years.

Conner

Iara

Tara

Lori Luthor

Lena Luthor I

Ma

Pa

Simon Valentine

Psionic Lad

Lana

 Loretta "Golden Genie" York (the character formerly known as the Yellow Peri)

-Sons of Superman: Starring Jon and Chris.

Chris

Jon

Lois

Clark

Beacon

Jor-El AI

Kelex

Ma & Pa

Lucy

Kon

Conner

Kristin

-Planet Comics: About the adventures of the Daily Planet crew in general. Workplace comedy, Clark keeps the glasses on, mostly.

Perry

Lois

Clark

Jimmy

Cat

Steve Lombard

Ron Troupe

Dirk Armstrong

Angela Chen

(I'd like to feature more of the various folks who've been shown working for the Planet over the years)

-Streets of Metropolis: Comparatively gritty stories about battling street-level crime, starring Gangbuster, Black Lighting and fam, and the MPD.

Jeff

Anissa

Jennifer

Lynn

Gangbuster (let's face it, most of y'all wouldn't recognize his real name)

Maggie

Turpin

Henderson

Leocadio

-National Comics (alt. title: Supernova and the DEO): Zara's adventures trying to make it on her own in National City, whilst helping Alex and the DEO.

Zara

Tara (commuting from Smallville)

Linda

Mon-El

Alex

Director Bones (standing in for the show’s version of J’onn, though the relationship is *probably* less familial)

Cameron Chase?

Winn

Simone D'Neige (standing in for the show’s version of Cat Grant)

Lena Luthor II (standing in for the show’s version of her aunt; we’re assuming that she stayed aged up after being de-Brainiaced)

Dreamer

-Steel and the Girls of Steel (need a better title): Starring John Henry, Natasha, Cir-El, and Traci 13.

John

Henry

Natasha

“Boris”

Cir-El

Mia (i’m counting Cir-El and her alter ego as separate characters)

Traci 13

The Supermen of America (a team, including Super-Chief and “Iron” Munro, inspired by Superman’s example, that John Henry is training)

-Nightwing and Flamebird. Adventures in the Bottle City of Kandor, which is majority Kryptonian but has a sizable population of other species. Despite the title, the eponymous duo are not the protagonists, but rather an ordinary citizen who’s taken it upon themselves to unravel the mystery of their secret identity (the truth is that an assortment of people take turns at wearing those costumes)

?

-Superman Family. Anthology title, with each issues featuring a team-up between Clark and another member of the Superfam.

No specific cast

There are a few other odds and sods here and there, but that’s most of it, asides from the fact we’ve decided to costume the Supergirls thusly:

-Karen, of course, wears the Power Girl costume. -Cir-El has a distinct costume already. -Linda is rocking the DCSHG look.* -Iara has her S:TAS look.* -I wanna say Nara's wearing one of the Bronze Age-era outfits, but they might be too '70s to really work? -Mae is wearing a somewhat sexier version of the classic look (I'm imagining she's the second-most vavavoom-y of the Supergirls after Karen). -Zara I is wearing the second TV show suit with the pants. -Zara II (Tara?) is wearing the Jim Lee cheerleader outfit. Note: despite both being a miniskirt and bellyshirt, her outfit is notably skimpier than Iara's, with a shorter, lower slung skirt, and a tighter top with...what's the right way of saying there's less of it? This is her deliberately distinguishing herself from her older duplicate's more modest look. *May switch these, IDK.

[lnterjection]

Sleepy Bois Inc and DSMP Fanfic Recs

Uhhh I realized I have a ton of stuff in my bookmarks list and might as well compile a list of favorites because I’m always looking for good fanfics, and this might help some people. Most of these are SBI, though a few focus on things other than their dynamic with each other. Nothing explicit here. Feel free to suggest more recs. 

Fics set in DSMP universe/about DSMP (One-shots first, then longer fics):

One-shots and series of one-shots-

therein lies the madness by sapphicist - 2095 words. Currently says it’s one chapter out of three complete, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. Nice introspective fic on Tommy’s exile and his parallels with Theseus. In 2nd person, but it’s actually done nicely. Mostly angsty, can have hopeful interpretation depending on how you look at it. 

crazy how life goes on without me (2090 words, one-shot) by itisjosh - What if Ghostbur did remember everything, and just pretended to be clueless and vapid? Made me cry. It’s so good. Tortured my heart. 

the inner mechanism of a black box (13521 words, one-shot) by Bee_4 - only work of a series called “system theory”. “Technoblade lets himself get imprisoned for Philza’s sake. He doesn’t plan on being there long. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Pandora’s Vault. There are things that will make even the Blade fall apart in due time, as it turns out.” Yeah so Techno’s mental health goes out the window in this one and its written brilliantly. There’s comfort at the end, if it helps? 

A State For One Man Is No State At All (5247 words, two-shot) by angstfortheangstgod - “A different version of the festival, in which Dream shows up unarmed, the Community House is left intact, a traitor is executed, and Tommy doesn't betray Technoblade.” Ranboo centric. Angst and comfort. 

All the Kings Men series by MollyPollyKinz - “After Ghostbur's suggestion to do Lads on Tour, Tommy finds himself reunited with his family. However, escaping from Dream is going to be harder than anyone previously thought.” A connected series of one-shots and short fics about Tommy, his exile, his family, and escaping Dream. Well written, good characterization, great studies into the characters themselves.

ad astra per aspera series by cacowhistle - Collection of one-shots that start with Tommy’s exile and expand to be about SBI and their dynamic with each other, including a resurrected Wilbur. Really, really well written and probably my favorite of the “Tommy exile fic groups”. 

the fall of a hero series by cracklesnaple - “After being threatened with being exiled yet again, Tommy takes the decision into his own hands. If those around him can't see that he's given up everything to make this nation what it is, then he's not sure he can stay in L'Manburg any longer.” Series about SBI and mainly Tommy, eventually crossing over into Mianite territory in a way some might enjoy and some might now. Writing’s good, though, which is what I care about.

Longer fics-

Rewind (101002 words, 25 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by Anonymous - Best time travel fix-it fic I’ve ever read period. Tubbo and Tommy travel 10 years back from a very messed up future to the first L’Manberg election. Concept may seen a bit weird at first but trust me, holy fuck this is amazing. 

second chances (hurt the most) (8841 words, 4 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by Anonymous - “Wilbur wakes up alone in a bloody room, and has to come to terms with living again. (How can he go on, knowing who's blood is on his hands?)”. Amazing fic where resurrection requires someone else’s life as sacrifice. Phil is dead. Wilbur struggles to come to terms with his father’s decision, and his second chance. 

all scotch, no soda (47466 words, 43 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 14 2021) by fishstixx - “Vulnerability meant trust, though, and trust was a thing not so easily given. Post-exile and canon divergent, follows the consequences of Tommy’s isolation. Expect chases, heists, bloodshed, and the mending of a family.” Features raccon hybrid Tommy being badass, and I live for it. I really, really love this one. 

DON’T FORGET THAT ICARUS FLEW. (16426 words, 6/10 chapters, last updated Jan 1. 2021) by orpheusaki - “The day before and the days that follow Tommy's exile; told through the eyes of The Blood God.” Techno (and Dream) is a god, and gods often forget how the intricacies of the minds of mortals. He’s trying to get better, however. 

what do you fall for? (16374 words, complete) by tablrcloth - Ranboo centric fic with Techno, Phil and Tommy. Ranboo realizes that playing L’Manberg’s politics is less than ideal for him. What can I say, it’s just really good. 

Breathing’s Just a Rhythm (12631 words, 6 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by MollyPollyKinz - “Tommy, Tubbo, Jschlatt, and Dream all end up in the past. (Oh, and the Chat comes too).” Great time travel fic. 

What World Have We Inherited? (73635 words, 12 chapters, unfinished and last updated on Dec 22 2020) by Anonymous (this one has a series with all their works, and they’re all AMAZING). Holy fuck this one is probably one of my favorite fics in the fandom so far. “Wilbur blows everything to hell on the day of the Manburg festival, just like he wanted. When the ashes settle, it's just Tommy and Technoblade. It's not good, but it's better than nothing. It's just them, healing up in a world that never wanted them.” Amazing characterization, worldbuilding, everyone’s internal thoughts are portrayed and written so well. Even if it never updates again I would keep coming back to it. I rec this Anon’s works so much. 

In June, I Changed My Tune (29489 words, 6 chapters, unfinished and last updated on Jan 6 2021) by KryOnBlock - Eret runs away and eventually becomes friends with Techno. Nice cottagecore aesthetic. I have mixed feelings about this one - the writing’s good, descriptions and characterizations are really good. Just that there’s consistent punctuation mistakes and it takes me out of the world a bit. Everything else is good enough for me to continue reading, however. 

stay with him (24353 words, 12 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 9 2021) by junipersand - I especially rec the first chapter, which can be read (and originally was) a standalone fic with the summary “Every ghost had a purpose to fulfill. So what was Tommy’s?” Utterly heartwrenching, probably the most emotionally gut-punching bit of writing I’ve ever read in this fandom. It continues with other lore stuff afterwards that eventually branch off from just SBI and Tommy, but man. I don’t think I can ever forget that first chapter. 

I’m not angry at you, well, sometimes I am (52801 words, 16 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 14 2021) by sircantus - After Tommy is exiled, he runs away to Techno’s house instead of going off with Dream. SBI decide some revenge and “world domination” is in order. 

Fics set in AUs outside DSMP happenings:

One-shots and series of one-shots-

Empty Crowns AU by UnderUrsa - the SBI + Tubbo are gods, and a family. Series of one-shots. Nicely written, what can I say? Some angst, some fluff.

Secure, Contain, Protect AU by blue000jay - Amazingly written SCP AU. Knowledge of the SCP universe would help with understanding some more meta things, but is not needed to understand most of it. Some angst, disturbing themes around memories but nothing terribly gory.

CLASSIFIEDS. (13804 words, finished). SCP pages on SBI, short stories and audio transcriptions as well as files, lots of good lorebuilding here. Features an escape, + Tubbo!

CONFIDENTIALS. (13232 words, finished). Centers on Dream Team.

ARCHIVES. (1270 words, one-shot). What happened after SBI and Tubbo’s escape from the SCP foundation.

old gods (new gods) AU by WriterWinged - the relatively well known SBI gods AU. Amazingly written, great character interpretations. 

the gods are cruel (none crueler then you) (1394 words, one-shot) - As much the grammatical mistake in the title hurts me it’s no doubt one of the best pieces of work in the fandom. 

and yet they find kindness (and so do you) (2/4 chapters posted) - continuation of “the gods are cruel”. 

there’s a risk to the world (but the kindest are strongest) (2/3 chapters posted) - continuation of “the gods are cruel”. 

SBI Antarctic Princes AU by ScripWriter -  One of several Antarctic Empire AUs, this one just has these two preliminary one-shots but they’re nice bits of fun and neatly written. All fluff and mild hurt with lots of comfort so far. 

Younger Holding On Another (1781 words, one-shot). Techno is a good brother and reassures and newly adopted Tommy. 

But Oh, Don’t You Know How It Goes (2511 words. one-shot). Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur have some “fun” at a boring gala. Phil is very exasperated. 

Antarctic Princes ‘verse AU by BirchWrites - AU where Techno, Tommy, and Wilbur are princes of the Antarctic Empire (well, Techno’s technically the emperor now), but this time the events of DSMP still happen (at least up to the 1st season).

Homeward bound for the arctic ground (10562 words, one-shot). Wilbur and Tommy travel to the Antarctic Empire in person to ask Techno for help in fighting Schlatt. Good worldbuilding and acknowledges Wilbur’s beginnings of insanity while still being rather light.

Surprise Hugs (2542 words, one-shot). Dream doesn’t realize Tommy is Techno’s brother and thinks he’s going to get killed for tackling the infamous Blood God.

Family Reunions (1396 words, one-shot). Fundy never realized he’s loyalty and Techno informs him unexpectedly.

Longer fics-

leave me your starlight (14620 words, 4 chapters, unfinished and last updated Jan 11 2021) by findingkairos - “Once upon a time, Philza Minecraft is the only person who does not shy away from the bloody teen that regularly turns the tide of war. This cements a friendship that will last wars, empires, worlds, and lifetimes.“ Amazing backstory fic on Phil and Techno’s relationships, one of my absolute personal favorites. Very well written and really digs into the intricacies of Techno’s character (or an interpretation of it, but hey, that’s what all fanfiction is).

I was a kid in a village, doing alright, then I became a prince overnight (21736 words, 5 chapters, last updated Jan 13 2021) by sircantus - another Antarctic princes AU, this time centering on 16 year old Tommy catching the attention of Phil, Techno, and Wilbur after thwarting an assassination attempt. Really well written. Actually, I rec all of sircantus’ SBI stuff because they do amazing work.

antarctic adage (26591 words, 4/7 chapters posted, last updated Jan 13 2021) by blue000jay - Another very well written Antarctic princes AU with Emperor/ruler Phil. Are we seeing a pattern yet? blue000jay is another writer I’d rec, with really great SBI stuff.

a renewal of faith, and of family (56684 words, 31 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 13 2021) by SolivangantStories - One of the only fics here that doesn’t feature SBI, this one is Tubbo and Dream centered. Basically, the DSMP!Tubbo is executed by Schlatt and wakes up in a world where Manhunt!Dream is trying not to die and is also actually a nice person, to Tubbo’s surprise and confusion. Not SBI and technically not even DSMP, but it’s really good so I’ve decided to rec it anyway.

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter | chapter two | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mention of creepy adults/pedophilia, transphobia, memory loss problems, food mentions, kissing/making out, arguing, 

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,995

notes: there are spoiler warnings for the first three seasons of downton abbey, and dee and logan have a discussion of journalistic ethics that includes a mention of a teacher that is creepy toward teenage girls; it’s an abstract idea for the sake of argument, there is no actual creepy teacher, but i wanted to put a warning in here anyway.

⁂

he really needs to get on patton about getting a new rug for his bedroom, virgil muses.

his bare feet are resting against the hardwood of patton’s floor. patton, who usually clings to inanimate objects with an intensity fueled almost entirely by reminiscing, even patton had admitted he probably should let go of the raggedy bedroom rug, and he’d been meaning to replace it, but. he hasn’t yet. so virgil’s sitting on patton’s bed, waiting for patton to finish brushing his teeth and washing his face, so that they can curl up in bed and go to sleep. 

that’s a new thing—it’s not entirely new, but new enough that virgil feels too awkward to just curl up in patton’s bed and wait for him to come back. so. virgil is sitting here, in his pajamas, thinking about patton’s bare bedroom floor and his need for a new rug.

and not thinking about the various strides he and patton have been making in their relationship, slow but sure. virgil knows that patton’s really excited, and eager to move forward in their relationship, and virgil is too, but, surprise surprise, virgil’s anxious about it, so patton’s been very understanding about moving at a much slower pace than he’s used to—“you’re worth it, honey,” patton had said, his chin hooked over virgil’s shoulder as they cuddled at night, “there’s no rush at all. it’s been this long, ya know? i want to do all of this right,” and really, virgil did not deserve patton, he really didn’t.

there’s the sound of bare feet padding down the hallway, though, and virgil looks up, smiling despite himself, as patton opens the door. 

“hey,” he says warmly, closing the door behind him and shutting off the light—the lamps on the bedside tables are still lit—and patton continues his path, only detouring to lean down to kiss virgil sweetly before he sits down on his side of the bed. 

“hey,” virgil echoes, and at last swings his legs up on the bed, settling back against the pillows. “how was your day?”

this part he likes a lot, too—this, sitting in the same bed, talking about their days. it’s cavity-inducingly domestic.

patton hums, already squirming to be under the covers, and virgil copies him; they’ll move to cuddle once they’re done talking, virgil knows, so he mostly just stays where he is.

“the usual,” patton says. “um—got news of a wedding incoming, so i’m sure i’ll be going nutty about that in… a year and half or so.”

virgil knows that the weddings held at the inns hold some of patton’s favorite and least favorite parts of the job—helping make people happy, seeing people fall in love all over again, making everything so beautiful and lovely, but also, bridezillas and flighty grooms—and he smiles, mentally calculating. “you don’t usually get fall weddings, right? that’s mostly a spring/summer thing.”

“i know!” patton says brightly. “i hope they timed it nice so that it’s a warm fall day, and they get all the pretty leaves falling, and the sun hits the ceremony just right…”

“that sounds nice,” virgil says honestly, because it does—a picturesque fall wedding, sookie making some fancy version of an apple fritter for appetizers, a pumpkin-flavored cake. “fall wedding, i mean. it’s so pretty here in fall, i know we get boosted tourism because of it, but. not many weddings.”

“not many weddings,” patton agrees, and squeezes his arm. “and it’s a lesbian wedding, too, so from the conversation we had, i really think they’re gonna lean into the whole witchy-alternative vibe. the word celestial was thrown around a lot.”

“oh, that’ll be really fun,” virgil says, refining his mental image—black dresses and a tux, maybe, star-studded hairpieces, lots of fairy lights. “you’ll have to remind me when it’s actually being set up, i want to see how they decide to decorate. you never get to do witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed weddings.”

patton laughs, and leans in a little closer to virgil. “no, i can’t say i’ve ever gotten to help out with a witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed wedding. so that’ll be fun!”

patton continues with other work things—he has a much sooner wedding in spring, and unfortunately it is not a lesbian wedding, but a double wedding of two sets of insufferably rich twins, so there’s a lot to deal with there—before he winds down and says, “well, that’s about it with me, really, how ‘bout you?”

“um, pretty calm, pretty typical,” virgil says, before he reaches over and squeezes patton’s thigh. “oh, before i forget, the middle davis kid—”

“yeah?”

“—going by brick for now, while they’re trying to figure out what fits better,” virgil says. he leaves his hand on patton’s thigh, because. well. he can.

“brick,” patton says, delighted. “oh, that’s a great nickname for them—every time i see them, they’re insistent that they’re gonna bulk up and hit a growth spurt any day now.”

virgil allows himself a grin—brick is a pretty ironic nickname for a skinny little korean-irish kid who’s been hankering for their growth spurt since they could have possibly hit puberty, and now at age fourteen it was definitely becoming a bit more plaintive, but they also said it’s because they have the subtlety of a brick, so it fits in at least one way.

“they are still using they/them pronouns, right?” patton checks.

“yeah, still they/them,” virgil says. “you’ll have to ask them if they’ve added any pronouns when they turn up for your get cultured day—which is why i brought it up, brick brought by their dress for me to try and alter so that sequins don’t constantly scrape, so that’ll be a fun little challenge.”

“ooh, i hated wearing sequins at their age,” patton says sympathetically, and pats virgil’s arm. “good luck with that one.”

“other than that, though, today was mostly boring, my interesting stuff all has to do with the debutante ball,” virgil admits, rubbing his thumb back and forth over patton’s thigh. “oh, except for the part where kirk’s trying to sell topical funny t-shirts now.”

“ah, kirk,” patton says fondly. “where would the town be, without kirk and his seemingly millions of part-time jobs?”

“yeah, well, the best he could come up with today was rudy ate oatmeal, so i’m not really holding out hope for the funny t-shirt business,” virgil says.

patton snorts, and then tries to pretend he hadn’t—but, really, kirk becomes way less aggravating when you take him as comic relief. virgil knows, it’s the way he’s managed to stand all of kirk’s eccentricities over the years.

“anyway, yeah, that’s about it,” virgil says. “how'd the dinner go—i mean, i know emily at least gave you the dress, so that went okay, right?”

patton shrugs a shoulder and says, “i guess. i mean, i have a feeling this isn’t over, but… gosh, you should have seen her and logan stare each other down.”

“intense, huh?” he prompts, when patton goes quiet. he squeezes his thigh again, because physical touch is one of patton’s top two love languages. he knows, they took the test together.

patton chews his lip, before he says, “he looked like me. back then, i mean. the look on his face. my mom must’ve seen it a million times when i was his age.”

virgil squeezes a little tighter.

he knows that patton’s teenage years were rough. again, patton doesn’t really like to talk about them—virgil doesn’t blame him—but virgil did see patton struggle through the later end of his teens, and he was there for him when he’d broken down in tears. now, with as old as he is, as removed as they are from it, having seen logan and roman grow up and realizing how truly young patton was when they first met, the thought of teenage patton—struggling so fiercely in a house full of people who hadn’t understood him just made him, how hard patton had had to work to get a better life for himself and his son, the years of therapy patton had gone through—just made him want to grab patton in a hug and never let go.

“so,” patton says, pauses, and lets out a sigh. “i don’t—i don’t know. it went okay. but seeing logan copy me like that, i just…”

virgil leans over to kiss patton on the cheek.

“the difference between you as a teenager and logan as a teenager is massive,” he says lowly. “because logan’s got you, and me, and roman, and ms. prince, and rudy. he’s got this whole bizarre town. you had you, and christopher, i guess, but he didn’t understand. you’ve learned coping mechanisms that you passed onto logan, so he knows other ways to redirect his feelings. if he’s being rebellious to help protest something he thinks is sexist or unjust, i think that’s a pretty good reason to rebel. you did a great job with him. he’s a great kid. yeah?”

“yeah,” patton says very quietly. “yeah, he is.”

“you’ve come really far,” he says, and leans to see patton better, and gently pokes at patton’s cheek, just to make him smile, and he adds, “plus, i’d think if teenage-rebel you came to the future to see that your son’s protesting the gender stuff you’d been struggling with, i think that would’ve made you pretty happy, huh?”

and, yes, patton does smile at that, and something in virgil relaxes at the sight.

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i think it really would’ve.”

“well, good,” virgil says, and kisses his cheek, before he decides to just kinda go for it and lean in to wrap his arms around patton, initiating the cuddling early. “so, other than that déjà vu—”

“it went okay,” patton says, wiggling into virgil’s arms. “i mean—still weird to look at the dress that my mom bought for me. but other than that, it was okay.”

virgil hums sympathetically, and presses a kiss to patton’s head.

“well,” he says. “i’m gonna adjust it so that it’s logan’s dress, and his dress only. does that help?”

he feels patton smile against his collarbone.

“you know,” he says musingly. “i think it really does.”

⁂

logan has never walked into a store afraid to touch something before.

granted, most stores he walks into are grocery stores or convenience stores; clothing stores, sometimes, mostly before the school year or whenever roman decides he simply must check out the latest collection of things that the outlet mall in woodbridge had to offer. most of the time, the stores logan knew were quiet, maybe with some inoffensive music piped in, with products he knew how to use, or how they looked.

this was not the case in a bridal boutique.

which is where logan and roman are; though logan had the dress once intended for his father, roman still needed to get his own, and had so enticed logan to come along with him to help him choose.

it’s a saturday afternoon, and they’re technically on a date. there’s a bookstore just across the street, and a frozen yogurt parlor near there, and a thrift store they could dive into so logan could see the second-hand books and roman could hunt for some kind of retro statement piece.

logan inspects his hands again. there’s a stray inky blue smear across his hand that must have gotten there when he was taking his notes earlier today. he eyes the pearly-white tulle suspiciously, and takes a step closer to the center of the room, away from any of the merchandise.

objectively, he knows that touching these delicate, temperamental fabrics and testing the sensation of them by running his hand along the skirts won’t harm them, but. logan has laid eyes upon the price tags in this room. he is not going to even slightly risk ruining these dresses, somehow. 

roman’s spinning some kind of tale for the bemused, yet seemingly enthusiastic dress attendant—something something debutante ball, something something drag family induction, something something the most experimental stuff you’ve got!—and logan considers a dress a shade of blush pink so light it’s practically white, with a delicate, lacy flower overlay, the whiteness of the flowers being the only thing to really give away the pinkness of the dress itself. he wants to reach out and rub the material between his fingers.

he also knows that, with the location in the store and the quality of the material, the dress likely costs upwards of five thousand dollars. possibly more. maybe even double.

“logan!” and logan looks away, to where roman’s waving him back toward the dressing room section. thank god, somewhere to sit and not worry about accidentally tripping over a dress and leave an irreversible mud print from his shoe, or something.

the attendant burbles something along the lines of “so supportive!” that logan doesn’t really listen to, and doesn’t really have to respond to, because she’s pointing roman in the direction of a dressing room and logan gets to sit down in a chair and finally not worry about catching a ragged edge of his fingernail in a veil and accidentally ripping it in two.

logan waits until the attendant leaves, and says, “you’re really getting a dress from here?”

“it’s not all high-end,” roman says. “they have some old samples that they’re desperate to get rid of—that’s the kind of thing i want.”

logan nods, absorbing this, and his shoulders start to relax. obviously, roman’s monetary discretions are not up to him, at all. considering it comes from either his mother or working at his mother’s studio, therefore it should primarily be roman’s concern or ms. prince’s concern, but it is reassuring to know that roman isn’t about to ransack his college fund to get a pretty dress he’ll wear once as a prank.

the attendant comes back with armfuls of tulle, which roman claps his hands at with excitement, and steps into the dressing room with her. the door closes behind them, and logan can just barely hear their muted conversation beyond the door.

logan digs around in his backpack and pulls out his history textbook, his history notebook, and a pen; he may as well study while roman’s getting primped.

he gets through about a third of the chapter on enlightenment ideals by the time the door opens again.

he puts down his pen and glances up in enough time to carefully fold his lip under his teeth in an attempt not to laugh.

roman makes sure the attendant is occupied with adjusting the train before he pulls a blech! face at logan, one he’s accustomed to seeing whenever someone attempts to serve roman anything with cauliflower.

blech, logan thinks, is right. the fabric looks like it’s made of aluminum foil. it’s all bunched up in the front, like the dress is made of paper that’s been crumpled up by a giant hand, but there’s a long train in the back, and the whole thing is bedecked with big, chunky gems, like plastic rhinestones.

of the pair of them, roman’s always been the more fashionably-minded one, but even logan can tell this dress is not good.

“what do you think?” the attendant asks.

“it’s…. unique,” roman says diplomatically, smoothing his hands along the fabric; the bodice is strange, and clearly not fitted to suit roman’s chest. “definitely on the right track toward campy. but, um—”

“you tend to favor golds over silvers,” logan offers, which is true; one of roman’s signature colors was gold for a reason. “the crumpled look isn’t the best, either. you could certainly pull off a, um—”

he makes a hand gesture, and roman offers, “high-low skirt.”

“—right, high-low skirt, but the bodice isn’t the best, either,” logan continues. “something more theatrical would suit your personality, certainly, but i think that’s more in terms of, you know. a very outdated dress, or maybe something ostentatious, but not—”

“not this kind of ostentatious, yeah,” roman finishes for him, and the attendant looks between them, seemingly starting to question why she took in two teenage boys to try on dresses. the look falters, though, and she pastes a smile onto her face—professionalism must prevail, logan supposes.

“back to the dressing room, then!”

she trots roman out in a few other options—an a-line dress with a lacy bodice and a tulle skirt, a trumpet dress with chantilly lace and a sheer back, a relatively simple a-line dress that roman keeps twisting around in to gleefully poke at the massive bow perched at the small of his back—and logan offers commentary when asked. as she sees roman adjust the bow again, the attendant smiles.

“you like the bow?”

“i like the bow,” roman agrees, grinning. “i look like a birthday present.”

“all right,” she says. “i’ll bring out something a bit more experimental again—”

at the looks on their faces, she adds, “not quite as avant-garde as the first dress. actually, it’s fairly old-fashioned, but i think it might have that theatrical aspect you’re looking for. i’ll go back and change you out of this one and bring it back for you so you can take a look, does that sound good?”

roman agrees, and accepts her hand down off the stand, with a wink at logan, before they go off into the dressing room together. logan turns again to his history textbook; he’s nearly done with the chapter, which means one less thing to stress about when he should be focusing on a date with roman.

he can hear roman laugh from inside the dressing room and, unbidden, the corners of his mouth lift, too. either this dress is hilariously terrible, or roman’s thrilled at the idea of wearing this dress which he thinks is perfect for him.

when roman hops up onto the stand, logan honestly can’t tell which it is.

it’s like some fashion designer decided to stick every terrible fashion trend from the eighties onto one dress. there are big, puffy balloon sleeves made of tulle, secured with rosettes, in addition to typical spaghetti straps with smaller rosettes all over them; there’s a panel of beading down the bodice; there’s an overlay of rows and rows of ruffly tulle over a skirt of satin.

and, of course, there is a big, fluffy bow, perched right at the small of roman’s back.

it is extra. it is absurd. it is dramatic.

“i love it,” roman says gleefully. “oh, my goodness, it’s so much!”

it is, of course, roman.

“you look beautiful,” logan offers, and roman flashes a radiant smile in his direction, before he turns to offer his exuberant thanks to the attendant, who seems relieved (”we’ve had that sample longer than i’ve worked here, i’m sure they’ll be thrilled we’re rid of it!”) and takes roman into the dressing room, to help him out of the dress and go ring him up.

logan packs up his history book with some satisfaction; he has succeeded in taking notes for this chapter, which meant that frees up some time tomorrow, which meant he could probably work to get ahead in his latin class.

or, more likely, his dad would insist he go out and do something fun, despite the fact that he’s clearly doing something fun now. and yes, fine, he’s brought his textbooks, but clearly there was time to study here, so logan will provide this chapter of notes as an example as to why studying in the midst of a date was necessary.

logan slings his backpack over his shoulder just as roman emerges from the dressing room, in the same outfit he’d been in before he’d enlisted on a dress-shopping extravaganza; despite the fact that he’s wearing a red linen button-down tucked into a pair of high-waisted, dark-washed jeans, along with a dark overcoat to fight any of the last of the spring chill, a look that still seems very put-together—it seems almost like he’s a little underdressed, after all of the wedding dresses.

he doesn’t voice this—underdressed or not, roman constantly looks lovely—and instead he offers his arm, saying, “shall we go pay?”

“we shall,” roman says in an officious british accent, probably making fun of logan, just a little, but he laces his arm through logan’s anyway, and tugs him out of the dressing room area, to the front, where he chitchats cheerfully with the attendant and takes the truly massive garment bag, hoisting it above his head to avoid letting it drag on the ground.

“virgil’s going to have a hell of a time with this dress,” roman says gleefully. “should we go and grab a cummerbund for him? you know, just to make things easier for him.”

“he’s going to complain the whole time he gets all dressed up,” logan points out.

“i know,” roman says brightly, and tugs logan again. “c’mon, let’s go drop this in the car so we can go get fro-yo. i hope they’ve got gummy worms, i wanna make the super-fruity bowl this time.”

“so it falls to me to make some chocolatey flavor, i suppose,” logan says; for the pair of them frozen yogurt, unlike lucy’s, is prone to sharing, and as to avoid unfortunate flavor combinations, such as pineapple tart and whoppers, each of them make a bowl for each flavor—one for fruity flavors, and one for chocolatey flavors. “do you think i should combine coffee and fudge brownie?”

roman kisses him on the cheek, even as he’s pushing the door of the dress store open. “you’re a genius, my darling love.”

logan realizes in the middle of a bowl of coffee-chocolate frozen yogurt that roman’s managed to get him to leave behind his textbooks in the car, along with the dress.

he can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

⁂

this plan straight out of the plot of an early 2000s movie, if early 2000s movies had meaningful and visible trans characters, is somehow working.

dee still can’t believe it, somehow, even after a weekend of getting texts from known-but-aren’t-supposed-to-be-known members of secret societies like the porcellians (the porks, to those in the know, and dee is most decisively in the know) and the clairs and the skull and dagger and the sphinx club and the order of the gorgon’s head—truly the secret society names at this school were something else. 

he’s consulting his list on his way to meet up with logan to give him a morning update (could use some more involvement from the knights of the lamp and the old crows, and if he’s truly dreaming big he’ll try to crack all twelve of the twelve peers) when he glances up to see logan at his locker, looking truly startled as he’s being accosted by a freshman, who is waving a piece of paper at him with a fierce look on her face, her voice loud, but dee can’t quite make it out over the chatter and clatter of the morning crowd getting their books for the morning, and catching up over the latest weekend gossip.

as he gets closer, he realizes who it is. poppy mcmaster, whose legal full name is so genuinely atrocious that he could only feel pity for her when he’d scanned all the freshman’s files early in the year. who in their right minds named a child coppelia parthenope mcmaster and expected them not to get brutally bullied? unless, of course, they somehow preternaturally knew that poppy would turn out with the kind of aggressive, single-minded ambition whose brashness made her preschool teacher cry.

he mostly knows her because their families move in similar social circles, as ten generations of mcmaster have attended harvard. she stands at all of 5’2”, quite a bit shorter than logan, and yet she seems to be threatening him.

dee sidles closer to get a better look at her—dirty blonde hair pulled half-up, intense dark brown eyes, chilton uniform in perfect regulation—and approaches right as she’s saying, “some discretion, for the love of god—”

“dee,” logan says, spotting him. “um, this is—” and he glances at her, eyebrows furrowing. “you didn’t say your name.”

“coppelia mcmaster,” dee says, partially to show off but also because, coppelia. “or are you going by parthenope again? or something short for parthenope, anyway.”

poppy scowls at him, fierce, and snarls out, “poppy.”

“of course, of course,” dee says placidly. “poppy. how long has it been? i don’t think we’ve spoken since your bat mitzvah. mazel tov, once again.”

“todah,” poppy says, with the kind of tone one usually reserves for saying thanks for a present they resoundingly dislike. “you’re involved in this whole debutante plot, aren’t you?”

“well, yes,” dee says. “logan’s brainchild, of course, but one could say we’re co-parenting.”

poppy then proceeds to shove a familiar piece of paper into his hands, and she says, “mr. gardiner nearly saw and grabbed this if i hadn’t pretended it was a participation sheet from the student council.”

dee sucks in a breath, turning over the sign-up sheet—oh, wonderful, they have gotten another member of the twelve peers—but his eyes also land on the Contact Logan Sanders for details.

“thank you,” dee says at last, and turns his eyes to logan. “how many of these are up around the school?”

“three,” logan says. “that one included.”

“well, we’ll have to take them down,” dee says decisively. 

“what?” logan says.

“you’ll get in trouble,” poppy says. “detention, suspension, maybe.”

“we are planning to disrupt a large social event for the daughters of the american revolution,” dee says, and glances at logan. “as you can likely imagine, social protest is not exactly the kind of press attention chilton would like to receive.”

logan scowls, and says, “tinker versus des moines—”

“—was a public school,” poppy says impatiently. “i know you came from the backends, sanders, but this is a private school. different rules apply to us.”

“plus, we’re recruiting for protest,” dee says. “i’m not sure how well the tinker test will hold up for us, and i’d rather not find out. the word’s been spread enough, we can further recruit over private text message and dms.”

logan concedes this point with a nod, and he says to dee, “i’ll defer to your judgement.” then, to poppy, “thank you for interfering. that would have complicated matters unnecessarily.”

poppy shrugs, and says matter-of-factly, “it’s common knowledge that either of you will likely be editor when i enter the franklin junior year, i may as well attempt to establish myself as one of your proteges this early on to improve my chances for being assigned the better pieces junior year, and to provide an even clearer path to editor senior year.”

logan looks startled at that, and dee turns admiring eyes to poppy—he’d known her ambitions, of course, but planning this far in advance was preparation that dee could appreciate.

she says to logan, “do you have an escort yet?”

“um,” logan says. “no. no, i don’t.”

“all right then,” poppy says, and fishes out a reporter’s notepad from the side pocket of her backpack, removing a pen from her breast pocket, scrawling, and then ripping out the paper and handing it to him. “consider the slot filled. i’ll do it.”

logan looks at the paper—her phone number—and then back at her. “you’re joining?”

“obviously,” poppy says. “the clairs are involved. my cousin was a clair, her mother was a clair. the connections you make with clairs last the rest of your life. if this helps me get closer to joining with them, i’ll do it, just so i won’t have to spend all year killing myself to get in. plus my mother has been insistent i attend a debutante ball for ages now, she’ll be crushed i’m doing it in a tux, and crushed that i’m not going for the puff route like her, but these are the sacrifices we must make.”

she doesn’t sound particularly sorry about crushing her own mother, but logan acknowledges this with a nod, digging around in his own backpack for a flyer before handing it to her.

“everyone is going to attend a sort of crash-course in debutante ball culture,” he says. “the dance, the bow, the curtsy, so on. here is the address and any supplies you should bring. do you already have a tux, or should i send you some information for rentals?”

“rentals,” poppy says, and exchanges a look with dee—dee knows logan wasn’t raised in all this, but seriously, a rental?

“i take that as a no,” logan says, undeterred, before he zips up his backpack again. 

“fantastic,” poppy says. “i was wondering about the strategy for establishing a working relationship with you, i’ve known him,” she flicks a dismissive gesture toward dee, “for years. it just so happens that this route will also help take care of my social life and allow me to enact some form of teenage rebellion, because it’s been scientifically proven that teenagers who rebel constructively form a robust sense of self and are more likely to a have a clear sense of direction, beliefs, or relational commitment, and those who don’t may find it hard to settle or focus on building a meaningful and satisfying life. this is excellent multi-tasking.”

poppy looks delighted. logan looks like he might be developing a headache. dee has found this a typical reaction to people within proximity of poppy.

⁂

virgil looks up as the bell rings and immediately steps out from behind the counter.

brick is struggling cheerfully with a stack of tupperware in their arms, and virgil takes the top few so that brick can see.

“i got it,” brick complains.

“i don’t want you tripping over chairs, i’m sure you can handle the weight,” virgil says. “i was thinking you could set up over at this table here—right by the door, but out-of-the-way enough so that you don’t have to deal with anyone bumping into you. that cool?”

“yeah, that’s cool,” brick says. “thanks, virgil!” and immediately sets down the tupperware on the table in question. virgil follows suit, setting down his own load, and arches his eyebrows, impressed.

“you guys could put fran and lucy out of business with all these baked goods,” he says.

because that’s what brick is here for—the first shift of kids manning a table for a bake sale, to raise funds to make sure the sideshire kids can afford their slots in the debutante ball. 

brick stares at him for a few seconds.

“sarcasm,” he elaborates, because brick doesn’t really pick up on that too well, most of the time.

“got it,” brick says. “um, i’m gonna go help ellie—they brought a few other things, so save up that comment for them, i’m sure they’d get it.”

“need any help?” he says, knowing full well that brick will say—

“nah, i got it!” brick says, and darts out of the diner again. virgil waits by the door, just in case they need someone to open it for them—which they do, brick with another load of tupperware, and elliott with a poster tucked under their arm, a register in hand, and a plastic jar under their other arm.

“hi, elliott,” virgil says.

“hi, virgil,” elliott says.

“right over here,” virgil says, gesturing to the table, “do you need any help?”

“um, do you have tape?” elliott asks, frowning. “i just realized i don’t have any.”

“tape, got it,” virgil says, and ducks into the back to see if he’s got any in his office.

by the time he’s come back out, brick and elliott are already seated behind the table, arranging the last of the opened tupperware, with the plastic jar having a sign taped over it saying DONATIONS FOR THE BALL, and virgil pauses to dig a ten out of his pocket, dropping it in the jar before he hands over the scotch tape.

“thanks, virgil!” brick cheers, as elliott quietly thanks virgil for the tape and goes about taping the poster to the front of the table. it’s definitely homemade—there’s glitter, and marker, and there’s a little flyer taped beside it that explains what exactly they’re trying to do at the debutante ball.

“you want drinks?” virgil asks, tucking his thumbs into his front pockets. “on the house.”

“ooh, cocoa, please!” brick says. “the—the minty one. do you still do the minty one?”

“i still do the minty one,” virgil says. “peppermint should be a year-round flavor. ellie, you want anything?”

“cocoa/coffee,” elliott says.

“that stunts your growth,” brick points out.

“i’m taller than you,” elliott tells brick, who bristles and immediately opens their mouth, and virgil ducks out to get their drinks.

by the time he brings back the two steaming mugs, brick is finishing off their tirade with “—i’ll end up built like korra, and then you will see.”

“drinks!” virgil says, and sets the mugs down in front of them. “uh, just so you know, we hit one of those weird lulls, so we’ve probably got half an hour or so before things start picking up for dinner rush.”

both of them make noises of acknowledgement.

“so,” virgil says, settling in a chair near them. “elliott, i know you were thinking about what you were gonna wear slash do, did you decide that?”

“i, um,” elliott says, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “i thought i’d wear, like, a half-dress half-tux thing. i dunno if i’m gonna debut or escort yet, though, that kinda depends.”

“that sounds cool,” virgil says encouragingly. “do you have a picture?”

elliott does, but since it’s only partly designed—their sister liked messing around with fabrics like that—it turns out all the sideshire kids who are planning on going to the ball are in a groupchat, so after elliott’s phone pings with a message from there, there’s a brief tangent that ensues because elliott sends out virgil says hi to everyone and a picture of the bake sale, so virgil gets to hear about everyone’s plans which is also cool. and he also records a video with brick that brick pinky-promises to just send in the chat, so he ends up learning one of the latest memes that the kids are watching these days. god, he’s old.

“the debutante thing’s really awesome,” virgil says. “i kind of wish i’d gotten the chance to do it back in the day.”

elliott looks up at him, and says, “you do?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean, i’m not roman or anything, but i still wear makeup a lot of the time, i’ve got a few makeup palettes, i wore some skirts back in the day—”

brick’s head snaps up at that, and they say, “you did?”

virgil blinks—he’s not sure why this is surprising, but.

“yeah, i did,” virgil says. “i bet i’ve probably still got them buried in my closet somewhere. my heels, too.”

this also gets elliott’s attention.

“you do?” elliott says.

“i mean, maybe,” virgil says. “i might have donated them, i dunno, but—”

“why don’t you wear skirts or heels anymore?” brick says.

“well, right now?” virgil says, and gestures to the outside. “it’s cold. but, uh—i don’t really know.” 

and it hits him—he doesn’t really know. he just kind of kept going for jeans.

“just a habit, i guess,” he continues to the kids, because i don’t know is a bit of a weak answer. “it’s easier to match things with jeans. plus, it looks kinda weird to wear a nice flowing skirt and then just, like, a hoodie and a pair of sneakers i wear all day because i stand all the time. and wearing heels while i stand all day is just asking for a sprained ankle.”

“yeah, that makes sense,” elliott says. “sneakers kinda clash too.”

“but you wear boots too,” brick says, and points. “you’re wearing boots today.”

virgil glances down at his combat boots, the ones that he’s also got the gel foot insoles in. “well, yeah. i guess i am.”

“and leggings or tights would probably help with cold,” elliott says.

virgil looks between them, and says, “you two want me to wear a skirt, don’t you?”

“yes,” they both chorus, unapologetic.

virgil pauses, considering this. well. he definitely has at least one skirt, maybe more, they’re probably just tucked away where he doesn’t see them everyday. and he is fully down for these kids running in there and shaking up the patriarchy. and he does support men, or anyone on the gender spectrum who doesn’t fit soundly in the box of “woman,” wearing more traditionally feminine clothing, as long as they’re comfortable with it. and the surprised looks on these kids faces when he’d mentioned he used to wear skirts more often, and then the studies he’s read of how much representation means to kids...

he turns and calls out, “jean?”

“yeah?” jean calls from the back.

“i’m gonna run upstairs for a second, would you mind keeping an eye on things out here?”

jean calls back an affirmative, and brick and elliott exchange a look, before turning back to virgil.

“are you—?”

“maybe,” virgil says, standing, feeling a strange sort of excitement just from their excitement, but also, it’s been a really long time since he’s worn a skirt, and he’d liked wearing skirts. “again, i can’t remember if i’ve donated ‘em, but—”

“awesome,” elliott says, while brick is nodding along with them, wide-eyed.

“all right,” virgil says, and then, “uh, cool” and makes his awkward exit, heading upstairs for his apartment.

it takes a bit of digging, but he does manage to find where he’s stashed his skirts over the years. he’d even managed to fold them neatly before he put them away, so they’re not even that wrinkled or anything. and then he remembers the various struggles of matching an outfit with a skirt, because in his mind, a skirt outfit has to be at least a little fancy, and so after he examines and discards nearly every shirt in his wardrobe he ends up pairing a plum, long-sleeved button-down with a black pleated skirt that falls down to his ankles, even after he tries to make the skirt a bit high-waisted.

and then he gets a little more carried away, and smokes out his dark eyeshadow and pops some purple glitter in the crease and the inner corner and does a little cat-eye for the eyeliner and puts on plum lipstick, before something in his brain says back away from the makeup products, you are in danger of re-enacting your teenage emo phase, and so he does, not without a bit of a longing look at the black eyeshadow, because this is fun. why hasn’t he done something like this in so long?

he has to pick up his skirt one hand as he walks his way down the stairs, before he tugs aside the curtain that covers up the stairs that lead up to his apartment, and steps out from behind the counter.

brick and elliott swivel to look at him in almost-hilarious unison. and then they just. stare.

oh, the staring. the whole staring thing is why he hasn’t done something like this in so long.

virgil clears his throat, running a hand through his hair to make sure it isn’t too messy. “is it that bad?” he tries to joke.

“i,” brick says, voice strangled, “am gay.”

“uh,” virgil says, unsure of what to really say to someone less than half his age declaring that, then, “i’m with patton, happily so, and also, i am way too old for you, you are a kid.”

elliott rolls their eyes, and says, “they mean you look, um. good. you look really good,” and then they elbow brick in the ribs. brick shakes themself.

“yeah!” brick says. “you look. good. you look good!”

the bell above the door jangles, then, which means brick and elliott are distracted by attempting to sell baked goods, and virgil escapes to behind the counter, ready to start up for the dinner rush.

(he does take a few seconds to remind brick and elliott that anyone over eighteen is too old for them, at the moment, and the dangers of grooming, and also he is here if they need to talk about being concerned for anyone or if they need someone to talk to, in general, before brick says, “ugh, fine, jeez, you sound like the guidance counselor” so that takes care of that particular situation, virgil guesses.)

virgil does get a few compliments on his appearance, throughout the dinner rush, and also a few questions about why he’s dressing up nice, which means he can direct their attention to the baked goods table (brick and elliott leave after a couple hours, and so a couple more sideshire high students start their shift) and the cause that they’re raising money for, so. things are going well.

he ducks back in the kitchen, for a minute, when the staring gets to be a bit Much and he needs to take a second to breathe. he’s not super anxious, necessarily, it’s just—well, he frequently has the thought people are looking at me, which tends to make him anxious, and that’s true tonight, so. he needs to take a bit of a breather. and so he cooks.

cooking’s been a good outlet for his anxiety, ever since he was a kid and didn’t really get what anxiety was, ever since he was an asshole teenager who had recently been wrangled into his first therapy session by his parents following a doctor’s diagnosis. it’s almost always the same—if you follow the same directions, you’ll get the same result, almost always. and, sure, it could be an outlet for creativity, too, if he so chose, but right now he’s grilling burgers and assembling salads and making pasta. it’s an adventure in multitasking he does almost every day. he knows what to do, and so he does it.

he feels calmer by the time they’re in the midst of the dinner rush, partially because of the time spent in here, but also because the increased business is something that’s also familiar and somewhat comforting. so he chances poking his head out of the kitchen door, evaluating if he’s ready to enter back into the fray and start helping out with the waiters. 

he pokes his head out just in time to see roman, logan, and patton sliding into a booth, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief—those are people he can definitely go over to and not start to feel nervous just because they’re looking at him.

he’s about to fully step out and make his way over unnoticed by everyone else, except—

roman looks up, and makes eye contact with him, and declares ��virgil! i came as soon as i heard!” loud enough that virgil can hear it over the background music and the dull roar of the dinner rush conversations.

virgil winces a little, before he sheepishly walks over to the table. he probably should have expected this, given roman’s vocal and often repeated desires to give virgil a makeover.

all three of them come into view—roman, eager at last that virgil is stepping outside of his typical fashion comfort zone; logan, mostly neutral if a bit curious; and patton, who is staring at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, and visibly swallowing. a flare of heat burns to life in virgil’s stomach at that, and so he turns his attention to roman, so that he doesn’t start blushing and his thoughts don’t become immediately obvious.

roman looks him up and down, surveying him, before he says, “you look like a goth femboy version of a librarian fantasy.”

virgil runs a hand down the skirt, a little self-conscious. “oh.”

“but,” roman says, pulling a face at him, seemingly detecting virgil’s mood change, “at least you’re showing some sense of style. this is an improvement over your daily wear, believe me. one would even say substantial.”

“oh,” virgil says, more sarcastic this time, with an eye-roll to boot. 

“however,” roman says, “can i request that you at least extend your color palette to something that would not look at home as a poster for an emo pre-teen? and your foundation, virgil, you do not have warm undertones, you have neutral undertones, if you’re going to start wearing makeup more you need to have a summer and winter foundation—”

virgil reaches over to flick roman’s ear, and roman complains “heyyy” before logan glances up at him.

“why wear a skirt today in particular?” logan says.

“oh,” virgil says, and jabs a thumb in the direction of the bake sale table. “y’know, i figured i’d support you kids. people ask me why i’m all dressed up and so i get to point ‘em there, and then, you know, solidarity,” he says, taking his skirt in hand and swishing it a little. “win win.”

“all right,” logan says and looks across the table at roman, cocking his head.

“roman,” he says. “what is a ‘femboy.’”

roman folds his lip under his teeth.

“um,” roman says. “well, y’see—”

“i’ll get you some waters!” virgil says, before he has to bear witness to roman explaining that concept to his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s dad. he knows that a femboy is just people who are male or non-binary presenting themselves in a feminine way, the word kind of started around his teenage years, but he also knows that particular expression on roman’s face means that virgil has probably missed some segment of Youth Internet Culture that might provide the backstory behind the newfound popularity of the word a bit… complex.

by the time virgil comes back, logan is jotting something down on one of the notecards he carries around with him all the time, and roman looks normal, so the conversation must not have been too awkward, but patton—

well. patton looks at him, once again looks like he’s swallowing his own tongue, and turns his face back down to the table, but not before virgil can spot the pinkness in his cheeks.

oh. interesting.

virgil has to swallow himself, before he readies the notepad.

“what do you want for dinner?” he says, in a tone that is perhaps a bit gruffer than normal, and patton immediately and not-very-subtly puts a hand over the back of his neck to hide that that’s going pink too.

very interesting.

virgil doesn’t get much of a chance to observe this interesting phenomenon—it is dinner rush, after all, and he’s got other customers—but when he does observe it, it brightens that low flame in his stomach, like someone slowly turning the knob on a gas stove, and patton grows gradually more bold. 

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably assume that he’s a generally shy boyfriend—hand-holding and kisses aplenty, to be sure, but fairly unassuming when it comes to public displays of attention.

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably not assume that patton is a flirt.

but he is—he is absolutely a flirt, and a startlingly adept one at that, so when virgil swings by the table perhaps a bit more frequently than he usually would, patton stares at him with a little smirk on his face and with zero shame as his eyes roam over virgil’s face, his arms, his mouth. 

patton looks up at him from under his eyelashes, biting his lip just so, and virgil nearly drops patton’s plate—and notices, distractedly, that patton has managed to use virgil’s distraction to finesse his way into a helping of fries instead of the vegetables or salad that virgil would usually suggest.

and when virgil brings over the bill, handing it to patton, patton takes the bill and then takes virgil’s hand and kisses his knuckles with a cheerful “thanks, honey!” and virgil has certainly forgotten any anxiety that might stem from someone staring, because it’s patton who’s staring at him.

patton, who had gotten so flustered at the sight of virgil in a skirt that his eyes nearly popped out of his head; and now, patton, resting his lips against his knuckles for just a moment, lingering, and virgil feels like an elizabethan maiden about to make her way to the fainting couch because of it.

virgil excuses himself to settle the bill, and also maybe rest a cool hand against his own cheek. honestly. it was a kiss on his hand.

he’s about to go back the table and hand back patton’s card, but he glances up as the bell jangles, roman and logan already leaving, and patton stepping close to the register, his hands behind his back, rocking up onto his toes and back onto his heels.

“hey,” virgil says, and shakes himself, before he offers patton’s card. “um. here.”

“thanks,” patton says, tucking the card into his pocket, before he bites his lip. “um. could we go up to your apartment and get the book i asked to borrow?”

what book, virgil wonders, before patton hastily adds, “if you have time, i mean, i don’t wanna—take you away too long,” and oh, he wants to go—okay. okay.

“i have time,” virgil answers, maybe a little too quickly. “um—sarah,” he calls, “me ‘n patton are going upstairs for a little bit, so—”

“we’ve got things down here,” sarah says, “go, go” and so they go, patton reaching out to grab virgil’s hand and squeeze, running a thumb over his knuckles. and so they ascend the stairs.

virgil shuts the door behind them, and turns to face patton.

“i was, um,” patton clarifies. “i was asking to come up here to see if you wanted to kiss for a little bit.”

“i know,” virgil says, then adds, because consent is important, “i do.”

“oh thank god,” patton breathes out, and before virgil can get out a response, patton surges up against him, rocking up onto his tiptoes and pressing virgil back into the wall, and virgil barely has the time to wrap his arms around him before patton’s kissing him with searing heat.

patton is a remarkable kisser, genuinely the best that virgil thinks he’s ever been fortunate enough to kiss, and patton knows the precise angle to tilt his head and the precise way to possessively splay a hand at the back of virgil’s neck to make the kiss deep and heady and excellent, a kiss so downright lascivious that virgil’s thoughts about retiring to a damn fainting couch doesn’t seem near dramatic enough.

virgil is distantly aware that patton must be rocked up onto his tiptoes, and he splays his hand at patton’s waist, squeezing him gently, giving himself the excuse that it might help patton keep his balance a bit better, and also because his hand fits so beautifully at patton’s waist it could make virgil cry, the warmth of him even through his sweater and the way he can feel patton breathing in unsteady breaths, so maybe virgil isn’t the only one who is losing it here a little.

simultaneously, like they’ve choreographed it, they stumble back together until patton’s knees hit the arm of the couch and virgil practically falls on top of him, virgil barely breaking the kiss to make sure he hasn’t crushed him before patton’s twining his fingers into virgil’s hair and dragging him back into the kiss, wriggling a little so that his thigh is pushed between virgil’s, and virgil groans into his mouth, patton greedily swallowing the sound.

time goes a bit fuzzy, then, everything narrowed down to patton’s breathy gasps and the slick slide of his lips and the warmth and pressure of a thigh between his own and patton’s wandering, unabashed hands in his hair, on his back, wandering down to give him a cheeky squeeze, gripping at his thigh, like patton’s using the touches to punctuate a sentence that virgil has no hope of reading but it sure sounds nice anyway. 

and then there’s a loud sound—someone’s dropped dishes downstairs—and they break apart, the pair of them looking toward the apartment door, startled, and as soon as it sinks in what it is that’s happened, they look back at each other.

patton’s smiling up at him, plum lipstick smeared all around his mouth, coy and unashamed, but with a little quirk at the corners that tells him that make out time is probably over. it is an image that immediately sears itself into virgil’s brain that will probably pop up at incredibly inconvenient moments, but he cannot really feel bothered about that right now, because christ is that unexpectedly hot.

virgil clears his throat, because there’s never exactly a non-awkward way to end something like this, that is until patton’s brow creases and he reaches forward to touch virgil’s lips.

“oh, no,” patton says, a little distressed, “i messed it up!”

“i can redo it,” virgil promises immediately, barely even thinking of the words before they’re out of his mouth in attempt to make that coy little smile come back, and he clears his throat to try and make his voice go back up to its usual octave, not the gruff and low near-growl that came out of his mouth. “um—you kind of have—”

patton’s brow creases even more, before he wiggles a hand free from under virgil and smears a finger beneath his bottom lip, holding it up to see for himself, and he giggles.

“i guess i do,” he says, and beams up at virgil. “be a dear, would you? i don’t wanna walk out there and make it too obvious that we’ve been mackin’ on each other this whole time.”

virgil nods, and, regretfully, rolls off of patton to go to the bathroom, attempting to steady his breath the whole way. 

he bends to get the makeup remover from under the sink, and straightens, at last looking at himself in the mirror.

he looks thoroughly kissed.

his plum lipstick is smeared all around his mouth, down his chin, which shows off how his lips have reddened and gone a little swollen; his black hair is ruffled, especially sticking up in the back; and the generally gobsmacked, slightly stupid look on his face is a dead giveaway that he’s been spending time kissing patton.

there’s the soft padding of footsteps, arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed between his shoulderblades, before patton pokes his head around him to see himself in the mirror, too.

he bursts into more giggles at the sight of them—matching messy lipstick, matching messy hair, matching slightly stunned look, except on patton it doesn’t look stupid at all, it looks like he’s thrilled with himself, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouths, like a particularly flirtatious cat who’s caught particularly prettily painted canary.

virgil can’t help but grin, too, and patton arches up to press a deliberate kiss to tendon of virgil’s neck, and virgil’s grin turns into a groan, more out of frustration than anything.

“what?” patton says, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. 

“if you keep doing that,” virgil says, and then he’s at a loss for words, but patton seems to get it, slipping out from behind virgil but still leaving an arm wrapped around his waist.

“i don’t particularly want to stop, either,” patton agrees, before he reaches up to turn virgil’s attention away from the mirror, and so that he’s looking directly into patton’s eyes instead. patton continues, voice lush and full of promise, “i’d keep you up here all night, if you wanted, but, well.” 

“we’re taking it slow,” virgil says ruefully.

“we’re taking it slow,” patton agrees. “plus, you’ve got a diner to close, and i’ve got a kid at home who’ll probably stay up too late reading if i don’t bug him about bedtime.”

“yeah,” virgil says, but he can’t help but sigh a little—they’ve both agreed that moving slowly is the responsible thing to do, they’ve talked about it a lot, first to agree to slow then later to refine their mutual definitions of slow, which turned out to be pretty damn different at first, but. well. 

“i know,” patton agrees fervently. and he really does—he’s literally the only other person right know who understands exactly how virgil’s feeling, and that sets him at ease more than anything.

“all right,” virgil says, and peels back the top of the makeup removal wipes package, removing one. “lemme see your face.”

patton obligingly tips up his chin at virgil, smiling.

virgil cups the underside of his jaw and works to clean off patton’s face, gently rubbing away the plum smears around patton’s mouth with a purposefully soft hand. 

it takes a few wipes for virgil’s lips to twitch up into a smile, too.

“stop it,” virgil scolds, without any heat.

“stop what?” patton says, still smiling.

“you’re smiling at me,” virgil says. 

“what, i can’t be a little happy that i spent some quality time with my fella?” patton asks. 

virgil ducks his head, because that’s one of his top two love languages, and patton knows it. instead, he says, “‘course you can, i am, too. but you’re gloating.”

patton’s grin widens, and virgil sighs, lowering his hand—he won’t be able to help patton at all with patton grinning up at him like that.

“i have,” patton says, “the prettiest fella. i’m allowed to feel at least a little smug that you’re the belle of the ball tonight, darling.”

“stop,” virgil grumbles, looking away.

“what?” patton says. “it’s true! you’re gorgeous, honey.”

virgil mutters under his breath and rubs at the back of his neck—he isn’t the best with accepting compliments, he never has been, especially when it comes to things like this.

but, well—

“so,” virgil says, staring at the makeup wipe in his hand. “you… liked it?”

“liked it?” patton says.

“y’know,” virgil mumbles, and gestures vaguely up and down his body—the skirt, the makeup. “it.”

patton grins up at him, and tugs him down a little so that they’re eye-to-eye.

“i,” patton purrs, “love the skirt.”

it takes a little bit longer to get polished back up after that. and if, perhaps, virgil walks around the diner a bit more at ease than before, with a bit of a stupid smile on his face even after patton blows him a kiss on his way out of the door, well. that’s virgil’s business.

⁂

christopher calls when logan’s studying at the diner. his dad’s already headed home, most of his dinner conversation having been rhapsodizing his deeply-held desire to put on his pajamas. virgil’s busy behind the counter settling everyone’s bills now that the bulk of dinner rush is over.

it’s still unusual enough to logan that christopher brings himself to call semi-regularly now—even stranger that it’s weekly, and on a set schedule. wednesday nights at seven. he even remembers to call precisely on schedule, most of the time. but still—every time his cellphone buzzes and lights up with a photo of him and christopher and dad at a sanders-hosted thanksgiving a few years back, he’s surprised.

it takes quite a bit of work to unlearn sixteen years that consisted mostly of irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled, logan supposes.

“hey, kiddo!” christopher says brightly.

“hi, dad,” logan says, digging around for a bookmark, before giving up and placing a clean knife in his science textbook to mark the page and closing it. 

a moment later, logan curses his mental preoccupation with studying and the upcoming phone conversation he’ll have to have—the napkins are right there.

“so, what’re you up to?”

“studying.”

“you’re always studying,” christopher says, and there’s something in the tone that sets logan’s teeth on edge; he knows that christopher isn’t exactly academically inclined, and in fact would likely be better described as an academic anarchist, seeming to disdain upon the opportunities and privileges he was given with no strings attached that logan would almost certainly kill to have, not to mention many other people who would put it to better use, but. it’s not the time to pick a fight, logan supposes.

“yes, well,” logan says. “i have science test this week.”

“you’ve always got tests.”

“chilton is an academically rigorous school,” logan says, in a tone that implies he’s explained this a hundred times, because he has. “and i would like to maintain my position as a competitor for the top of my class. how are… things?”

this allows him a brief reprieve—since the official collapse of christopher’s business, not too long after he’d visited last fall, he’s been picking up a variety of odd jobs and temporary work, whatever catches his interest—christopher spends about five minutes explaining that he’s found some temporary work at a bar, now, to make some spare cash as he looks for something more permanent during the day. 

“—but yeah, that’s about all that’s going on with me right now.” a pause. then, christopher prompts, “how about you?”

logan shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “not very much. the test. i think i did well on a pop quiz on monday—”

he explains his various schoolwork and extracurricular activities—christopher hums in all sorts of places—before he adds, “oh, and roman and i went on a date on saturday.”

“hey, finally, something fun!” christopher says. before logan can even say something like but the debate team’s mock trial was fun, he says, “what’d you do on your date?”

“we had frozen yogurt,” logan says, “and roman wanted to go to a thrift store to get some things, and we both got a couple books, and roman got something for the ball, so that’s good—”

“whoa,” christopher says, “hang on, rewind. the ball?! what ball?”

logan winces.

because, well. it’s complex to navigate building a relationship that he initially blackmailed his father into, rather than have him propose to his dad. it’s even more complex to figure out how to handle a dad who had, for sixteen years, mostly showed up in irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled. 

he has a dad. for the vast majority of his life, patton has been the only biologically-related adult on whom he could rely. if there was ever anything a parent needed to be involved in, whether it be a parent/teacher conference, or parent’s night, or a parent volunteer for his classroom—he’s always penned down patton sanders without a second thought. virgil, occasionally, if he’d known that his dad had a scheduling conflict, but—always, patton first. that’s just the way it is. christopher had never even stepped foot in sideshire before last fall.

but now, well. now, he has to navigate should i have asked him to come back for this? because the rules say he needs his dad to escort him. 

and for so long, he has been so used to only having one of those. (well. two, but one biological dad. the other one kind of adopted him on sight and now he fusses after logan getting proper vegetable and protein intake.)

having both parents be involved in your life is even more unnecessarily complicated than i could have anticipated, logan thinks, before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“um, yes. a ball. the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball, to be more specific.”

“you’re kidding,” christopher breathes out. “jeez, what kind of dirt does emily have on you that you had to recruit your boyfriend to escort some girls, too?”

logan blinks. “i have no idea why a handful of soil would motivate me to do that?”

“no, like—” christopher begins, and, perhaps, logan was overemphasizing his usual ignorance for use of slang just to give himself a break.

“well, that isn’t the case, regardless,” logan says, before he decides to just get it over with. “he was getting a dress. we both have one. we’re going to be the debutantes, not the escorts.”

there’s a pause.

“is this a gay thing?”

logan cringes, ever so slightly—christopher sounds more bemused than anything, so logan doesn’t think it’s a necessarily passive-aggressive comment, rather a more genuinely ignorant one.

“no, it’s not—” logan says, and pinches the bridge of his nose a little harder. “it’s not, um. a gay thing. we’re recruiting a lot of chilton students and sideshire kids to join in, it’s more of a public statement than anything.”

“oh,” christopher says, still with that tone of bemusement. then, “a public statement of what?”

“we’re making a statement about how sexist it is that society still deems it appropriate to trot young women around like that,” logan says. “we—the boys, i mean—are wearing dresses as a gesture of support and solidarity with them.”

“oh,” christopher repeats.

there’s an even longer pause.

“how many people did you say you got to join in?”

“we’re almost at forty, the last time i checked,” logan says, and christopher whistles lowly.

“your grandma’s gonna throw a fit.”

“we told her, actually,” logan says. “i wanted to see if she still had the dress she was going to make dad wear.”

“and how’d she take that?”

“she’s making me wear heels,” logan grouses, and christopher laughs.

“well, can’t say i expected her to be especially nice about anything,” christopher says. “so, tell me all about this massive prank you’re cooking up, then, i knew that some of my teenage troublemaking had to rub off on you somehow.”

though logan wants to say it’s not a prank, he supposes that it doesn’t exactly harm the movement if christopher thinks that; it’s not like he’s about to tell christopher the real reason, after all.

but logan tells him, all about the chilton kids, and the sideshire kids, and the upcoming Culture Day that his dad and isadora were organizing, and the bake sale that the sideshire kids were doing to raise money to actually enter into the ball in the first place, and the way logan’s had to hide sign-up sheets from teachers, and it seems to go okay. 

that is, until christopher says, “hey, i guess if you’re going as a debutante, you need your dad to escort you, right?”

“oh,” logan says, and coughs. “um, actually, dad’s already doing that.”

there’s another long pause.

“oh.”

“i mean,” logan says, and shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “you’re saving up for other things, you hardly need to come out from california just to do this.” 

“i would’ve,” christopher says, defensively. “if you’d asked.”

“right,” logan says, and the sarcasm slips through before he can even really attempt to modulate it into something resembling politeness.

“i would’ve,” he repeats, more insistently. “i know i haven’t been the best—”

“look, i have to get back to studying,” logan says, cutting off whatever platitude about i know i wasn’t present for you throughout your childhood, when you most would have needed the stability of your other parent, but i am trying now after you had to blackmail me into not upsetting your life, “next week, we’ll talk?”

another pause. a defeated sigh.

“sure, kid,” he says. “yeah. i’ll talk to you next week. same time. love you.”

logan flounders, for a moment, before he says, “next week, then, bye,” and hangs up before christopher can return the farewell salutation.

logan takes a moment to lift his glasses so he can press the base of his palms into his eyes, before he resettles them on his nose and opens his science textbook again.

the conversations with christopher are… something. they tend to go cordially most of the time, even, it’s just—

well. like he’d thought earlier. he’s so used to having one parent, and christopher only ever making contact irregularly. no guarantee for birthdays, no guarantee for christmases, no guarantee for thanksgivings. no guarantee for if logan really wanted to lean on someone, if he’d be there, solid and steady, or if logan would be sent sprawling to the ground. metaphorically.

it’s a bit like that cartoon that logan recalls, as a child—lucy, holding the football, insisting that she wouldn’t yank it away at the last second, leaving charlie brown tumbling head-over-heels.

christopher has insisted that he wouldn’t yank the ball quite literally since logan was born. forgive logan if sixteen years of ending up flat on his back hadn’t exactly endeared him to exactly trust that christopher would hold the ball steady, even if christopher had ended up being much more punctual and consistent with phone calls than expected.

it’s just—difficult. to adjust. to really believe that christopher might stick around, this time.

he suddenly feels his (already immense) sense of respect for patton rise all the more, because he trusts people like this all the time, no matter how many times he’d ended up flat on his face; logan’s thought it naivete for so long, that now that he’s attempting to practice it, he finds himself… well, if he’s to continue the metaphor, he’s found himself unwilling to even attempt the run-up to the ball.

logan attempts to shake himself, as if the thought is something that he can dislodge, like water in his ears. he refocuses on his textbook and readies his pen for any notes that he needs to take. which he does, for a while, his pen scratching a familiar rhythm under the quiet rush of other people’s conversation, and the soft, inoffensive music the diner plays, that is, until the plastic of the pen cracks under the force of his grip. logan scowls, and tosses the pen aside.

“here.”

logan looks up, startled; virgil’s standing over him, holding a small plate. he’s wearing another skirt today—purple, and it falls just below his tights-clad knees.

“what’s that?”

virgil sets down the plate, careful to avoid any notebooks, pens, or textbooks. there’s a slice of loganberry pie on it, which is actually logan’s favorite, despite the downside of the many puns his dad has made about logan liking loganberry pie.

“you look like you need pie.”

“i do?” logan says cluelessly.

“pen tossing usually signals the need for pie,” he says.

“you,” logan says. “brought me pie.”

virgil arches his eyebrows. “i could take it back.”

“thank you,” logan says quickly, sliding the plate toward himself, as if virgil would snatch it away, and virgil snorts, reaching out to ruffle logan’s hair before he retreats back to the counter, and—

and it really is just the sugar that has logan’s shoulders relaxing as he stares at his science notes, he tells himself.

⁂

the science test is predictably grueling. logan sits at his lunch table, his brain still tracking over various formulas and small facts he’d memorized, as if in a half-stunned stupor.

there’s the sound of a tray clacking on the table. logan looks up, startled.

dee, in his usual cape and hat, looks over at him, and arches his eyebrows as if daring him to say something. after logan blinks at him owlishly, dee resumes settling himself, as if he has sat at logan’s lunch table a great many times and not at all as if this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

come to think of it, logan’s uncertain if he’s ever even seen dee during their lunch period before. he sets aside the question of then where does he eat??? and instead reaches into his lunchbox, grabbing something at random to start eating.

a clementine. okay.

logan starts peeling the clementine as dee gets his lunch tray in order, and dee says, very casually, “would you like to come over so we can discuss arrangements?”

logan’s fingernail catches; he resists the urge to curse as he punctures the fruit, and instead reaches for a napkin to wipe his hand dry of juice.

“arrangements…?”

dee looks at him. “for the project.”

logan’s test-addled brain then proceeds to panic and mentally trace over every single one of his shared classes with dee, attempting to pinpoint how on earth he possibly could have overlooked an upcoming project, before—

oh.

“i—yes,” logan says, and resumes peeling the clementine. “yes, that works out fine, i think. um—do you live near a bus stop?”

dee flaps a gloved hand at him dismissively. “i’ll have one of the drivers take you back home.”

one of the drivers??? then, he has even one driver???? what on earth necessitates plural drivers???

“i… sure,” logan says, rather than comment on that, “i’ll text my dad and tell him i’ll be home late.”

dee nods, and so logan eats his clementine in sections as dee’s lunch tray depletes with a rate of speed that would already be impressive if not compounded by the fact that logan doesn’t even really see him eat, before he pulls out his phone and texts his dad, I’m going over to Dee’s after school, I’ll let you know how long I’ll be there when I have a better idea of the time frame.

he’s walking to his next class when his phone buzzes, and he glances at his phone. 

Dad: okay!!! say hi to the adults and be on your best behavior! love you, have fun!!!

he is uncertain how much ‘fun’ will weigh into the activities for any event at dee slange’s house.

⁂

dee’s pretending to be on his phone almost the entire time a chauffeur drives them back (he could have driven, but he hadn’t felt like it this morning, so therefore he didn’t have his car in the afternoon) but really he’s looking out of the corner of his eyes at logan.

logan is sitting stiffly, and he has been since he’d gotten into the car; it’s as if he’s nervous he might scuff up the leather if he moves. he’s holding his backpack in his lap, and his eyes keep darting to the driver, suit-clad and silent, and out the window, before glancing at dee, and then back out the window. 

as they creep up to the gate, and the chauffeur inputs the code that’ll open the gate so they can drive up the maple-lined driveway, to the house, dee has abandoned the ruse entirely, because logan looks the most confused dee’s ever seen him look.

the look only grows more obvious once they break past the trees, and logan actually gets a good look at the house; dee knows the townhome was designed to be magnificent, especially on first glance, but he’s been so accustomed to it that seeing logan’s eyes dart from the fountain in the middle of the driveway to the sprawl of primroses and lavender and hydrangeas and all the rest of the landscaping, and the towering height of it all, the brick crowded with overgrown ivy and climbing roses. the historic townhome may not have multiple wings, and it might not really hold a candle to the ultra-modern mansion where his parents live, but it still, certainly, is impressive.

“you live here?” logan says, stunned.

“obviously?” dee says.

he’s tempted to say something like if you ever saw my parents’ house, maybe pull up that old e-edition of a magazine that had covered it once, just to see logan’s eyes pop out of his head, but the chauffeur puts the car in park and logan’s saying “thank you, sir,” and scrambling out of the car as quick as he can.

dee arches a brow, and the chauffeur moves to open the door for him, because he was raised with manners, jesus, wasn’t this emily and richard sanders’ grandson? one would think he’d know something about how to comport himself.

his brain provides several mental images, though: the little yellow clapboard house logan lived in, the absurdly picturesque tiny town full of brick buildings and repurposed barns and colonial charm, logan’s voice saying, my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six, and feels a strange clenching in his chest. 

dee shoves it down and arranges his face into his typical boredom by the time he’s walking up to the front door, logan quickly falling into step behind him.

he opens the door—the chauffeur’s going around to the servant’s entrance—and by the time he’s stepping through the door, nanny has materialized at his side, and looks only slightly surprised that there is another teenage boy with him.

logan is too busy looking around at the entry hall—the rugs, the paintings, the furniture, the post-its stuck up on the front door—to really notice any of that, for which dee can’t help but breathe a little sigh of relief.

“hello, we have a guest,” nanny says. 

“i told granmè,” dee says, and his stomach sinks as nanny gives him a sideways look, as if to say you know better than to let that serve as a notification system anymore, before she refocuses on logan.

“your name, young sir?”

“um, logan,” he says, looking boggled that he’s being called sir, and adds, “sanders. logan sanders.”

“emily and richard’s boy?”

“their grandson, yes,” logan says, looking to dee for some kind of help; dee would shrug at him, if he wasn’t kind of enjoying watching the usually unflappable logan flounder a little bit.

nanny nods, and says, “welcome to the lavandelands,” which is technically the townhome’s name, but they only ever use it to introduce the house to new visitors, so dee forgets the townhome has a name at all until it comes up again—it’s the same with the manor, which is technically the hearthfields. logan doesn’t seem to notice, nodding at her like he can’t think of anything else to do.

nanny turns to dee, instead, and asks, “would you care for any refreshments?”

“just the usual tea should suffice,” dee says. nanny looks at logan.

“um,” he says again—dee is a little delighted, because he has never heard logan get so knocked off-center before, and after all this attempted antagonizing about his grades all it took was bringing him to his house—“just—just water’s fine. thank you.”

nanny nods, says, “i’ll be with your grandmother in the greenhouse. mr. sanders, it was a pleasure to meet you, please have mr. slange ring for us if you require anything,” and sweeps off.

“you have a greenhouse?” logan says blankly.

“we have a greenhouse,” dee confirms. “you can see it later, if you’d like. shall we go study?”

logan nods, and falls into step behind dee; dee considers going to the dining room, the way logan did when they were making posters at his house, but he wants nanny, bertie, ingrid, and martha to have plausible deniability in case his parents demand to know if they’d heard anything about this, and so he leads logan up the staircase and into his room.

it’s been cleaned today recently, he can tell; it smells like the lemon candles he likes, the ones martha lights whenever she airs out his room, so the room is in its tidiest iteration; vacuumed rugs, swept and mopped hardwoods, dust-free surfaces, with a made bed and no mess anywhere anywhere.

it practically seems like a hotel room, if not for the legal pad on his desk with his handwriting on it.

and of course, logan crosses almost immediately to the desk; dee only catches on a minute later, when he bends slightly to get a better look inside the vivarium.

“luke, leia, and han, right?” logan says, glancing at dee for confirmation before scanning the plants and rocks; dee crosses over, too, and gestures toward the rock in the back corner—mostly hidden by plants, but the sun lamp shines directly upon it.

“they like to nap here,” dee says, and he’s right—luke and han are curled up, sunning themselves, and logan makes an ahh noise when he spots them too.

“they’re larger than i expected,” logan says, staring at them, eyes lit up with curiosity.

“mm,” dee says vaguely. “females tend to be longer and bulkier than males. leia’s biggest, she’s a little over two feet.”

“where is she?” logan says. “you said she was the checkered one.”

dee tries his hardest not to seem surprised, but—logan remembers his snake’s markings. from a a throwaway comment he made nearly a month ago. 

“probably hiding,” dee says. “she likes to stick near the water, so she’s probably curled up under the lip—”

logan kneels down, all the better to see, and he says, “i see her!”

“asleep?”

“i think so,” logan says, and frowns. “i’m not as familiar with snakes as i am with other reptiles, though.”

dee blinks. “which reptiles are you familiar with?”

“frogs, mostly,” logan admits. “lots of frogs and toads would be around the pool, when we lived at the inn, and they’re very common in the pond there. salamanders and lizards, sometimes, during summers. i had a brief phase of hunting for reptiles and bugs, i thought i would be a reptile research journalist, or something—i kept bringing them home and dad had to pretend he wasn’t scared of any creepy-crawly bugs or scaly things, he’d call over virgil so that there was someone i could show all the bugs to who wouldn’t get freaked out.”

dee has a mental image, then, of logan—shorter, and baby-faced, holding up a salamander and babbling to this mysterious virgil about its various properties, who would nod and ask questions and generally care what a child thought, his dad shoving down his fear long enough to listen to logan, because it’s something that interested him, something that logan cared about.

and then a memory of himself, hip-deep in snake research books, trying to tell his new adopted parents all about why snakes were so interesting and cool, and receiving three snakes for his first birthday state-side and overhearing maybe she’ll shut up about the stupid snakes now, his mother saying at least we won’t have to see them, they’ll be in her room, maybe she’ll stay there more and children should be seen and not heard as nanny and martha tidied up the wrapping paper from his birthday party—

he squashes the not-jealousy with extreme prejudice. 

“oh, and the occasional turtle,” logan adds, breaking dee’s train of thought. “not many snakes, though; not many of the inn’s employees were keen on letting the five-year-old try to find out if one was venomous or not, so i’d be stuck watching if they ever found one.”

“...right,” dee says, unsure of what to really say to that. also, he’s a bit busy listening to the purposefully-heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

“so i’ve never seen snakes up close like this,” logan finishes, and dee just. nods.

fortunately, a knock on the door breaks any lingering awkwardness; dee calls out “come in!” and nanny comes in with a tray of a typical afternoon tea.

“just leave that on the storage bench, thank you, nanny,” dee says briskly, and so nanny sets the tray of snacks on the bench at the base of dee’s bed, before she presents a water bottle to logan, and says, “there’s a chilled glass for you on the tray.”

“oh,” logan says, and takes it. “um. thank you.”

almost as if he’s unable to help it, his fingernails tap-tap-tap against the water bottle as he looks at the design, whatever sense of culture shock that might have faded after looking at the snakes rearing right back.

“thank you, nanny, that will do,” dee says, and nanny nods to him, before she departs and closes the door on the way out.

“this water bottle is made of glass,” logan says, as if it’s a question.

dee arches an eyebrow at him. “do you not like water served in glass? do you only like plastic containers for your water? shall i call for nanny to get you a plastic cup?”

“no,” logan says, “no, it’s just—” and he squints at the label, before he looks up at dee and says, “this bottle of water is from a glacier.”

“you can keep the bottle, if you like,” dee says, “we have plenty more.”

“the source is only accessible from the ocean.”

“yes, i heard you,” dee says. “it’s not like i would already know this, since i have lived in this house and had that water for years, but do go on.”

“our goal was to create the world’s first luxury premium glacier water product with unmatched quality—purity—elegance. created from an award-winning source, from the hat mountain glacier in beautiful british columbia, canada, we have captured the hearts of water connoisseurs worldwide,” logan reads from the label, and looks up at him. “dee.”

“i don’t understand what your issue is with the water,” dee says, even though he’s very aware that logan’s issue is primarily you even have fancy WATER?! but it’s fun to see how absolutely bemused he is over it. “if it’s good enough for water connoisseurs worldwide, it should certainly be good enough for you.”

logan hesitates, before he sits on the bench at the end of dee’s bed, and picks up the chilled glass. oh, nanny set out to impress, that’s one of the nice crystal glasses that granmè only ever really brings out for parties.

it also has the added benefit of logan’s eyes becoming even rounder behind his glasses, and looking between the water bottle and the glass, as if weighing if he’s blue-blooded enough to consume it, or if he’s so much of a commoner that taking a sip of it will cause him death, like the false grail in indiana jones.

evidently, the combined hayden-sanders genes must win out, because he carefully pours himself a glass, and then looks even more hopelessly confused when he turns his attention to the tea tray.

really, dee at the start of the school year would be clapping his hands in absolute glee at how much he’s managed to catch logan off-guard.

“are these cucumber sandwiches?” logan asks faintly.

“ooh, yes,” dee says, plucking one for himself and promptly shoving it into his mouth, fast, so that sanders won’t notice while his attention is captured by their snack. “plus pear and stilton, here, and ham-brie-apple, and pesto chicken, and those ones are prosciutto-fig, i think. of course there’s scones and clotted cream, battenburg, crumpets...”

“you,” logan says, looking hopelessly lost, “you just asked for tea?”

dee looks at him, amused, even as he’s pouring himself a cup of tea. “my grandfather was english, sanders. it’s afternoon tea.”

logan blinks, before he says, “i didn’t know that. that your grandfather’s english, i mean.”

“and my grandmother’s french,” dee says. “my particular branch of slanges relocated to the americas much later than your branch of sanders did.”

“you know that?” logan says, startled.

“of course,” dee says. “sanders’ came over on the mayflower, daughters of the american revolution, et cetera et cetera. our grandmothers have been friends for years, did you really think i wouldn’t know?”

he waits a beat, before he adds, “and, well. know your enemy.”

“i suppose you took that much more seriously than i did,” logan says at last, before he reaches for a safe option—a blueberry scone—and cracks it open, spreading it with jam.

“yes,” dee says pridefully, “yes, i did.”

logan rolls his eyes, even as he plops a generous helping of clotted cream on top—

“oh, cornish method, interesting,” dee says, just to see that confused look come rearing back, and is immediately satisfied—

before logan shakes himself, and says, “why did your grandparents relocate here, anyway?”

dee tries his very best not to brighten too obviously, it’s just—it’s been so long since someone so blatantly handed him an excuse to spin stories on a platter.

“well, that’s a very interesting story,” dee says, leaning back, “and really, it all starts with my great-grandfather. or, rather, my great-grandfather’s very distant cousins. you see, my family had a lordship—”

logan looks at him, surprised.

“—a very minor lordship,” dee says, “technically barons, not dukes or anything. you probably wouldn’t have heard of them, it’s not like they were major members of the house of lords or anything. anyway, my great-grandfather didn’t know that, because again, he was a very distant cousin, and the main line of the family had three daughters. no women could inherit.”

logan frowns. “sexist.”

“mm, quite,” dee says. “anyways, they were counting on a closer cousin to inherit—a second cousin, i believe—but he tragically died in a boating accident, and so the family came calling to my cousin—who was a solicitor at the time—and brought him to the estate, which was called,” dee quickly casts about for an alike-enough name, “...upton priory.”

and so dee goes on cribbing details from the first three seasons of downton abbey, changing names and having a merry old time. logan gets close to realizing—he says “that sounds rather familiar, actually,” when dee reiterates the whole plotline of his supposed great-grandfather’s valet getting arrested for supposedly murdering his wife, to which dee says, “it was quite a scandal, perhaps you’re remembering the details from your grandmother, goodness knows she’d find it fascinating,” which buys him even more time until he kills off his great-grandfather, the matthew stand-in, after the birth of their second child.

logan frowns, and says, “well, that’s rather sad, but—i thought you said your grandfather was eldest? why would he give up a lordship?”

“why else, sanders?” dee says, and gestures expansively. “love.”

logan arches his eyebrows, and takes another sandwich—he seems quite partial to the pesto chicken and ham-apple-brie—and says, “go on, then.”

and so dee goes on stealing details and weaving a story, this time from the king’s speech, explaining how his grandmother was a divorcée (she is not) and his grandfather wanted to marry her anyway, as they’d met and she’d become his mistress during an outing to new york (possibly true, but in the same way that the moon landing being faked is possibly true) but as she was a divorcée (again, untrue) and he was a prominent member of the church of england (as far as he knows his grandfather was a catholic) to have a lord marry a divorcée had caused quite the drama between the family, and then dee cribs even more details from downton abbey to describe the fight, mounting and dramatic and full of high passions, going on for another fifteen minutes, until his grandfather finally decided—

“to abdicate the throne?” logan finishes dryly; they’ve picked the tea tray mostly clean of snacks, by now, and logan’s long since finished his water and has stolen a cup of tea. “i didn’t realize you were a descendant of edward the eighth. should i have been calling you your majesty this whole time?”

dee tries his very hardest not to pout, but he does cross his arms. “how long have you suspected?”

“around the time you said he gave a lordship ‘for love,’” logan says, “but i knew for sure when you started talking about how your grandmother became a mistress in new york. she’s french.”

“damn!” dee says, not really angry at all, but still, he had to keep up appearances. “i managed to fool brad with that whole backstory until he saw the king’s speech five years later.”

and then dee waits; he waits for logan to get mad, or to snap at him for wasting time, something that dee will attempt to brush off and maybe even laugh at. he waits for logan—journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded logan—to react to what was dee, essentially, lying straight to his face for about half an hour.

but then:

“well, that’s brad,” logan says, “it doesn’t take much to fool him, i’d imagine.”

dee smiles, pleased. “no, it doesn’t.”

“so where was the other stuff from?” logan says. “upton priory, i mean. i’m assuming that doesn’t exist. i know the story from somewhere.”

he’s… curious.

he’s curious??? dee repeats to himself—this is logan, who is, as stated, journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded—he doesn’t seem mad. he just seems… intrigued.

this bears much more investigation that dee would have thought prior to inviting him over.

“downton abbey,” dee allows. “i can’t believe you caught onto the historical significance of edward the eighth meeting his mistress in new york, and yet i throw three season’s worth of downton abbey at you and not even a little bit of recognition.”

logan shrugs. “i’m not very good with pop culture. that’s more—” and very suddenly he looks like he wants to slap a hand to his forehead, if logan was at all prone to dramatic, cliché gestures like that. “roman. he was going on for days about matthew dying in the same season they killed off sybil, that’s where i heard all of it before, it’s from roman.”

“the boyfriend,” dee says. 

“yes, the boyfriend,” logan says, “who is very excited for the excuse to wear a pretty ballgown, by the way.”

dee accepts this for the subject change it is, and digs out his notebook and a pen.

“right, then,” he says. “as previously discussed, i’m handling chilton participants, and i’m pleased to announce that with the addition of ana salazar, the entirety of the clairosophic society are involved.”

“oh, excellent,” logan says, and so dee goes on listing chilton students they’ve enlisted—he’d been right, recruiting the puffs and the skull and dagger had caused a wave of wannabes to join in too—and they discuss setting up a form for people to ensure that they’ve paid their way in, dee eventually digging out his laptop and making a couple drafts of one. 

as he does that, logan talks about the sideshire students (behind on payments, but they’re doing an ongoing bake sale at virgil’s, which, dee doesn’t know how small town things work, but he supposes he should trust that logan knows what he’s talking about) and logan taps his own notebook with his pen, going over all of the entrants and discussing anything that needs finer-tuning—not very much on their end, it turns out, but they’ll definitely need to have another meeting after what logan’s dad is apparently calling get cultured day, where he and logan’s boyfriend’s mother will teach everyone the dance they’ll need to know and the proper way to curtsy and so on.

logan scans over his notes, nodding in satisfaction, before he says, “we were a bit oversaturated on debutantes, the clairosophic society should help balance things out with escorts.”

“ana wants to go with janey,” dee corrects. “so she and janey are already taken, but otherwise—”

he blinks. “ana and janey are dating?”

dee looks at him, amused. “you know nothing about the social stratosphere at chilton, do you?”

“i don’t have much tolerance for gossip,” logan says. 

“really?” dee says. “i’d think that as a journalist you’d keep an eye out for these kinds of things.”

“i don’t report on gossip,” logan says. “what do i look like, francie jarvis? anyone else who lives and breathes that rag?”

“what, the jefferson?” dee says. “are you kidding? that’s the most useful thing that chilton’s ever provided me, and i’m including the education, here.”

“useful?” logan repeats, looking as offended as dee had expected him to look when logan would catch on to dee lying his ass off for half an hour straight. interesting. 

“well, admittedly, they can be rather behind when it comes to certain things,” dee says thoughtfully, “but the chaos that happens on the day it comes out? masterful.”

logan frowns. “i thought you wanted to work on the franklin.” 

“oh, i do,” dee says. “like i said, they’re not exactly cutting edge, i can do better with a well-coordinated social media check than they can do with an entire staff full of rumormongers. the whole,” and he flaps a hand, “truth and investigation thing, for the franklin, that’s interesting. besides, the franklin has more effect when it targets adults; with the jefferson, they just want to confirm that the algebra and the calculus teachers are having an affair, which they are—”

logan looks perplexed. “how do you—”

“—don’t ask,” dee says. “believe me, i wish i didn’t know.”

his eyes narrow, as if to say why should i believe you? which, good. he’s learning.

“but in the franklin, one can publish a deep-dive anonymous investigation and get shady male teachers tossed out of the schools on their ear for their too-frequent uniform checks and saying that uniform skirts are distracting. the franklin has more real-world power.”

“not that an investigation of an adult potentially preying upon teenage girls isn’t important,” logan says, “because it certainly is, but journalism isn’t about acquiring power. it’s about holding those in power accountable.”

“isn’t that the same thing?” dee points out. 

“no,” logan says. 

“but it is,” dee says. “because the concept of holding power is so multi-faceted. everyone’s idea of power is different. the upper class has power, the president has power, the people protesting have power. people like francie jarvis and tristan have power, but then, so do you and i. but all of those kinds of power are different.”

“well, that i agree with,” logan says cautiously, and then he frowns. “how do i have power?”

dee looks at him. he looks at him harder.

“what?”

“you’re kidding,” dee says. “you’re a sanders and a hayden.”

“the haydens are not particularly pleased that i am a hayden,” logan says. “the haydens would adore nothing more than to tidily remove me from the family tree.”

interesting.

“but they can’t tidily remove you being a hayden from everyone’s memory,” dee points out. “and, well. power can be privilege.”

“well, i certainly have privilege,” logan says. “i’m white, i’m a cis male, i’m attached to an affluent family.” he frowns, and amends, “families, i suppose.”

“oh, good,” dee says. “you’re a sane person who recognizes white privilege, i won’t have to kick you out.” 

also—attached to an affluent family, not part of an affluent family. more intrigue.

“anyways. you have plenty of power—take chilton, for example. say you wrote that piece on a pedophilic teacher that i was talking about. it would be due to your actions, your hard work and diligence, that removed him from his post. that doesn’t seem like power, to you?”

logan shakes his head, and repeats, “that’s what journalism’s about. just because there are effect from the story i write, to hold said teacher accountable, that doesn’t mean that is personally driven from me. that would be a response—from parents, from students, from headmaster charleston, eventually. there are responsibilities that journalists have, important ones, and we serve a purpose for society. perhaps the story has a powerful impact, or the story is emotionally powerful. that doesn’t mean that i am powerful. i didn’t direct people to fire him, i didn’t influence anyone. i would have presented the facts and exposed his wrongdoings, that’s all.”

“well, i suppose it does depend on your definition of powerful, that’s accurate enough,” dee says thoughtfully. “but the more philosophical idea of what is power? isn’t what i’m trying to address, at the moment, i’m addressing you. another example, then—academically, you’re powerful. tristan dugray would pay a tidy sum for any one of your study guides.”

logan frowns. “i wouldn’t cheat.”

“yes, yes, you’re very moral and ethical, good for you, you’ve passed the after-school special test,” dee says dismissively, “but specifically, for this definition of power, it’s a certain level of strength. but that’s a different kind of power, than, say—”

“tristan dugray never getting in trouble for his foolish pranks because of who his father is,” logan says.

“right,” dee says, “although you’re wrong on that front, he’s a prank on a bad day away from being sent to military school, but—yes, you’re seeing my point. power varies, power changes.”

“well, i never disagreed with that,” he says. “but those aiming for power—their main idea is almost never let’s be a journalist! unless they’re decisively within the yellow journalism era, or if they are fictional character charles foster kane. and even then, he was a media magnate, his attempts at journalism were just to manipulate public opinion and make a lot of money.”

dee sighs longingly and says, “if i were white, that would be my ideal era to work in.”

“what,” logan says, and suddenly they’re talking about yellow journalism—logan is very boring and against it, because he likes things like accuracy and facts—and then logan looks like he’s about to blow steam out of his ears when dee tells him that his ultimate career goal is to write for and maybe run something like the national enquirer, which leads to even more discussions on journalism, things like what qualifies someone to be a journalist and who decides what journalism is, and they’re on a little side-tangent about journalism as portrayed in films when there’s a knock on his door.

“mister slange, mister sanders, dinner is ready,” nanny says, and dee tries his best not to startle, because—logan’s been here for three hours. and he has not once gotten annoyed at dee for reasons outside of journalistic, ethical, or moral debate, and even then, logan seems to set all of that aside relatively easily.

and dee, apart from making up his entire ancestral backstory, has barely even lied.

“coming!” dee says, and then to logan, “i hope you like snail caviar.”

an expression of panic pops up on logan’s face, and dee laughs at him.

“kidding,” he says reassuringly. “it’s french onion soup and croque monsieurs.”

logan looks relieved, and he even laughs, and then proceeds to bump into dee, the way that friends on tv shows jostle each other when one tells a particularly biting joke, and then logan pauses, looking at dee.

very suddenly, dee thinks, oh.

does he think he’s my friend?

they’ve been debating for the better part of two hours, and dee lied to him for half an hour, and dee has been purposefully throwing as many rich-people things into conversation as possible to get logan looking baffled, and logan thinks that they are friends.

is that what friends do?

dee clears his throat, before he grabs logan’s bicep in a way he hopes is normal and does not at all give away that he has not had a friend since he immigrated to the united states, and says, “come on, then, i’ll let you stick your head in the library on the way.”

“you have a library?!” logan asks eagerly, following along as dee tugs him down the hall, and dee tries his very best not to smile too openly.

⁂

dee’s house is…a lot. it’s a lot.

(dee had pulled up a picture of his parents’ house to show off how it could be his own personal xanadu, when they’d been talking about citizen kane, and logan has mentally tabulated the publication he was talking about to fact-check that, because that—that was just absurd, even more so than this one.)

but the smell of french onion soup and croque monsieurs—essentially french ham-and-cheese, either sandwiches or baked lasagna style—is a little more comforting. logan knows these smells, baking bread and ham and melting cheese and onions—granted, virgil’s diner does a french onion soup, but he’s sure it’s not as fancy as what he’s about to eat with dee.

and, as they cross into the dining room, his grandmother, seated at the head of the table.

logan’s technically had lunch with mrs. slange before; it had been at the country club, and he’d been more preoccupied with glowering at dee, but he has met her and spoken with her. she’d been nice; she’d spoken to his grandmother quite a lot about landscaping, and flowers. azaleas in particular, he’s fairly certain.

she’s a rather diminutive woman, her already short stature shrunk down even more from age; her hair is thin and pure white, fluffing up in a way that makes logan think of dandelion fuzz. her face is wrinkled, especially with smile lines around her eyes, her mouth. she’s wearing a cardigan over a button-down, much like his grandmother wears on particularly casual days, but whereas his grandmother prefers solid colors, mrs. slange’s cardigan is white with embroidered pink and purple flowers; it matches her pastel pink button-down. 

by all accounts, she should register in logan’s mind as a fragile old woman; a nice one, one that seems to have more concern about her flowers than anything else. but there’s something glinting in her eyes—flinty, icy blue—that reminds him very much of dee, despite the fact that they are not biologically related.

it’s cunning, logan thinks, or intelligence—she must have both in spades, to help raise someone like dee.

she smiles at dee, and says something in french—logan can manage a basic spanish conversation due to his proximity to the princes, and he’s taking latin classes, but he’s absolutely hopeless with french unless he lucks out and they say something with a latin root word—and dee responds in kind. logan notes that their accents are different. logan puts together, barely a second after he notices, that one of haiti’s two official languages is french.

logan spares a second to wonder if dee can speak the other, haitian creole, before his grandmother turns to him directly and says—something in french. he has no clue what.

“il ne peut pas parler français, granmè, utiliser l'anglais,” dee says, looking almost a little amused at logan’s expense—well, logan can put together he can’t speak french, use english, just based off of context clues.

she starts a sentence in french, pauses, furrows her brow, as if unpuzzling it, and then continues in lightly accented english, “welcome to our home.”

“thank you very much for having me,” logan says, his dad’s be on your best behavior! text at the forefront of his mind, with his dad saying evelyn, right? i always liked her shortly behind. “your home is beautiful; the landscaping’s lovely.”

her wrinkled face settles into its worn lines she smiles.

“mer—” she begins, shakes her head, takes a breath, and then continues, “thank you very much. the roses are finicky little things, this time of year, i’m quite pleased with how they’ve turned out. i think they’ve thrown their last primadonna fit until fall rolls around again.”

and from there, it’s easy to prod her into conversation as they eat the soup course—logan mentally apologizes to virgil, but if he’d taste it, he’d probably agree that this french onion soup is better than his, too—just by asking about the various plants she tends to favor, the particular conditions that each seems to like. the conversation seems perfectly fine, if not for dee staring at the pair of them out of the corners of his eyes, as if monitoring their conversation to make sure neither of them says anything unseemly. 

which is a little unsettling—logan doesn’t think he’s said anything horribly rude to an old person lately, unless one counted his paternal grandparents last fall—but the conversation seems to be fine. logan admits that most of his knowledge of plants is theoretical, scientific, which prods her into asking about their shared science course, and dee takes over that conversation.

it’s fine. the whole dinner is fine, and it seems to be going well, even, and he keeps on thinking so and thinking so as he digs into the main course of croque monsieurs, and she says—

“how do you find the meal, christopher?”

it takes logan a second to register what’s wrong with that statement, and, as soon as it does, unwittingly, his eyes flash to dee.

dee has frozen, fork halfway to his mouth. it’s like he has to buffer for a moment before he visibly stiffens, setting the fork down. logan is about to excuse it as a slip of the tongue—she had known both his parents, surely, perhaps it was just a misstatement. most people in his grandparents’ sphere exalted his resemblance to christopher, even though he was quite clearly a carbon copy of patton excepting his sharper bone structure, straighter hair, and thinner frame, until—

“logan, granmè,” dee says, in a very gentle tone that does not at all match his fists curling up on the table. “this is logan, christopher’s son. do you remember? we had lunch with him and emily.”

her brow furrows, and she says, “right. of course. logan.”

she quite sounds like she thinks that dee is pulling one over her head, and she’s going along with it, the way one did when a small child was pulling an incredibly obvious joke on them.

she maintains that tone and slips a couple more times—christopher, how are straub and francine? as logan’s halving his croque monsieur; christopher, didn’t you say you were going out to california? when the maid, as tight-faced as dee, is setting dessert on the table. 

and it dawns on him, slowly: why dee had to prompt her to use english, when she was born speaking french, and why it had taken her a few seconds to clearly switch over in her head when dee went from french to english at the drop of a hat; why there were so many post-its near the front door; why the household staff had seemed surprised at a visitor, despite the fact that dee had told his grandmother he was bringing home a guest; why his grandmother had said she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat; dee keeping a keen eye out, as if he’s monitoring what they’ll say; not for him, logan realizes, for her. 

she has a disease. she’s aware enough that her gardens are in splendid shape, she’s aware enough that she clearly knows who dee is, but. but she can’t remember who logan is.

it is an exceedingly awkward dessert.

he can’t deny the chocolate-raspberry souffle is absolutely delicious, though.

⁂

the dinner is over. nanny is taking granmè to the library. logan and dee are left alone at the dinner table.

dee has been mentally preparing for this since his grandmother’s first slip—comebacks, things to say, particularly acerbic and witty things he could summon up if logan is rude about it. he’s ready. 

that is, until logan just says, “can i see the greenhouse?”

dee blinks at him. “what?”

“the greenhouse,” logan repeats. “you said i could see it after dinner. can i?”

okay, dee thinks. changing the setting of the argument. he isn’t sure what logan’s play is here, but—

“sure,” dee agrees, and stands, purposefully languid and unhurried. “follow me.”

and so he leads logan through the narrow hallways of the house, mostly ignoring logan as they go (“is that a velázquez?” he demands of a painting, which dee doesn’t really deign answer to—of course it’s a velázquez, does his family seem like the type to settle for a framed imitation) and at last comes to the door of the greenhouse, which he opens without ceremony.

logan walks in. dee expects him to maybe go to sit down, and ask dee why his elderly grandmother thought he was his estranged father, but no—logan beelines straight for the hostas.

well. okay. dee trails after him, meandering vaguely around the greenhouse. logan’s route seems to make sense to him, and only him, but he pokes his nose close to each plant, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he crouches to examine the soil, the roots; if dee was walking into this situation with no prior context, he’d think perhaps that logan was an enterprising botanist who had just gained entry to a highly regarded greenhouse.

but logan is just in the greenhouse of an old lady with memory problems, who he did not know was an old lady with memory problems until she repeatedly referred to him by his father’s name. 

and so dee follows as logan examines fauna, and flora, and the goddamn soil. everytime logan hums with interest, dee thinks it’s a precursor to the beginning of this conversation, but no, he’s just humming at the plants. the plants. they’re plants, his grandmother’s plants, so he’s used to his grandmother being very fond of them and rambling about them even if he’s mostly indifferent about them, most of his emotion toward plants being if it makes granmè happy. the key word in that sentence is granmè. he does not particularly care if these plants make logan happy. he cares what logan will say about his grandmother.

they’ve looped three-quarters of the way around the greenhouse by the time dee’s patience runs out.

“well?!” and it tears out of him in a kind of snarl. logan, from where he’s crouched beside the lilies, blinks at him, his fingers resting on the arm of his glasses, as if he’s about to adjust them again.

“what?”

“what,” dee repeats, then, “what?!” and before he can even think about it, he has his bowler hat in one hand, thwacking logan over the head with it.

“ow!” logan says, clearly more out of the surprise of being thwacked when he wasn’t expecting it. that, or logan is a big baby, dee didn’t even swing that hard.

“what,” dee repeats, jamming his hat over his head again before logan can see any semblance of hat hair, “what, are you kidding me, sanders, of all the times to go quiet when you clearly have questions, you choose now?! say something!”

logan blinks at him, before he says, very slowly, “about…”

“my grandmother,” dee snaps. 

“ah,” logan says, then, almost like he’s reciting something for his latin class, “i am… sorry that she is ill, and i respect your privacy during this time?”

dee actually leans forward because of the force of the Look he is giving logan.

“you know i’m bad at this kind of thing,” he says defensively. “what do you expect me to say?”

“i don’t—!” dee says, and nearly throws up his hands, but he is not allowing himself to get that carried away. “i expect you to say something! not just wander around the greenhouse and let me wait and see if you say something stupid!”

logan looks at him, and says, “was that insensitive of me?”

dee’s eyes must look close to popping out of his head, because logan’s hands are already rising to protect the crown of his head, like he expects dee to hit him with his hat again.

“do you,” he says, and gives dee a strange look, “do you want to talk about it?”

“not particularly!”

“that’s what i thought!” logan says. “i assumed the prior agreement of you wanting to speak to me about anything that particularly affects you would take precedence—”

agreement, dee mouths, and mentally backtracks, until—

“my parents wanting to out me and you coming up with this whole debutante plot and my grandmother having dementia are two different categories!”

“i didn’t think that a statement like ‘if you want to talk about it, i am here’ needed categorization!”

“the previously agreed upon ‘it’ was specifically about my parents’ plot to out me by way of american daughters of the revolution!” dee says, near-hysterical.

“okay!” logan says, “okay, fine, i put forward the terms of that particular definition of ‘it’ being broadened to anything particularly troublesome in your life and wait on your acceptance, or your proposal on how exactly to renegotiate ‘it’, does that help?”

dee stares at him, jaw hanging open, and says, “there is no way that you are an actual person, are you serious?!”

“i don’t know what you want from me,” logan says, near-mournful, and the absolute absurdity of the situation sinks in enough that dee starts laughing.

his parents want to very publicly out him without his consent, his grandmother has dementia that will only get worse and worse and it will only be a matter of time before his parents realize what is happening and send her into a nursing home and force him to move back in with them, the household staff who are the closest people he had previously considered friends have no choice but increase their focuses on spying on him for his parents in order to distract them from noticing anything wrong with granmè, or else risk unemployment, and logan is here talking about renegotiations like they’re on a legal team, and talking sure as shit isn’t an option, so dee can’t do anything but laugh.

“christ,” he says, and half-crumples, half-slides to the ground beside logan, who looks very bemused. “putain de merde, sanders.”

“i’m assuming that’s impolite,” logan says primly, and dee snorts.

“yeah,” dee says, in the same tone would say duh. “yeah, impolite, let’s go with that, shall we?” 

logan pauses, for a few seconds, as if allowing dee to get his bearings, before he says "dementia?" with a tone of curiosity that has dee swiveling his head to glower at him.

"sorry," logan says, not sounding particularly sorry.

"journalist habit," dee mutters, beating logan to the punch for his own excuse.

"yes."

they sit in silence for a little longer.

"i didn't know she knows that particular side of the family," logan says. "the haydens, i mean."

"oh, yes," dee says absently. "we probably lunch with them about twice a year, sometimes more—less now, though, now that they've moved away."

"huh," logan says, then, "what are they like?"

"what, you don't know?" dee says, glancing at him.

"not particularly," logan says. "i've only met them three times, and considering i was still in the hospital post-birth for one of them and was learning how to crawl for the other—"

"huh," dee echoes.

how weird it must be for logan, to hear that dee's had more regular interactions with his grandparents. both sets, probably; he would have remembered if logan had gotten dragged into various family gatherings the way he has.

"they," logan says, purses his lips, and says, "the haydens were particularly transphobic."

"yeah, well," dee says. "that doesn't surprise me."

"homophobic too," logan says, and he glances at his hands before he looks sideways at dee. "deviant was the exact word used in my presence. i'm assuming there was more, but dad kicked me out of the room before i could hear anything else."

dee rolls around various replies in his mouth. he could offer sympathy, or something equally socially accepted and something dee would have no problem letting roll off his tongue like a well-rehearsed monologue.

but.

he would tell all of those monologues to people who don't know that he's trans, that have never been to either of his houses, that have never listened to him spin a lie for half an hour and not be mad about it. he would tell all of these monologues to someone who didn't know that his grandmother has alzheimer's.

so dee doesn't offer a monologue. he offers something that he assumes logan might appreciate, something he'd recognize in a fellow colleague: curiosity.

"which dad?" dee asks. "patton or—"

"patton," logan says, cutting him off. "christopher walked me out, though, to make sure i actually stayed out."

another pause. it seems like curiosity hasn't been the outright wrong move, so dee strives for more questions.

"are you close?" dee says. "with christopher. i've only met him a couple times."

logan's mouth twists downward at the edges.

"i don't suppose you'd be willing to offer definitive parameters for close, would you?"

"no, not really," dee says. "closeness is subjective."

logan shrugs a shoulder. he looks almost uncomfortable.

"what?" dee says, interest now piqued—because if he didn't know any better, he'd say logan looked guilty.

"i," logan says carefully, "might have blackmailed him."

"you what," dee says, turning to face logan head-on, not even bothering to hide his shock. or his delight. he doesn't bother hiding that either.

"after the visit last fall, he," and the corners of his mouth twist down even further. "well, that doesn't matter anymore. anyway, i dug up as much of his public financial and legal records that i possibly could and made him a deal that i'd extend equal efforts in getting to know him as he would getting to know me. we have a standing weekly phone call now."

"you blackmailed him?" dee says gleefully.

"with public information," logan says huffily. "it's not like i hired a private investigator or anything—"

"nuh-uh, nope, you used the word blackmail," dee says merrily. "you don't even have to justify it with saying where you got the information, you still used information you dug up on him to coerce him into a deal. that is the textbook definition of blackmail."

"i don't know if it's the textbook definition—"

"nope!" dee says. "nope, i'm not listening to your semantics. you blackmailed someone."

"you don't need to sound so thrilled about it," logan grumbles.

"are you kidding?" dee demands. "this is by far one of the most interesting things i've ever heard about you. please tell me there's more misbehavior like this in your past—no, no, wait! i'll figure it out myself!"

"good luck with that," logan says. and then, almost randomly, "everyone says i look like him."

dee stays quiet—give the interviewee time to consider their answer, if it's short, mel had lectured once. always leave a couple of seconds for them to think about if they want to add on to their answer before you move to an entirely different question.

"i mean," logan says, and runs a hand through his hair. "other than this, i don't particularly understand why. i pretty clearly favor my dad—ugh, patton, i favor patton, this is the problem with two dads—but everyone says i look like christopher. my grandparents—both sides—their friends, a couple teachers. it's usually rather frustrating, and though i can't prove it, i have a feeling it's somewhat rooted in transphobia, for most of those friends."

he pauses a beat, as if understanding where he's going with this particular line of conversation. dee suddenly feels a lot less excited about the potential for uncovering any more of logan's past misconduct.  

"but," logan says. "it, ah. it makes more sense, if your grandmother has more recently had contact with that particular side of my family—"

"don't," dee says, and the exhaustion in his voice almost stuns him.

"don't what?"

"don't," dee says, and flaps a hand. "don't make excuses for her. she has alzheimer's, she's not stupid. everyone's patronizing her now and i hate it, even though i find myself doing it sometimes, it's like everyone's scared that they'll somehow catch the alzheimer's if they don't talk to her like she's a toddler."

and now logan's the one who's quiet, just for a little bit, like he's strategizing how to carry out the rest of the interview. 

except, dee thinks, this isn't an interview. this is a conversation. this is that talking thing that logan offered so readily, back when dee had come out, back before logan came up with this whole absurd debutante plan. 

it's just—difficult. to consider turning this strategizing, conniving part of his brain off. he isn't sure if he ever has, ever since he was first notified it was there in the first place. why would he turn this piece of himself off when it protected him, when it kept him aloof and above it all and safe to conduct himself in the way that felt most true to him? if it took lying and manipulating along the way, so be it. he has no patience for attempts at moralizing the way he lives his life. immanuel kant was a fucking moron who would have gotten himself and his friend killed because he decided his perfect duty was to always tell the truth. what was the point of something like truth if it hurt you? if it put you in danger?

it's not even a choice. 

or, at least. it has never been a choice. because logan is no murderer at the door, or machiavelli-wannabe gossip, or high-society rich person who held so much more power than one could even think of through backdoor deals and secret donations, who had adopted a poor orphan from haiti because it might look good as an accessory, and people would think them charitable, and they would barely even thinking about that poor orphan from haiti growing into their own person with pesky, inconvenient things like wants and needs and opinions.

telling the truth would logan would be... telling the truth to logan. logan, who lived in a tiny, pleasantville knockoff town with things like dance marathons and punnily-named cat-themed stores. logan, who had once blackmailed his own father in order to obtain a standing weekly phone call. logan, who had a trans dad, and who had a boyfriend that he had brought to the school dance, and danced with him, and kissed him, and it didn't even occur to him to care who might see, who might disapprove.

logan, who was once homeless and penniless, and who had extended various sources of information that dee had in his hands, ready to drop into the public eye at any given moment.

logan, who had just sat and talked about citizen kane with him and didn't catch onto three seasons worth of downton abbey but immediately clocked a reference to wallis simpson. logan, who had looked helplessly confused at the sight of fancy water and finger sandwiches and afternoon tea. 

logan, who might think that they are friends.

it might become more of a choice then, dee thinks. 

so when logan asks, very quietly, "how long have you known that she's sick?" it only takes dee swallowing down the saliva rising in his throat to be able to answer.

"she was diagnosed about three and a half months ago," he says. "but i've known something's wrong for a lot longer than that."

logan swallows, too, and dips his head in a brief nod, as if to show he's absorbed the information.

"i'm sorry," he says.

dee could say any number of things: she could live as long as twenty years after her diagnosis, but it's more commonly four to eight years. or one day she's going to forget who i am and i am absolutely terrified. or when my parents catch on they're going to send her away to a nursing home, and i won't be able to live here anymore, and i'll go crazy if i have to stay in that house for too long, their screaming and shouting will drive me crazy. or you don't even know the half of it, the household staff that you probably think are so nice and who practically raised me have no choice but to spy on every little thing i do because otherwise they'll get fired.

but for as much as dee can briefly turn off that part of his mind, he cannot turn it off all at once. there is no way he's opening the floodgates of information like that. they might be friends, but dee isn't in hysterics. he can control himself. he can control this. 

"yeah," dee says, and tips back his head to look up at the ceiling; half of it is glass, leading up to where it joins the rest of the house. the sky is bleak and black tonight, with no moon or stars in sight. "yeah, me too."

⁂

the chauffeur closes the door behind logan, and logan has to fight the urge to jump, even though the chauffeur was also holding the door open for logan to get into the car in the first place.

he has to shake himself before he turns to look at the front door of the lavandelands; dee is standing outside, letting the light spill out of the house and backlight him enough that logan can see him leaning against one of the columns, one arm casually wrapped around his stomach. his bowler hat overcasts his eyes.

"your address, sir?" the chauffeur says, and logan has to fight the urge not to jump again. he tells the chauffeur the address to virgil's, anyways, and turns his head to look at dee again.

haltingly, he lifts his hand and waves, just a little bit awkward. dee's shadowed form doesn't move.

there's a brief moment where logan's left with his hand raised in the air, and he cringes to himself ever so slightly before he starts to lower it.

but then, dee lifts a gloved hand, and tosses logan a lazy, three-fingered salute off his bowling cap, and logan tries to smile a little bit. he can't quite manage it, but he's pretty sure the chauffeur isn't judging him for not looking pleasant enough, as the chauffeur’s a bit busy pulling the car into a neat, three-pointed turn, before beginning to drive away.

logan glances over his shoulder, just enough to see dee, shoulders slightly slumped, re-enter the house. logan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and redirects his attention to his phone, which he's mostly been neglecting this entire bizarre sojourn at dee's.

he takes enough time to text his dad and virgil that he'll be dropped off at virgil's, so he can pick up a study snack before he heads back to their house, and reassures his dad that he doesn't have to wait up for him or anything. 

he reads a text from roman—a brief complaint about a girl in his dance class, not one of the ones he teaches but the class he actually takes, and logan sends a response that he hopes sounds like the proper, thoughtful response to a mostly inconsequential venting message from his boyfriend.

and then he sits and stares at his homescreen, still that selfie of roman, his dad, and virgil that they took last fall, when he was staying at his grandparents, before everything with thanksgiving and patton's pneumonia had rather tidily messed that week up.

because he has his dad, and his other dad, and virgil, who consists as a dad figure, and he has ms. prince, in her way, and he has roman, a wonderful supportive boyfriend who he has always been able to talk to throughout most of his life. he has rudy, even if he has never particularly leaned on rudy as a means of support. he has maria, and meredith and mark, and his host of cousins from the danes side of the family. he has his grandparents in their own strange ways, even if their relationship prior to this school year would best be described as stilted. he has friends from sideshire high and his teachers and mentors that he left there.

dee has practically no one.

it seems so obvious, looking back at the start of the school year, how dee had seemed so desperate to cling to his academic superiority over everyone in the grade, because that's what he has. he has an ill grandmother, and exceptional grades, and three snakes. he has a former nanny and the rest of a household staff who seem more preoccupied with his grandmother's care. he has his secretive stance in the chilton social ladder, but he didn't have friends. 

logan worries his lip between his teeth. he is incredibly ill-equipped to handle this kind of situation. honestly, he's probably fortunate he only escaped with dee hitting him with his bowler hat; anyone who attempted to have an emotion-centric conversation with logan knew that he wasn't exactly the ideal person to talk to. that's never been his forte.

it has always been his dad's. his dad, who dee had seemed fascinated with, who certainly had a certain level of similarity in their life experiences. and though logan, of course, would never betray confidences...

he could, perhaps, offer some of his vast support system for dee to partake in. leave the choice to him, of course, but. but at least logan would have tried.

and so logan takes a breath, and sends out a text.

Logan Sanders: Dad, would it be all right if I asked Dee sleep over the night of the Culture Day you're planning with Ms. Prince?

[maskedlady]

things people who haven’t read/studied the homeric poems should know

the iliad isn’t about ten years of war. it’s about fifty-one days from the last year of war. more than nine years have passed since the beginning. neither the recruit of achilles or odysseus nor aulis nor the sacrifice of iphigenia nor the trojan horse and not even achilles’ death feature in it. it actually ends with hector’s burial.

similarly, the odyssey starts during the tenth year of odysseus’ travels, when he leaves the island of the nymph calypso who had kept him there for eight years. while the story of his travels is actually there, it’s a massive flashback that odysseus himself narrates.

odysseus actually only travels circa one year, if you subtract the seven years spent on ogigia, the one year with circe, the various months and bits they camped in other places.

part of the odyssey is actually about odysseus’ son, telemachos, and his quest to find his father. also another part is about odysseus returning to ithaca and killing a bunch of princes who were trying to usurp his throne.

the aeneid is not a homeric poem. it’s styled on the homeric model, but it was written in latin by a roman poet, and the protagonist is technically one of the antagonists from the iliad.

homer never existed.

he isn’t a historical figure, he is a name with a legend attached, to whom these poems are attributed. the poems were written—no, not even written, composed orally by a series of unnamed aoidoi (hm... ministrels?) through the ages.

in fact this is quite obvious when you read the iliad. there are a lot of inconsistencies, like frequent style changes, chapters that have nothing to do with anything else and no influence on the story whatsoever, strange time lapses—at some point it’s midday twice the same day

it is thought that all of these separate fragments were then collected and organized by one person, and this version was then handed down, orally, until the first written edition around 520 b.c.

the mycenean civilization that these poems originate from ended in 1200 b.c. circa

the odyssey was initially part of a whole group of nestoi, aka “return poems”, that were basically the tales of the return of each hero from troy. the odyssey is the only one that remains, though we do know something about the others too from other pieces of greek literature

a warning for the interested. these poems are a pain to read. they are delightful but they are a pain. they were composed orally so they are full of epithets, descriptions, metaphors and similitudes. these acted as fillers to help the aedo of turn reach the length of the verse, make the various characters more recognizable, and also make the poems more comprehensible to the general public, composed mostly of common people who had never actually been in a battle—so battles and duels are often compared to more familiar scenes, like fights between animals.

no i’m not joking

there is one in particular where the screeching army of trojans coming down the hill is compared to cranes migrating over the oceans.

also, the duel between hector and patroclus is one of the “compared to animal fights” scene

when odysseus is about to drown, he talks to his own heart. possibly because it sounds slightly less crazy and more Romantic than just directly talking to oneself.

helen insults paris real often. hector berates him both internally and publicly. in fact everyone insults paris. paris is the local coward and scapegoat. deservedly. i rejoice

everybody loves patroclus. all the kings hate each other but everyone loves him—so much so that they risk their lives over his corpse 

which, mind me, wasn’t something that special in and of itself. it was important to retrieve comrades’ corpses because if the enemy got ahold of your body he’d leave it to rot and be devoured by dogs and crows, which was a huge dishonour (and also possibly barred you from entrance to the afterlife)

so much so that the ancient greek version of “go to hell” is eis korakas, “to the crows” (“may you die, lie unburied, and your body be eaten by crows”)

at some point they hold a truce (possibly several times) so they’ll have the time to collect, burn and bury all the fallen soldiers. 

back to patroclus because i got sidetracked: still. this time it is kind of a big deal because the literal centre of the fighting after patroclus dies is all the major greek heroes playing tug-o-war against hector and his brothers with patroclus’ corpse. the centre of the fighting, people, this is no joke

at some point someone is sent to tell achilles that his lover’s body is in danger so he better get out of your sulk, hurry up and come help the rest of us

achilles going armour-less to the battlefield and screaming for patroclus is enough to send the trojans running.

i am sure that all of you know this but the reason achilles doesn’t have armour is that when hector kills patroclus he takes achilles’ armour, that patroclus was wearing, as spoils of war

so an entire book after that is devoted to hephaestus forging achilles new, better armour so he can actually fight again

look, it is not actually stated that they were lovers, but it’s obvious. in greek culture especially. that was the norm and italian school teachers can get over it and stop omitting it from lessons and school books any time now

odysseus isn’t actually an asshole. sure, a lot of his misadventures were caused by him being too curious and disregarding his comrades’ advice *cough*cyclops*cough* but most of the most destructive events were caused by them disregarding his orders.

“do not kill and eat the sacred cows of apollo! he’d kill us.” guess what they did. guess how it ended 

or when they stopped by eolos’ island. eolos, god of the winds, gave odysseus a flask with all the adverse winds imprisoned inside, leaving free only the one that he needed to take him to ithaca. they got so, so very near, and then odysseus fell asleep and the others opened the thing because they thought there was more treasure inside it, and all the winds came out and blew them halfway across the mediterranean

athena often glamours odysseus to look younger and prettier or older and then again younger. it’s amazing because he always looks either like an old beggar (for camouflage) or like a young and handsome man.

do some maths. at the beginning of the war he must’ve been at least twenty. + ten years of war. + ten years of travel. at the end of the odyssey he is at least forty. by ancient standards that was not young.

odysseus’ whole voyage is basically a pissing contest between poseidon and athena. actually between poseidon and the rest of the gods. poseidon hates him and all the other gods take turns helping him.

odysseus is not an asshole, but the greeks probably considered him a shitty character, because he was clever, shrewd, and the only survivor of his community. the greeks really insisted on the concept of community, the individual doesn’t have worth in and of themself but as a part of society. this is particularly evident when he gets to the cyclops, who are the very antithesis of the greek man, described as uncivilized and living in isolation without assemblies or laws. a lot of emphasis is put on the fact that they live outside of a community.

alternatively, the difference between the iliad and the odyssey (and their respective heroes) signifies the change in greek culture, from the warrior myceneans to commerce and voyage: odysseus represents the victory of intelligence over force, and his qualities are the characteristics, for example, of a merchant

i should perhaps point out that the odyssey was composed much later than the iliad, which is also the reason it has a more complex structure (begins with the gods + telemachos’ quest, we first see odysseus on ogigia, then he recounts his whole voyage in a long flashback triggered by a bard at a feast singing about the trojan war)

oh look i got sidetracked again

back to the trivia!

do not be fooled by madeline miller. patroclus was indeed a warrior, and a very good one at that. and briseis was indeed achilles’ lover, and loved him (that is explicitly stated).

odysseus might have loved penelope but that does not mean he did not sleep around with every woman he met

circe. calypso (by whom he is imprisoned for seven years). and nausicaa princess of the phaeacians falls in love with him. this is engineered by athena 

i don’t think he actually sleeps with her but athena does make him look younger and prettier so she’ll be smitten and welcome him at the palace and give him a bunch of gifts and eventually a ship to take him back to ithaca

in the poem named after him, his own poem, odysseus is always the stranger, the guest, or the beggar.

or all three.

or all three, but it’s a lie and he’s actually at home, the king returned.

despite the iliad being about one and a half months and the odyssey being more than a year + more time taken up by other characters, the iliad is about one and a half times the odyssey.

more to come (maybe)

[pride-of-azkets]

Nijad Lore (and fact) Dump

(for lil nonnie who asked nicely)

So, for reference, Nijad is one of my oldest characters without question. Created sometime in the 2013-14 range, he's only become more of a bastard since, though his original form wasn't that at all. In his OG days he was a lanky, tall, pale-as-fuck emo kid with swoopy bangs and raccoon tails (do y'all remember that scene trend too?) and at least 5 piercings in his bottom lip alone. He's certainly... changed a bit. This likely happened in the 2016-17 era, where I conceptualized a novel/graphic novel I wanted to work on at the time where he was a prominent character. This is the time where he morphed closer into what he is now, though the version of him that I write with has been cleansed in some regards to avoid troubling and potentially triggering subjects.

To break the ice though, how about some fun facts?

He is the eldest brother of three canonically, but I play him as an only child (unless otherwise discussed)

As he evolved in the '16-17 period, he split to form a secondary character, Andgriel

Now, canonically, only his ears are pierced (lobes)

He has distinctive port wine birthmarks covering the entirety of his left hand and up his wrist some, and another from the back of his neck down his back and over his shoulders

Canonically he's an accomplished equestrian, though the relevance of this information varies on verse

Additionally, he's a well-practiced swordsman/fencer, verse depending as well

He comes from an affluent background of wealth and status, with a very much 'designer' pedigree

In his "intended verse", i.e. the novel/graphic novel I aspired to in high school, he's the crown prince of a nation (think the Monarchy of England but as an active role as figurehead and ruler) with two younger twin brothers. In this verse, though, the twins are estranged as bastards and he's none the wiser, thus for his whole life he's raised as the single heir to an affluent nation. This breeds his greed, ego, and need to be the center of attention at all times.

He's a decorated commander in the ranks and not without reason--his headstrong tendencies and brazenness often led him to victory for being unwilling to back down (even stupidly so) and for being innovative in the field to come out with the upper hand.

Anything less than perfection he doesn't tolerate in himself, and will work himself to the bone and push himself well beyond his limitations as a form of self punishment and in attempt to better himself. It annoyed his peers to no end and eventually led to people not wanting to spar against him, and not always for his superior capabilities but at times simply because he would not accept no for an answer or wouldn't know when to stop, having to be physically restrained as he'd not only push his own limits but push his partner's far past their own. Combined with being a member of the royal family and thus "of the Gods", those around him didn't aspire to get their own heads put on spikes and wouldn't go after him with their all and would instead incur Nijad's wrath when he'd feel they'd "given up".

In modern verses/verses where he isn't affiliated with a position of that level of status, he retains many of the same characteristics though to a lesser degree, often coming off instead as self-centered and self-serving, and catty. Which, to be fair, are also true of him in the Intended Verse as well, lol.

Alright, I'll leave this chonky block of text for now, but feel free to ask questions whenever you're curious about a character, or anything else for that matter! I love to rant about my bastardous children.

[secret-engima]

Okay, now I'm imagining one of the 'verses that Zack-Noctis, Aerith-Luna, and Cloud-Prompto (+Ignis and Gladio) trip into, is an /FF7/ verse. When Cloud was just a cadet and Zack was /even more/ of a hyperactive puppy.

hgfdhgf TOTAL CHAOS.

Adorable Chaos.

Gonna just yet the ff7 timeline into the stratosphere because I Do What I Want for this. But basically this is a Happy Ending AU were Stuff Happened so that Gen never degraded/defected, Angeal never defected, Seph is mentally stable, and while Shinra is still a thing to be dealt with at least nobody is calling down meteors on anything else. Cloud is a little Cadet person who accidentally caught Genesis’s eye and so is not the Poet’s apprentice, and Zack is as hyper as ever.

...

-The five of them trip into the FF7 verse and we’ll make them teenagers and stuff for this, Noctis (15), Luna (19), and Prompto (15) all insta-recognize it and freak. Ignis (17) and Gladio (18) take their cue from the freaking and are very cautious. They don’t ask why the three know so much about this strange place or are so agitated but Ignis is Fussing and Gladio is ready to hit something. Luna softly says hey’ll just- have to avoid “everyone important” and the Astrals will undo this as soon as they can.

-Their luck being what it is, they are somewhere in the slums of Midgar and while killing monsters for gil to stay somewhere that isn’t an alley for the night (WHY DO THE MONSTER BODIES DISAPPEAR Ignis hisses the first time the monster he was inspecting for potential recipe material disappeared into thin air, leaving coins and junk behind), they hear someone else fighting monsters and having Trouble.

-Reacting on their Good Guy instincts, they race around the corner and find a Whopping Freaking Behemoth growling it’s way through a street way too small for it, chasing two someones that Noctis doesn’t really pay attention too in his haste to fling a fireball in the Behemoth’s face to slow it down. The beast slows and Cloud rockets by, his sword a flash of silver light as he hops up the dingy wall and somehow (Nif experimentation strength, adrenaline, and magic) beheads the thing in one massive strike (Gladiolus, watching from the entrance of the street where he’s guarding Ignis, Luna, and the people that Behemoth was chasing, quickly acknowledges his jealousy and lets it go, because Prompto is just Like That).

-Prompto lands on the dead body of the Behemoth and flicks the blood off his blade as he looks around (escaped experiment from the labs he’s betting, and the thought of it makes his blood feel very cold). Noctis nods grimly at him, coming to the same conclusion and reminder.

-Then, from the head of the alley, someone breathes, “That, was ... SO COOL.”

-Prompto, looking over Noctis’s head from his perch, goes dead white. Noctis knows what he’s going to see the moment he turns around but somehow can’t stop himself from looking anyway.

-Bright-faced and energetic, innocent in a way Noctis has never been able to fully pull off, is one SOLDIER Second Class Zack Fair, staring at the two of them with hero worship in his eyes as he dusts himself off and bounds past a startled Gladio to all but vibrate in front of Noctis and Prompto, “How’d you do that? You just- WHOOSH and SHING and it was DEAD. I didn’t think anyone but a SOLDIER First could do that!”

-While Noctis tries to wrap his head around himself (had he really been that hyper? No wonder Angeal called him Puppy), Prompto blinks past Zack (ghost ghost bloody-tired-ghost-rain-blood-steel-you-are-my-living-legacy-) he sees the second person standing there being fussed at by Ignis and almost loses his grip on his Fusion Sword.

-Cadet Cloud Strife is watching Ignis with a touch of hero worship in his own eyes as the older teen expertly applies a potion to the scratches and cuts, never letting on that he’s spotted the eerie similarities between Prompto, Noctis and these two strangers.

-Their attention is dragged back to Zack by his waving arms as he chatters a mile a minute, then rapidly snagged by the sound of approaching footsteps from the far end of the street, the direction the Behemoth had come from.

-Noctis already knows who is running around that corner. His nerve breaks and he BOLTS. Zack yips a protest as Noctis rushes by, Prompto on his heels, trying to escape before HE can come around the corner and see them. Gladio sees the look on his prince’s face and starts herding Iggy and Luna away-.

-Genesis rounds the bend in front of them the exact moment Angeal rounds the corner behind. Both of them having rushed to the scene to try to save their apprentices.

-Noctis can only hear static. It’s ... it’s different from seeing Angeal in his new body, his reborn self. This- this is a ghost of the man he adored and looked up to as a father, this is a perfect memory of the man he was forced to KILL. This is- this is ANGEAL. Noctis cannot deal.

-Ignis ends up doing all the talking on the group’s behalf while Zack makes things ... worse unintentionally by excitedly recounting the story of how Prompto one-shot the Behemoth.

-Genesis confirms it with Cloud.

-Both men, honorable in their own way, insist on paying for a Proper Hotel for the group as thanks, which means taking them above plate. Ignis makes up a story of how they are Hunters (which ... they are technically, just not in this world) and were just visiting the city when they heard the sounds of fighting.

-They get dropped off at the hotel and Noctis and Prompto spend a good hour sobbing in the bathroom over their respective ghosts while Luna hesitantly tries to explain why to Ignis and Gladio without ... SAYING why. After that, the group put their heads together to make a plan, because Noctis and Prompto are SURE that SHINRA will come sniffing around soon.

-By morning, Noctis and Prompto have composed themselves and gotten ... sorta enough sleep.

-Prompto is not surprised how, the moment the clock turns to “reasonable hour of the morning” there is a knock on the door. He is less surprised when he opens it to find a Turk on the other side.

-He promptly shuts the door again.

-He makes a rude gesture at Ignis’s back when the older teen sighs at his bad manners and opens the door to let the devil man in with a murmured apology and vague excuse that Prompto doesn’t handle mornings well. The Turk is Tseng, because of course it is, and he’s come to formally thank them for their assistance the other day in saving the lives of two of their employees (Read: here to investigate how a group of unknown teens showed up out of literal nowhere, how one of them used a fireball spell without seeming to have any materia on his person and how the twig-blond one-shot a Behemoth like a SOLDIER First).

-Ignis and Luna handle all the talking because Noctis is oddly quiet (afraid of being too like Zack), Prompto has gone straight non-verbal, and Gladiolus is a bit busy trying to keep his two friends on a sane keel.

-Tseng notices all of the interplay, but isn’t sure what to make of it. He notices the way the black haired one seems agitated in his presence and how the blond has flickering mako shine in his eyes as he folds in on himself and shuts down at the sight of Tseng’s suit. He notices he way Ignis and Gladio are neutral to him like true strangers would, but the gentle girl named Luna watches him with an old, eerie sort of knowing fondness.

-They are not what they seem, he thinks to himself.

-But what are they?

-Anyway long ficlet made slightly shorter, Tseng talks them into coming to the tower to receive a thank you gift from SHINRA and maybe give a demonstration to some of the cadets while they were at it, as a ... show and tell from an outsider perspective. They don’t have any choice but to agree, and Noctis shakes off his uneasiness to be a more muted version of energetic to help Prompto cope.

-The SOLDIER Firsts and their apprentices are there too, because of course they are, and Noctis slides into his element showing off for the cadets with Gladio’s help while Prompto spaces out at the nearest wall. Angeal comes over to talk to Noctis and thank him and stuff and Zack is already trying to acquire another blond buddy (Prompto slides back into non-verbal blank looks and is ... dimly surprised by Cloud coming to his defense with an innocent, “Take it easy, Zack, he’s shy.” before smiling. Prompto doesn’t remember smiling as Cloud. Not like that. Easy and friendly and innocent.)

-SOMEHOW. Genesis ends up picking a fight with Noctis. Because Genesis. Prompto, eager to burn off some tension, intercedes on Noctis’s behalf and ends up flattening Genesis in three moves.

-...Oops.

-Genesis gets up with a manic look in his eye and Sephiroth is staring like a cat that just spotted a bird. Angeal’s eyebrows are up to his hairline and Zack is “ooo”ing in awe.

-Genesis tries again, Prompto flattens him in five moves this time.

-Ignis steps in before a real fight can happen and politely excuses the group because they have places to be.

-Prompto has never been more grateful for Gentiana’s timing than the moment they step out of Shinra’s office and slide into the crowd. In between one heartbeat and the next, one shifting of the large, busy crowd and another, she arrives and whisks them home.

-The Turks have no idea how they lost the group of teens, but they never find them again.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Story Ideas I posted on Soompi for K-dramas.

Posted November 14, 2020. I worked on these with some other Korean adoptees. Posting here to document it. Triple back up is not a bad idea when you do this type of thing. Elevator Pitch:

- Alt Joseon History Reverse Drama Harem set after the Imjin War, Women-centric (I suggested it last round, but I'm making it more attractive)

- Heart-warming adoptee tale set with Jaebeol family as the birth family.

Reverse Alt Joseon history Harem (I left historical research notes in for you to further research too).

After the Imjin War, Prince Gwanghae declared an "Honorable Women's list", which made the Queen Dowager upset with him and the crown prince (In real history he used the excuse of less arable land because of Japanese invasion to give land from widows to men, so they could get royal titles. In Nepal, in the mountains, less land has also meant that for some peoples there, the women marry a group of brothers who rotate time with the wife, guaranteeing land to her and them). So, she deposed him and installed the daughter of the Royal Consort Ui to the throne of Joseon. Joseon has been a Matriarchy ever since then with women ruling the throne and a harem to match. All of the key positions have been ruled by women. Men have to get permission to divorce, they cannot own land, and they are put on cycles per month rotation to favor their wife, who have all the power. Since then, the merit-based system has somewhat fallen apart with men severely devalued. Men are considered weaker than women in every aspect-- not as smart, frivolous, fixated on material possessions (like hair, clothes, make up, etc and landing a good woman with money), unable to learn anything other than etiquette on how to properly serve women, unable to do military affairs, unable to do magic (Based on harnessing spirits and Mugyo) [I suppose one could have a male-based magic system too that more subtle maybe based on Buddhism? since men imported Buddhism to Korea], can't do ancestor rituals but must provide the food, widows are expected to die (because who will take care of the men and provide for them if their breadwinner is gone?), and much physically weaker. They are devalued if they can't marry by the time they are 30 because they are viewed as much less virile. They are there to lead women astray from their husbands in the minds of society, and they are the ones punished for faults. If they rape or are accused of rape, they are met with death. They are considered peacocks for decoration and fill the brothels and red districts. They are allowed dance and to do street dramas, but this is considered a lesser art form compared to the lavish palace versions. Queen of Joseon, considered the most beautiful such that all the women want to imitate her... with her curly hair and freckles, is on the throne and has amassed a large portion of the men, leaving many of the Noble women unmarried. Her harem has grown huge with mostly pretty boys she's selected. She has lavish palace dances every day with pretty boys from her harem to entertain her. She also has them perform plays [Can reference previous dramas and do anachronistic references] for her more lavish than the next. The Prime Minister, has been supporting her habits to distract her from her duties while controlling the throne. The Prime Minister, while she has one husband and one concubine has been neglecting her husband and spending all her time with her concubine. There is a rebellion swelling against them... *** Extended version: In the midst of this, there are Portuguese traders that have come to shore with black men who are slaves, come to do trade (this really happened in Korean history). One of the slaves comes to the court to help refine the map of Africa (Gangnido was done in 1402 and Portuguese contact with Japan happened in 1543, so it's not that far fetched according to history). While helping the Minister of Arts, they fall in love with each other. She teaches him Korean, and he teaches her about his part of Africa. He comes from West Africa. (Hausa [Queen Amina died in 1610], maybe and maybe give him a Korean name later?) There, both men and women can be tribal leaders and share responsibilities. He comes to teach her that both men and women can be equal. The court grants him his freedom for his services, and he stays and marries this woman, despite objections, who, then becomes a part of the resistance against the Queen.

The Heads of the resistance is none other than the Prime Minister's concubine, not the Prime Minister's husband, who has been loyal this entire time. (Delaying this discovery is a good idea) Tired of having to service the Prime Minister every night, and entertain her, he has been leading a double life. He wants men in control again. The other conspirator is the Queen's top consort, who looks like a bumbling fool with his love of jokes (especially dry humor), stupid puns, food (though not fat, just fancy food), and has tried to look as useless and tolerant of the system as possible. But he loves his Queen deeply, which is why he wants to end the system and ask for equality. They have been meeting and arguing at an eating establishment since Royals aren't let into Red Districts, where a widowed lovable Halmeoni (You can get her to sell Subway sandwiches to camera, etc for laughs. Subway and Quiznos have a sense of humor... so why not ask if they are willing? Since it's alt history--make winks to the audience that you know it's not accurate.) has been slowly learning all of the court secrets... which is how the Queen learns of their dirty plots. The person who wanted this scenario fleshed out also wants the Queen to be... "Queen can’t be too flaky- forgetful to a fault, yea. Clumsy . Cold, a bit snarky, always on edge and with quite an appetite.  Forgiving of the wrong folks. Always looking for good in them but not trusting. Independent and she has to drive a black carriage!"

How this concludes, with equality, crushing the rebellion, or with men, again, taking power and thus making everyone question what was better is up to you, if you choose this idea. Five Act or 기승전결 is up to you. (Or mix them).

Suggested issues to include (and why you might want to write this) and errata:

Can challenge current Korean issues of spousal abuse, feminism, gender issues (Such as nonbinary people), trans (Such as transmen), Make Mugyo a state religion since it was supported a lot by women during Joseon (also supported LGBTQIA, past and present. Baksu~~) And also challenge our understanding of history by adding in people like Lady Jang Gye Hyang (1598-1680), who would be against the current government and for rule by men, mention mention Heo Nanseorheon (Pre-Imjin war... she needs a drama done about her because she's always overshadowed by her brothers and made into a brat, rather than a full character and an intelligent woman, which she was). ImYunjidang (1721-1793) and Kang Chonggildang (1772-1832) for example... also aren't often mentioned figures. There were historical figures in real life that were for and against the new Joseon order of Neo Confucianism, though many of the women that spoke out had their papers burned by the patriarchy. Inserting those figures historically sageuk have been resistant to insert because it goes against the ideas of Joseon being an idealistic patriarchy might add spice to the drama. One can also challenge the idea that "traditional" values are male dominated by pointing out that widows in Joseon pre-Imjin war could own land and pass it to their daughters unchallenged, that LGBTQIA was more widely accepted, and that there were great Queens before that like Seondeok by upholding them as the rule, rather than the exception as reasons why the Matriarchy is "superior" to the previous Patriarchy.

One of the women who helped with this premise likes Lee Min Ho a lot....  lol She'd probably request that the Prime Minister's Concubine be Lee Min Ho. (He hasn't done a Joseon historical drama in a while and I think he could play both sides well--warm and sweet and then cold and callous...).

Probably needs a woman to write this one versed in feminism and history or a woman and man team. I hope it passes the Bechdel test (Two women talk about something other than men, preferably more than one time), the Mako Mori Test (Women have a motivation other than romance or the man and doesn't degrade over time). and the Sexy Lamp test (The women have agency to make decisions, face consequences and rescue themselves)... there is no fridging--i.e. killing characters without knowing them solely to motivate the main characters to do something,  and makes us think deeper about gender issues, feminism, etc. I suppose if the writer hits really hard on social issues, it would be probably JTBC material (who haven't done a Historical drama in a while). Tonally, I was hoping for a mixture of laughs and thinking about the issues more deeply, and some tight action to keep us guessing. If you want to argue marketability: I saw Romance of the Tiger and Rose (China) and Ooku by Fumi Yoshinaga. And a friend of mine (also Korean) wanted a drama with her and her (drama) harem of guys, so... we want a Korean commentary on feminism done this way, but with sharper feminism and more imagination attached. Covering modern feminist issues is fine since it's fantasy. Be transgressive.

BTW, for sponsorship: (since the costumes might cost extra, etc) easy... cosmetics advertised by men, done anachronistically to camera, on purpose. Other plugs can be done this way too... which would sell the product, but also make people question gender roles at the same time. Or you can also do plugs this way and suddenly gender them, making people question how this item is "male" or "female". Like a brush, or a wall, drink, sandwich (lol Quiznos and Subway), etc. can be called "Masculine" or "feminine" and be sold to camera, if the sponsors cooperate. (Sold by Pretty Boy actors to the audience... there's a good chance.) This should get you to at most episode 6, if it's paced well and you plotted the rest of the angles. If it's action-filled with lots of twists then the basic scenario will get you through to episode 4. The twists can come later.

And the other one was invented between me and another Korean adoptee...

Elevator Pitch: Heart-warming adoptee tale set with Jaebeol family as the birth family.

Twenty-five years ago, there were identical twins born to the same mother, but because her petition to get a paternity test failed from a Jaebeol family, she was forced by her lover's family to give them up for adoption, despite her best efforts to get into the single mother's homes (the adoption agency ones are pretty terrible because they try to wear down the women into giving up their children and seats are very few at the government ones). A woman had been stalking her while pregnant in order to give up her children for a kickback from the adoption agencies and from the family itself (There were KBS and MBC reports about it in the early 2000's), so with major heartbreak, she decided to give them up. However, her lover never knew this was a case.

The children were split up. One went to the United States, was adopted to a white family, and the other was adopted to Korean family, but never told they were adopted.

In the current time, the US adoptee, has been working for a year and a half to get her dual citizenship. She has a degree in Business accounting and is a very warm person. Despite her talents, she is teaching English in Suwon. She has an allergy to allium (Garlic, onions, etc), which makes it hard on her to eat Korean food. Every time she eats it, she gets gas and a tummy ache. She is constantly mocked by the ajumma in restaurants over it. She does not speak very fluent Korean and only knows Kindergarten Korean. She also often has delusions from Korean dramas as being real. Intelligent, smart, but has a hard time proving it to the Koreans around her because of her lack of language skills. People keep commenting on how she's single, but she finds it hard to date anyone once they find out she is adopted, so thinks she has no roots. Her records were sealed by the military. (US Military adoption is like that) So she takes a trip to Daegu's police station to get a DNA test. Meanwhile...

Meanwhile her twin has grown up in a steady Korean family, but there are things that never quite matched about her story and the family she's lived with. Their profession aspirations are totally different from hers, everyone else has a baby picture, but she doesn't. That feeling of "Jeong" sometimes feels like it's missing. The neighbors talk behind their hands when she passes them. This is when she accidentally discovers the truth talking to a neighborhood recycling Halmeoni. Unlike her twin, she has no allergy to allium and loves it. She mainly works at PC Bang and menial jobs and never really aspired to much because she's always felt like she didn't really truly belong.

*** Extended Pitch At the same time, their father has become the head of the company and a major CEO of a conglomerate. He is unaware of the twins' existence... so there are lots of passing shots between the family members as we get to know them. The company politics have become tricky because the father's seat was never really guaranteed. He still thinks about his lover from time to time, but his seat has become more and more unsure as he's opted adamantly out of marriage. The twin's mother is working at a small time job, and is forced to keep silent about the time she's tried very hard to forget. People shame her if they find out she had children.

When the twins finally get to remeet because of DNA, this shakes up their father's position and his company. The family secrets come out and the mystery of who sent the mysterious woman to stalk their mother starts to unfold, not only the secrets of the company, but of their father and mother's relationship, and of the family relations. But in the middle of this is that feeling of "Jeong" or instant belonging. (I don't think the love of the adoptive family should be diminished or it should be written like if you have more family, you have less love... but that there are things that connect people in different ways and the drama explores those ways of connection and disconnection.)

Issues that can be covered: Single Motherhood, Paternity testing (There was a recent Korean case on this and also another case about 10 years ago, where an adoptee found out they (male) were the son of a Jaebeol person, but the family refused any contact, etc--should be in Korean as well.), Economic differences, what Pres. Kim Dae Jeong called Adoption as the "brain drain" of South Korea (He said it on film, too, just before the reforms <3 Still my favorite president), Prejudices against foreigners, adoptees, and addressing the fact that finding family is difficult because of the shame around adoption and it's not instant. A person can start at 13, and still go through a ton of work and hoops to try to get any info. (The Korean agencies can also be mean/overworked with one person working all of the cases, like for HOLT and ESWS it's this way.) Also can address problems like how cousins can want to find each other, but get blocked because of adoption (You can't marry up to Second Cousins, but if you're adopted, you can't find your extended family members, even if you had connection to them in the past and they know you exist and they aren't allowed to search for you either because the agencies and law block them). Agencies lying that children are either dead, or that they never got communication, when they have. There is a story I know where a mother inquired every year about her child and wrote letters and then the agencies told her they got nothing, and then the matching adoptee wrote every year too, hoping to find their mother and equally got nothing. The agency lied to both of them. Also the old proxy system before it got outlawed where women would stalk pregnant single women to get records. (It's updated to the lawyer proxy system where lawyers stalk single women).

Warmth, not makjang, emphasis on Jeong and nunchi... and Warm and Fuzzy in the end at least... with spurts of humor interspersed would be nice.

Personally, I think if MBC or KBS is willing to help with the footage from the Proxy system report in the early 2000's where women were stalked by other women, those are the networks to pitch it to. It's up their ally. If not... cable. (I love SBS, too, no lies, but they didn't do a report back in the day.) Oh and make it 16 episodes-ish. Not family drama. We don't watch family dramas for length reasons...

[saezutte]

yuletide letter 2020

Dear Yuletide Writer, 

Oh, hello again. I didn’t see you there.

This year, I have transcended earthly desires and struggled to find any fandoms to request. I want nothing. I wish my cat was nominated as a Yuletide fandom so we could all write stories about her life. 

Nonetheless, I have some small requests!!!! I believe you can make me happy in ways I’ve never been happy before. I trust you. Happy end of 2020, the cursed year, I hope you are blessed with rest. 

My AO3: saezutte

My public twitter: juncassis

My tumblr: here but I do not use tumblr much anymore, sorry.

Do Not Wants

[note: I have no actual triggers, nothing you can write for me will make me any more depressed or anxious than I already am]

Death (of major/important/beloved characters)

Suicide attempts, self-harm

Rape (outright; OK with dub con, manipulation, noncon short of violent-rape-for-violence-only)

Eating disorders, body shaming

Angst without a happy ending, really too much angst at all

Established relationship

Cheating

Actual Unrequited Feelings

Pregnancy (the actual process; breeding kink is fine)

Scat or watersports

Hard BDSM or any kink complicated enough that the characters would have to discuss it ahead of time

Homophobia as a plot device

Excessive attention to identity or politics, sometimes known as “issue fic”

Note on AUs: I am ok with the usual popular AU tropes but I do not want them combined, e.g. A/B/O is fine and coffeeshop is fine, but I don’t want an omega barista getting his scent all over the lattes he makes for some alpha lawyer who comes in every morning. (Ridiculous example, but you get the point.) For AU/modern settings of fandoms with magic, I often like it when the magic is still there in the AU setting. I also like AUs which maintain the general outlines of the character’s relationships, like if the characters are childhood friends in canon, I like to keep that intact.

General preferences:

I am a pretty basic bitch when it comes to fanfic: I like it when two clueless boys pine for each other through some shenanigans and then lock eyes/lips/dicks.

If you fed a neural net every fanfic written in Stargate Atlantis fandom between 2005 and 2010, the result would probably be some nonsense I’d enjoy.

I love many tropes. Tropes! Bed-sharing. Sharing an umbrella. WASHING EACH OTHER’S HAIR? Confessions where they are having an argument and then one of them yells “Because I love you!”

I love situations where characters are forced to spend time in close proximity and find themselves with feelings.

I love fakeness: fake dating, fake marriage, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, fake lust induced by sex pollen or heats, aliens make them have sex, whatever.

I love porn, if you want to just write me some quick porn, that’s great. I do prefer (per the established relationship DNW above) that it be first time or get together porn. I know that can make it hard to just write porn, but I don’t need much to be convinced of sex.

Nirvana in Fire (TV)

Requested characters: Mei Changsu, Xiao Jingyan

Note: I also love Lin Chen so if you want to write some MCS/LC or LC/Fei Liu or LC/MCS/JINGYAN OT3??? go for it. I am also a Nihuang/Xia Dong shipper so if you want to put that in… somehow… my gay little heart would be happy. I also like Nihuang/MCS/XJY or MNH/MCS + MCS/XJY but I’d like the focus on the men in that case!

I watched this show because someone recommended this show to me as, like, Chinese Game of Thrones but good. I think it’s genuinely one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen. I love plots and revenge and good people doing bad things for justice. Even the ending is good for me though obviously it left me unsatisfied on several points.

I am deeply into sickly doomed genius MCS and every time he got even more deeply ill, I fell deeper in love. Every time he coughs up blood, my heart would race. I love his terrible schemes and stupid self-sacrificing choices. I find watching this show very soothing because I knew he would always come out on top in his schemes. I trust him. I love handsome clueless Jingyan and how he’s just so good (it’s terrible.) I love his mom and how much he cares for her. I love him but he is useless, he needs his Xiao Shu and I need fanfic to restore him to him.

Note: So my limited research on this says that male/male sex practices were accepted and well-known in this time period in history, so I really don’t want them thinking “oh no what are these weird gay feelings.” There are other barriers to them being together, like a ruler or official being overly attached to one person was considered very bad. I am also a big supporter of the socially-approved polygamy of this time period, so I don’t need Jingyan to refuse to sleep with his wife or something out of loyalty to MCS—he has to do it! Or all their plans are ruined! And he can enjoy spending time with her or the concubines without affecting his feelings for MCS—you could explore that complexity in fic if you like.Prompts:

Mei Changsu isn’t dead, he’s hiding again, Jingyan searches for him

They start having sex during the series, the ending is averted [somehow]

Post-canon, MCS is alive and Jingyan hides him in the palace with his consort/concubines to keep him on as an advisor without anyone objecting

omega verse where MCS was an alpha before he “died" but an omega after he came back.

AU where male/male marriage is customary (maybe aristocratic men are expected to have one male and one female consort?) and so MCS decides the best way to influence and help Jingyan in the capital is by becoming his wife or one of his concubines

anything just get them together and happy.

Tokyo Babylon 

Characters: Subaru, Seishiro

I read Tokyo Babylon as a child and I imprinted on it deeply, now I love politics, ghosts, stalking, age differences, magic. Within the CLAMP canon, I love TB for its episodic focus on smaller stories, the commentary on contemporary society, and Seishiro being an outright creep. I love onmyojutsu and exorcism and Subaru’s innocence getting ruined. I love the city of Tokyo (where I currently live! but do not be intimidated, I don’t know the city well because we’ve been in quarantine most of the time I’ve been here and won’t judge you for details.) I’m open to fics that comply with X canon or not.

With Seishiro/Subaru: It’s bad but I love that predator/prey dynamic where the predator ends up being hopelessly entranced/obsessed/in love with the prey. My read was always that Seishiro lost the bet and couldn’t admit it—he’s just, you know, killing twins to avoid dealing with his feelings! Relatable! (?!?!) Subaru, I love particularly in his evolution from innocent to adult in love to betrayed. I’d prefer post-TB fic to during-TB fic (so Subaru knows Seishiro’s deal and loves him anyway.) I am also a fan of Hokuto and you should feel free to bring her back to life to troll if you desire.

Prompts:

AU or reincarnation plot where they are Heian period rival onmyoji

Because this is such a heavily place-based series, if you are a writer who likes to play with details of real life locations, I’d be interested in versions of different “Babylons” if you have an idea for it.

Tragic first times post-TB lol

Seishiro is a virgin the first time they have sex

I’d probably love some fucked up dub con for this, however you want to play it

Honestly, do whatever you want as long as you don’t fuck me over like CLAMP did.  

プリティーリズム | Pretty Rhythm

Characters: Hiro, Koji

Pretty Rhythm came to me at a weird time in my life. I lived in a house of spiders in Yokohama and did nothing for eight weeks. King of Prism cheer screening transformed my life and I didn’t even know what it was. Then I got weirdly deep into Rainbow Live and the Pretty Rhythm franchise overall. I am a scientist of prism theory. Idk why I like it, it’s just wholesome and crazy and there are penguins and DJ Koo. I love every TRF song because I’m a 90s gay at heart. It’s truly the end point of all media development. The prism world represents the fearsome power of virtual/digital+real hybrid life. Yes, I know I’ve lost my mind. I went to one of the real Prism Stone stores, the one in Harajuku.

Hiro Hayami: one time a fujoshi asked me to describe what types of anime boys I like and the first type I listed was “prince but bad” and my example was Hiro. Hiro is the crazy gay stalker disaster of my heart. He overcomes great hardship to achieve his dreams and foolishly falls in love along the way and he does everything wrong and Koji keeps leaving him. The moment when Hiro is crowned King of Prism in Pride the Hero was one of the top ten moments of my life. I made friends who don’t even know Japanese watch the movie unsubtitled with me on my birthday.

With Koji, I’m a bit guilty of “I want to give the character I love the most the character he loves the most” so I do like him less (it would be impossible to like him equal to how much I love Hiro). But he has many good points that make him perfect, like how he also sucks underneath his chill exterior. I love to see him go apeshit.

I also love everyone else in Rainbow Live, no exceptions. I love all the girls. If you do write the girls, I would prefer they not be paired with the OTR boys. I would prefer they be paired with each other, any combo is good.

Prompts:

this is the sort of pairing where I love fic where they split up and then 15 years later meet again as washed up has-beens but there’s still time for them to find each other

Canon-compliant companion piece showing the “background” of them getting together romantically over the course of the series.

AU where Koji is a prism world fairy sent to inspire Hiro but Hiro is kind of a mess

dirty, dirty porn… let Hiro get fucked

I have a lot of doujinshi with multiple copies of Hiro (a la the Mugen Hug jump) but I’d like something where Hiro gets overwhelmed by many Kojis

They start fake dating as a publicity stunt and have to keep doing it… especially good if it starts when Koji is at max hating Hiro level

Ring Fit Adventure 

Characters: Dragaux, Ring

Keeping this one simple: I like to be encouraged to exercise by a storyline and a trainer that never mentions weight loss, lol. The world is fun and pretty and I love that buff dragon.

AND THEN THE PAIRING. I’m sure Nintendo has some market research that told them a certain subset of users are very motivated by enemies who seemed to once be lovers or best friends. I am that user.

What is up with these two? They were so in love! Now Dragaux is a horrible swole bro (not in a good bro way) and Ring is training me instead? I can’t compete with their love. It’s the only time the game makes me feel inadequate.

You can keep Dragaux and Ring as dragon/ring-like as you like. Obviously I’m down with dragon fucking but you can also make him a human fucker too. I play with Ring on the masculine voice setting for maximum BL vibes as I exercise, but, you know, it’s a ring, I don’t think it has gender. Feel free to incorporate the player or other random characters too.

Prompts:

AU where Dragaux and Ring owned a gym together and Dragaux sold out to a big chain of gyms

What happened between them when Dragaux was still captured, pre-game? Bondage… literally??

Ring is always bossing me to train, but I’m really doing all the work. Why doesn’t he fight Dragaux on his own for once?? (because the sexual tension is too powerful.)

Tragic flashback to their dramatic break-up ending with their present day reconciliation.

Player/Dragaux/Ring threesome??? I’ve unlocked the sexercises???

With all fandoms, you are free to disregard the prompts and do your own thing. If you’re not sure about me, you can probably dm seriesera on twitter, she knows what I’m into. 

Well, I suppose that’s all for now. Please stalk me online to get more details on my bullshit. I hope you have a nice time.

Best,

Caitlin 

[monotonous-minutia]

Don Carlo in 250 lines or less

For @notyouraveragejulie

Thank you for the prompt, this was so much fun. At first I thought “How can I possibly do this in 250 lines or less???” but it turned out to be just under 200 so it was all fine.

Anyway---here you go!

Act I, Scene I

Fontainebleu. Any version that does not contain this act is irrelevant.

Hunter’s chorus: We’re singing about our great hunting expedition in perhaps one of the most exhilarating opening choruses in all of opera.

Carlos: I travelled all the way from Spain to try and sneak a peek at my future bride. Isn’t love wonderful?

Thibault: Oh no, we’re lost in the woods. Are you okay, Princess? I mean really are you okay? Are you okay?

Elizabeth: I’m fine, just a little tired.

Carlo: Never fear! I can stay with you in the middle of these woods while your page runs off for help.

Thibault: Wait what

Carlo: I came with the Spanish retinue.

Elizabeth: Sounds great and not sketchy at all. Thibault, go ahead and get me my horse. We’ll wait here for you.

Thibault: Okay, I guess…

Elizabeth: So, you’re from Madrid? I’ve been betrothed to the prince there as part of the peace treaty between our countries.

Carlo: Yes I know all about that.

Elizabeth: I’m very nervous about it and scared to leave my mother and my home. What if the prince doesn’t love me?

Carlo: Guess what? I’m actually Carlo and I love you because you’re so beautiful and sweet.

Elizabeth: Oh that’s great because I was starting to fall for you and felt bad since I’m betrothed! How lucky that I am so attracted to the guy I was going to blind marry.

Carlo and Elizabeth: Listen to the canons! Peace has been declared! Not only are we in love and about to be married, but our countries are finally at peace. This is seriously the best day ever.

Thibault: Elizabeth! Great news! You’re engaged to the king! Please take me with you when you go to Spain. I may have a crush on you. I mean, it will be a great learning experience for me.

Elizabeth: Of course you can stay with me, but you’re mistaken. I’m engaged to the prince, not the king.

Lerma: Plans have changed! Peace will only be declared if you marry the king. What say you?

Chorus of peasants: Please, Elizabeth, we really need a break from all this horribleness.

Elizabeth: Yes, I will marry the king. Oh, this is the worst day ever.

Carlo: My heart is broken! How can heaven be so cruel?

Chorus: Long live the marvelous new queen! We are finally at peace and we can finally be happy!

Elizabeth and Carlo: We’re so sad!!!!

Act II Scene I

The creepy monastery

Monks: Once upon a time there was a very vain emperor named Charles V. Because of his folly, he was doomed to a dishonorable death. His ghost may or may not be wandering around this monastery. The moral of the story: God alone is great and powerful. Never assume you’re greater than God, unless you want to suffer the same fate.

Carlo: I can’t get over how creepy it is that that one Monk looks so much like my grandfather.

Monks leave creepily. Rodrigo comes in.

Rodrigo: Carlo!

Carlo: Rodrigo!

Both: HUG ME I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Rodrigo: What a day to be alive! I just got back from Flanders and it’s chaos over there, but I know we can make things better. It’s time to sword up and go save a country! Hey, what’s wrong?

Carlo: I don’t want to tell you. You’ll hate me.

Rodrigo: There is nothing in this world that would make me hate you. You can tell me anything.

Carlo: I’m in love with my stepmother.

Rodrigo: (Yikes!) It’s okay, we’ll get through this together. Heading to Flanders with me will get her off your mind. Nothing like a lot of depressing situations and some good old blood and gore to get your mind off unrequited love. Remember how we said we would always fight for freedom and live and die as lovers I mean brothers?

Carlo: Duh! It was our entire childhood.

Rodrigo: Don’t look now, here comes the queen and Filippo.

Carlo: I can’t handle this. It’s too hard.

Rodrigo: Remember our cause! We’ll get through this!

Both: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Act II Scene II

The Queen’s garden

Chorus of ladies: What a pretty, sunny day. It’s so nice being ladies in a Spanish court.

Thibault: I have a crush on all these ladies here but especially Princess Eboli, who is the most beautiful of them all and sometimes wears an eyepatch.

Eboli: Let me tell you a story that may or may not be foreshadowing. Once upon a time, a no-good cheating king fell in love with a beautiful lady wearing a veil. Turns out she was his wife all along!

Everyone else: Bravo, Eboli, you’re such a good storyteller, and very beautiful we may add.

Eboli: I know.

Everyone: Here comes the queen. She’s so sad these days.

Elizabeth: It’s nice to see you all so happy. If only I wasn’t so sad!

Thibault: Hey look it’s the Marquis.

Rodrigo: My Queen, I have a special note here from your aunt. (It’s actually from Carlos, read it.)

Eboli: Well, Marquis, how have you been these days? I may or may not be flirting with you right now.

Rodrigo: You’re very pretty in a purely aesthetic sense and I don’t know how to handle flirting so I’m just going to give you some boring news about court gossip.

Elizabeth: The letter from Carlo tells me I should trust Rodrigo and I still love Carlo so I guess I will. Marquis, what can I do for you?

Rodrigo: We both love Carlo (in every sense of the word) and he’s suffering and sad right now. If only you would speak to him, it would help heal his wounded heart.

Elizabeth: Fine, I’ll see him. Everyone, be on your way.

Eboli: Carlo is sad and suffering? That’s too bad. I kind of like him. I think he likes me too. I wonder if we would work as a couple. Hmm.

Everyone leaves Elizabeth alone. Carlo comes in.

Carlo: Elizabeth, I’m suffocating here. I need to get out. Will you let me go to Flanders?

Elizabeth: Yes, if that’s what you need.

Carlo: Why do you have to be so cold? What if I die over there? Don’t you care?

Elizabeth: Well do you want to go or not?

Carlo: I mean I do but

Elizabeth: You don’t get it. I’m the queen now. I have to act all queenly.

Carlos: BUT I STILL LOVE YOU ugh this is so hard why can’t you love me???

Elizabeth: You think this is easy for me??? I’m hurting too you little prick. But what are we supposed to do about it???

Carlo: Be sad forever. Or hate my father. Or both.

Elizabeth: Well unless you plan to kill him I don’t see what we can do, and it would be an awfully nasty wedding. I don’t think anyone would come.

Carlo: Fine, I’m out. I hate my life!

Carlo leaves

Elizabeth: God give me strength! I don’t know why I’m asking you. You’ve been pretty cruel lately. But I’m a good Christian woman so I guess I have to.

Thibault comes back. So does everyone else. And Filippo.

Thibault: THE KING IS HERE OH NO WE’RE IN TROUBLE

Filippo: Why is the Queen all alone? You’re all fired. Wait, no, just this one.

Elizabeth: But she’s my best friend!! How dare you!! Alright, fine. At least she gets to go back to France where I wish I was right now. Goodbye, my lover I mean best friend. Say hello to my mother for me.

Filippo: Too much drama, everyone out.

Everyone else leaves

Filippo: Wait, except you, Posa.

Rodrigo backpedals

Filippo: Tell me, what’s a handsome I mean valiant young man like you doing hanging around but never asking to see me?

Rodrigo: I don’t sit around waiting for the king to give me stuff…

Filippo: Cheeky! I like it. Well, you have me here now. What can I do for you?

Rodrigo: Well you see there’s this stuff going on in Flanders…

Filippo: I’ve got Flanders under control.

Rodrigo: What kind of control is it when people lie miserable in the streets and get killed and leave their crying starving children behind???

Filippo: How dare you talk to me this way! But I also kind of like it. You’re bold. But beware of the Grand Inquisitor.

Rodrigo: Why?

Filippo: Just do it. Anyway, I want you to stay by my side, for purely professional reasons.

Rodrigo: I like where I’m at, thanks.

Filippo: I need you to keep an eye on my wife and son.

Rodrigo: Your son is too pure for this world, you don’t need to worry about him, I’ll take care of him and love him forever.

Filippo: Do you know how hard it is to feel like you’ve lost a son? He hates me. I need someone to keep tabs on him. And I think the queen is cheating on me with him so keep an eye out for that too.

Rodrigo: Okay...

Filippo: So anyway come and work for me and keep me company if you know what I mean.

Rodrigo: This is kind of weird and also I don’t like spying on people especially the ones I really care about but this is a great opportunity to get to know the king better and maybe encourage a change of heart so why not?

Filippo: Great! But I’ll say it one more time in case you forgot because it was several verses ago. Beware the Grand Inquisitor. I’m serious.

Rodrigo: Yeah, yeah…

Act III Scene I

The Queen’s gardens

Chorus: LET’S PARTY LIKE IT’S 1559

Elizabeth: I’m not really in a party mood. I think I’ll go pray to clear my mind. You go ahead to the party, Eboli. Have some fun for me.

Elizabeth leaves

Eboli: Perfect, I get Carlo all to myself! I’m going to write him this note telling him to meet me here later. Also I’m going to put on Elizabeth’s veil because it’s so pretty. I feel like a queen myself. I’m so excited. I love love.

Carlo: I’m so excited I got a note from someone who is Elizabeth of course who else could it be ah here she comes now my love I love you so much.

Eboli: I’ve been waiting to hear those words all my life!

Carlo: Oh dang, it’s you.

Eboli: ???

Carlo: You’re sweet but I can’t love you. It’s not you, it’s me.

Eboli: But I can protect you. I see everything that goes on in the court and there’s people whispering your name all over the place and Rodrigo is following the king around everywhere now so.

Carlo: What?? My lover I mean best friend is in cahoots with my dad who hates me? This is too much. Thank you for being on my side, Princess, but my heart is taken by another.

Eboli: Are you in love with Elizabeth? How dare she pretend to be all saintly and queenly when she’s having an affair like this?

Carlo: Wait no it’s not what it looks like

Rodrigo was apparently jogging nearby and sees this

Rodrigo: LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU WITCH

Eboli: You don’t know the extent of my power. Just wait, I’ll get back at you both.

Rodrigo: Watch your back lady!

Carlo: RODRIGO DON’T STAB HER

Rodrigo: WHY NOT

Eboli: YOU DON’T SCARE ME

Rodrigo: Okay wait there’s always another way. I have a plan and it may be tragic but we’re not there so. I still have time.

Carlo: This is all my fault oh no time for a guilt spiral.

Eboli: I’m going to leave now but I’m not letting you go this easy. Never doubt the power of a woman who is heartbroken and severely POed.

Rodrigo: Carlo, if you have anything incriminating on you give it to me. I’m not sure if I’m trying to protect you or betraying you to further my own agenda. I guess we’ll find out.

Carlo: That’s shady.

Rodrigo: WHAT HOW CAN YOU BE SUSPICIOUS OF ME I LOVE YOU

Carlo: I’M SORRY I LOVE YOU here’s my papers

Both: HUG ME I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Act III Scene III

Auto-da-fe. The exact location varies but it’s usually very dramatic.

Chorus of people: TODAY IS AWESOME WE GET TO BURN PEOPLE

Chorus of monks: LET TODAY BE A LESSON FOR Y'ALL DON’T GET ON GOD’S BAD SIDE

Everyone: HERE COMES THE KING HE’S AWESOME

Carlo: Wait! I went to Flanders remarkably quickly and brought back these Flemish people to talk you out of burning their friends.

Flemish chorus: Sire, can you please spare our people? We’re very nice we promise

Filippo: Yeah no

Elizabeth, Rodrigo, Lerma, Thibault, Carlo: Come on Sire can you let them go just this once?

Filippo: I’m the king so I make the decisions! Stop questioning me I’m getting cranky.

Carlo: If you don’t do something I will! Father, let me rule Flanders. I’ll be king one day so I may as well start ruling.

Filippo: And give you the power to usurp me or kill me?? Not a chance.

Carlo: Fine, I’ll just kill you now then!

Filippo: Somebody help! What? No one’s gonna do anything? Fine, I’ll kill him myself. En garde!

Rodrigo: Carlo you are seriously your own worst enemy stop it you’re gonna kill yourself. Give me your sword so I can protect you but also stay on Filippo’s good side because yeah it’s morally ambiguous but I need him right now so.

Everyone else: RODRIGO HOW COULD YOU

Filippo: Posa, you’re the best. You’re promoted for purely professional reasons there’s no subtext here at all. Guards, arrest my son. I’ll deal with him later. Now on to the celebration! Who doesn’t love a good bonfire?

Act IV Scene I

Filippo’s chamber

Filippo: Time for an existential crisis. I’m tired, overworked, and my wife who is significantly younger than me and betrothed to me out of the blue and plucked from her homeland and taken to a rather messy court inexplicably doesn’t love me. Also my son hates me. I wish I could sleep but the only way I see myself doing that is in my coffin. What’s a king to do?

Lerma (Apparently just standing there waiting to say this): The Grand Inquisitor is here.

Inquisitor: Am I standing by the king?

Filippo: Yes. I have a few questions. First, my son is being a real pain in my you know what lately. Any tips?

Inquisitor: Kill him.

Filippo: My son?? How can I call myself a Christian if I kill my own son?

Inquisitor: Jesus.

Filippo: Fair point. Be on your way.

Inquisitor: Not so fast! You should kill Posa too.

Filippo: No way! In all this world there has never been a man with whom I feel so close. And yes I am aware of how gay that sounds.

Inquisitor: Welp it’s that or you’re in the lurch and who knows what the inquisition will do if I’m not on your side so….

Filippo: Fine.

Inquisitor exits. Elizabeth runs in.

Elizabeth: I DEMAND JUSTICE. Everyone here hates me and to top it off I lost my jewelry box.

Filippo: You mean this one that I have right here that has a picture of Carlo inside it???? How dare you cheat on me!

Elizabeth: I would never! Do you understand how hard it was for me to come here and be separated from my family?? But I’ve never committed a sin in my life and I’m not about to start.

Filippo: Okay, cheater.

Elizabeth faints.

Filippo: When will I learn to shut my mouth???

Rodrigo and Eboli rush in as if they’d been waiting by the door

Rodrigo: Seriously Filippo you control half the world, why can’t you control yourself?

Filippo: I know I suck

Elizabeth: I wish I was home. I’ll never be happy again. What’s the point of life?

Eboli: Oh no, I screwed up, poor Elizabeth.

Rodrigo: I was hoping I had more time, but it’s clear I can wait no longer. I must put my plan into motion and die an honorable death to save the country I love and the man I love.

Everyone leaves except Elizabeth and Eboli

Eboli: ELIZABETH I’M SORRY YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN SO NICE TO ME BUT I DID THIS HORRIBLE THING. I gave Filippo the jewelry box to make him angry but it’s all because I love Carlo. Also I called you a cheater but actually that’s me.

Elizabeth: Well I was GOING to forgive you for loving Carlo but soiling my reputation is not okay so you can leave now, be a nun, or leave the country, I don’t care. Also I want my cross back. I can’t remember giving it to you but I want it back.

Elizabeth leaves

Eboli: I’ll never see the queen again! I messed up so bad! GD it, why do I have to be so beautiful? Obviously that’s why I have problems, not because I have a precarious moral compass. Wait a second, Carlo’s going to be killed by the inquisition?? Not on my watch! I’m coming, beloved who will never love me!

Eboli runs off to rile people up

Act IV Scene II

Prison

Rodrigo: Carlo, it’s me.

Carlo: Rodrigo, thank you for coming to visit me. I’m done gone over Elizabeth. I don’t think I can be of much use right now especially seeing as I’m in jail and no one’s told me if I can leave or what. But you’ll be a great leader for Flanders.

Rodrigo: Actually you’ll be out of here soon because I told everyone that I’m the traitor not you.

Carlo: WHAT THEY’LL KILL YOU

Rodrigo: Yeah I know

Carlo: Why would you do that???

Rodrigo: Because I’ve learned after all this messiness and moral ambiguity and betrayal that above all else in the world I love you and I’d die for you so I will.

Carlo: This can’t be happening.

Rodrigo: I’m afraid it is.

Gunshot

Carlo: OH MY GOD WHO GOT SHOT

Rodrigo: Me.

Carlo: OH MY GOD

Rodrigo: Listen, your mother will meet you at the monastery tomorrow. She knows everything and she’ll help you escape to Flanders. You were born to rule them and I was born to die for you. Don’t be sad. I’m not sad. I saved you and that’s the only thing that matters to me.

Filippo and his courtiers enter

Filippo: Hey son! Great news. You’ve been exonerated. You’re free to go.

Carlo: No way in hell am I coming with you. Do you see what you’ve done???? The person I love most in this world is dead because you made him feel like he had to die for me.

Filippo: ???

Carlo: He was innocent you prick!

Filippo: Oh cruel fate! How can this be happening? Who will return this beautiful soul to me?

Carlo: I will either carry on in his name or lay beside him in the grave.

Filippo: His brave words gave me life. I can’t go on without him.

Courtiers: What are we? Chop liver?

Lerma: Sire, there’s people outside making a ruckus…

A crowd of people push their way into the prison including Eboli and Elizabeth

Chorus of people: LET OUR PRINCE GO

Eboli: See, Elizabeth, it’s all because I loved him. I spent all night riling up these peasants to come save Carlo.

Elizabeth: I can’t watch this it’s too much.

Inquisitor: SETTLE DOWN PEASANTS AND KNEEL BEFORE YOUR KING

Chorus of people: OH NO IT’S THE GRAND INQUISITOR

Filippo: All I have left now is being a king so I’m going to yell at everyone to bow before me as I stand next to the d-bag who convinced me to kill an innocent man.

Chorus of people: We’re sorry. We’ll be quiet.

Eboli: Carlo, come with me, I’ll help you escape. Then it’s off to the convent for me, but at least I did my part.

Act V Scene I

The creepy monastery again

Elizabeth: Emperor Charles knew how horrible this world is. Not sure why I’m saying that except maybe to foreshadow later events. Anyway, I’m very sad. I’m so far from home, I feel like I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. Plus I just watched a man die to save the one we both love most in this world. Fate is so cruel. Part of me just wishes I were dead already. I don’t think things could get any darker than this.

Carlo enters

Carlo: Mother, I’m here to say our final goodbye. Rodrigo is dead and I’ll never recover. I’m off to Flanders to finish his good work. I’ve finally come to peace with the fact that you’re my mother, and after all you’d make a really good mother despite the age difference (or lack thereof). I hope you live the rest of your life in peace. Maybe we’ll see each other in Heaven when all of this is over.

Elizabeth: Good-bye, dear son. I’ve resigned myself to my fate and I’m so proud of you. You will save an abandoned people and become a hero.

Filippo barges in

Filippo: This is all very touching but I’m really angry because everything is out of control. I killed the only man I’ve ever loved, my son is lost to me forever because of his foolhardy notions and traitorous actions, and I don’t think my wife will ever love me after all of this is over. Guards, finish off my son.

Inquisitor (who is always just inexplicably THERE): Kill him in the name of God!

Carlo: NO! I won’t go out like this! Though in some versions I do.

Monk dressed as Charles V (or maybe it is Charles V?????) LIFE IS BASICALLY POINTLESS WE’RE ALL SINNERS YOU MAY AS WELL JUST FACE DEATH NOW

Everyone: OMG A GHOST

Carlo: I’m not sure if I’m dead or dying or in a trance or maybe this is all just a dream. However you spin it, this is the end. I don’t see anything happening after this.

He goes with the monk into the monastery. Or gets stabbed. Depends on who’s telling the story.

THE END

[derangedsilence]

Karlheinz

Permissions

Please feel free to check any of the Sakamaki Bros.’ permission lists.  It’s pretty repetitively the same.

The only exceptions:

Shipping - Within any verse he’s participating in, it’s entirely possible for him to form romantic and/or sexual partnerships with anyone who suits his needs, fancy, etc.  Canonically had three wives, you know what you’re signing up for if you aim for this.  However, as Karlheinz is very good at controlling his partners to suit his needs, I would prefer that many of his romances not get commented on by the public unless they’re somewhere they could be witnessed or if the individual themselves talks about it.  Feel free to ask me!

Participation - Hop into getting involved in plots and storylines!  Just do the dashboard commentary thing and tag this blog so I can be sure to see it.  This much is the same.  However, for some people, plots will need to have certain secrets kept, etc. until later.  You’re still welcome to get involved, but it might be better to discuss with me and any other involved players how to participate instead of commenting on the grapevine for those particular plot aspects.

Biography / Stats

FULL NAME. Karlheinz ALIAS. Tougo Sakamaki, Reinhart AGE. Appears 35-45 || Actually significantly older at 2000+ BIRTHDAY. Unknown  GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male, he/him ORIENTATION. Heteroflexible.  He’ll play it up for whoever can be used. SPECIES. Vampire. OCCUPATION. Vampire King (of the demon world), Japanese politician, school nurse... RESIDENCE. Someplace in the demon world, but visits the Sakamaki household from time to time.

HAIR. White, reddish/purple-ish EYES. Golden BUILD. “What the fuck, man, it’s like you’re photoshopped.” HEIGHT. 6'2'' ADDITIONAL NOTES. A known shapeshifter, not even his sons are sure they’ve seen his real form.  He can easily appear as a man, a woman, etc. to suit his needs.

ZODIAC. I Hate You, Vampire Dad is a zodiac, right? ALIGNMENT. Unknown.  POSITIVE TRAITS.  intelligent, charming, goal-oriented NEGATIVE TRAITS. merciless, sees people as means to an end, lacks the ability to feel deep emotional attachment 

BIRTH PLACE. Japan NATIONALITY. Japanese PARENTS. Unknown SIBLINGS. Sibling: Richter.  Wives: Beatrix, Cordelia, Christa (also his cousin).  Sons: Shuu, Reiji, Ayato, Kanato, Laito and Subaru Sakamaki EXTENDED FAMILY. Adopted Sons: Ruki, Kou, Azusa and Yuma Mukami.  Bastards: Kino, apparently? EDUCATION. Unknown SPECIES. Vampire NOTABLE SKILLS. Being the worst dad ever, running extremely complicated and often successful experiments, is charming enough to be able to convince people who are fully aware of his nature that he really is sincere for them specifically, etc.  LANGUAGES. All of them  FAVORITE FOOD. The fruits of his labor

PUREBLOOD. Inhuman strength, increased speed, vision, hearing, and smell. Fast healing & healing saliva. TELEPORTATION. Can teleport instantaneously. FLYING. He can fly. SWORDSMANSHIP. S OTHER. In addition to the racial abilities of a pureborn vampire, he also possesses the highest level of magic in the Demon World and his power is considered by his race, as a whole, as well as his sons, as “Godlike”.  Karlheinz is capable of unleashing his magic and destroying the entire Demon World.  In addition, he can shapeshift and change his appearance as it suits him.  Oh, did we mention he also has the ability to MANIPULATE TIME and REVERSE EVENTS until he’s satisfied?   WEAKNESSES. None?   DISLIKES.  People not doing what he wants them to do in his experiments.

Appearance

*Will be updated as various ‘personae’ are implemented.

As ‘Karlheinz’, at least as most of his sons know him: A pale-haired, golden-eyed figure who dresses in extravagant capes.  His hair falls past his knees in waves and he looks absolutely ethereal.

As ‘Reinhart’, the school nurse, he is pale with blond hair wrapped into a ponytail and wears glasses.

Personality

One of the most powerful creatures in the demon world, he is viewed by the vampires (the bat clan) as a God.  Which may or may not affect his personality, but the fact is that it is universally understood that a man that’s over 2000 years old is in want of a new life goal.  Or death.

INTELLIGENT AND MANIPULATIVE: Karlheinz rarely directly engages these days, usually pulling strings in the background.  He manipulates for the better and for worse, only determined to get closer to his personal goals.  If that heals some and hurts others, so be it. 

AFFECTION: It’s well-known that demons do not experience the same emotions as humans, or at least, they do not act on nor feel them the way humans would.  Even within the “emotions” and “bonds” of demons, Karlheinz is incapable of deep affectionate sentiments and believes that all demons are similarly incapable.  He is obsessed with human emotions despite or because of his inability, glorifying them and incorporating them into his new demonkind 3.0 ideas.  His inability to feel this deep affection doesn’t save him from confusion and hesitant behavior on the rare occasion his plans and experiments are not succeeding.

It’s worth noting that he is considerably kinder when engaging with humans, as he blatantly punishes his own kind for their very nature (of which he is entirely aware).  However, humans break much more easily, so this may be a necessity for engaging those tools compared to his sons.

FAMILY: His sons, wives, etc. are all tools and test subjects with which to create a new race and “save” the Demon World.  If they become failed experiments, he has no issue disposing of them himself.  When it comes to his kids, he’s extremely neglectful but does not hesitate to order their punishment when they displease him.  He’s imprisoned Laito, sent Shuu to the North Pole, and tossed Subaru into the ocean.  Most of his abuse was directly on his wives and directly affected how they would raise their sons, however, for which most of the Sakamaki children loathe him.  

PRINCE CHARMING: Karlheinz excels at charming and manipulating others.  As with Cordelia, he promises everything to obtain them, spoils them, and then acts in whatever manner best executes his experiment.

History

Under construction.  

Quick summary: Really good contender for ‘worst dad’ and ‘worst vampire dad’ awards.

Verses

Brief summaries of the verses for Karlheinz along with potential links for those less familiar with Diabolik Lovers but still want to interact with him.  For the sake of keeping things clean, encouraging community-wide and cooperative storytelling in roleplay, and not letting things get too crazy, verses will be limited.  More may be made over time as needed.

Summaries:

| DL Anime | DL More Blood Anime | Haunted Dark Bridal | More Blood | (Coming Soon)

VERSE - HAUNTED DARK BRIDAL

Karlheinz is...somewhere.  Doing things.  Like usual.

*This verse will be typically be the default, 'main verse'. In this, it is assumed that Yui Komori is staying at the Sakamaki household with some version of the first game having taken place. If the second game is included, it's with the idea that Yui stayed with the Sakamakis.

Verse Details | Tag: #V; KARLHEINZ; HAUNTED DARK BRIDAL

VERSE - MORE BLOOD

Karlheinz is somewhere doing things, but now there’s Mukamis!

If for some reason it's absolutely necessary to differentiate between the verse above and a verse where More Blood has certainly occured, but Yui did not (at least initially) stay with the Sakamakis and instead is currently living with the Mukamis or was, until recently, still living with the Mukamis.  Rivalry abounds and attempts to procure Yui are likely.

Verse Details | Tag: #V; KARLHEINZ; MORE BLOOD

VERSE - MISC.

Posts that could take place in the Sakamaki or Mukami verses but involve duplicates (whether Yui or others) in the same scene in a manner that would be hard to pass off as typical flow for those verses.  Also includes nearly ANY time fellow characters are staying at the mansion, otherwise we’d end up with verses of 20+ additional characters hanging out in the Sakamaki villa.  

Verse Details | Tag:#V; KARLHEINZ; MISC

SITUATIONAL VERSE TAGS

#V; KARLHEINZ; UNIVERSAL

Posts that can easily be assumed to have occured in either the Sakamaki or Mukami verses, typically answering asks, etc. that aren’t directly related to events unique to their timelines.

#V; KARLHEINZ; WHAT IFS & #V; KARLHEINZ; ONESHOTS

Likely reserved for one-off threads exploring a “what if”, a romantic meme that would otherwise be inappropriate, etc.  If a meme doesn’t quite fit with one of the existing timelines, it’ll get one of these.

Trivia

Successfully cucked by Richter for years, but he kind of encouraged it to begin with so who really loses?

Can and will wear you out in the bedroom and leave you a flower to wake up to in the morning.

Gave Reiji a pocketwatch that shows how much time is left until the end of the world.  Demon world?  Human world?  Who knows.

Really just wanted to know if Shuu would actually fight back against polar bears when he sent him to the north pole.  Now he knows.

“Even when he loses, he wins” is a theme with this guy.  I hate him, too.  I know.

Tags

THREAD / WRITING TAG: #echoes in the halls; karlheinz

HEADCANONS:  #hc; dialovers; karlheinz

IMAGES: #itt // karlheinz

MUSIC:  #music; dialovers; karlheinz

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE WEEKND - BLINDING LIGHTS

[6.50]

Considering this and "Heartless," the Jukebox concludes that a heart is worth 2.6 decimal points...

Andy Hutchins: A guy whose career has been spent toggling between scuzzy, drug-driven explorations of the dark and Michael Jackson impressions of variable accuracy finally finds the midline between those bumpers while doing 120 in a Testarossa and surrenders to '80s-era cheese -- that flimsy synth line that echoes the hook melody and bridges the chorus and verse is both ridiculous and perfect. It's okay to be corny! [9]

Juana Giaimo: I recently met someone who told me he was a big fan of The Weeknd, and it made me wonder whether all music writers sometimes just start hating someone without many reasons. But personally, I'm enjoying this -- maybe because it doesn't sound like The Weeknd? The fast beat and the '80s keyboards are more dynamic than anything he's released in the last couple of years. He's playing the "I can't love, there is too much lust in me" character again, but considering the first line of "Heartless" is "never need a bitch, I'm what a bitch need," "Blinding Lights" suddenly sounds super deep. [7]

Tobi Tella: The Weeknd's pop pastiches have been better than his woozy R&B attempts lately, highlighted by how much better this is than "Heartless." This has more energy than most of his other forays into this '80s sound, and that sense of propulsion works wonders. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Everything The Weeknd does works better at high tempos than at slow. The creep of his voice, the way his lines linger and descend, fits better when it's not just another part of a languid whole. On "Blinding Lights," The Weeknd is an irritant, buzzing around the electro-pop of the beat like a moth navigating to a blocked-off flame. It's a pop song that makes the desperation of trying for a pop hit into something slightly rabid, and more compelling than an album full of downer-driven torch songs. It passes the "is this a banger in real life?" test, too -- at every party I've been to this year, "Blinding Lights" was the only unifying dancefloor hit. [8]

Scott Mildenhall: As if seeing a lost Italo classic through new eyes, The Weeknd and his sugar-sweet synths sell this set piece with verve. He forgoes the worst of his cliché for a more urgent than tense approach: showing rather than telling the drama. It's a full, almost maximalist sound delivered through minimalist means: The verse slides into the chorus, and every part has its counterpart, almost, but never quite interlocking as they brush past. [8]

Thomas Inskeep: Time-travel back to 1984 and this would have been a Laura Branigan single. In 1985 this would've been on the Breakfast Club soundtrack, because it's totally got the right tempo for the "Molly dance." (Seriously, listen to this while playing that video on mute and tell me I'm wrong.) The Weeknd adds nothing, but that's to the track's benefit because a) his personality (cf. cocaine and sexual assault) is gross, and b) anon-ish mid-'80s uptempo synthpop is kinda my jam anyway. [7]

Isabel Cole: Pretty enough, I guess, although the synths have started feeling a little video game fight scene for me. But I have listened to "Blinding Lights" at least half a dozen times in a row actively trying to attend to its particulars enough to form an opinion, and my brain simply refuses. Which is kind of its own information, you know? [4]

Brad Shoup: A few years ago, he might have forced a snow-blindness joke. But now there's just a withdrawal reference and that's it. He's making the safe moves, and so is Max Martin: even I know Drive-core isn't in fashion. [6]

Kylo Nocom: "Oh, this is Max Martin?" I asked myself while looking up the track credits, impressed by the more entertaining murk of his synthwave biting that had mixed results before. "Oh, this is Max Martin," I realized once I kept listening and found out he had no other ideas. [5]

Alfred Soto: For fuck's sake, enough. How many Swanson Frozen Fish 'n' Chip versions of 1985 Holiday Inn acts will we endure before our gall bladders rupture from nostalgia overdose? Tender-voiced narcissism needs one-finger keyboard riffs for support like Prince needs Grammy tributes. [4]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The beat is propulsive and the melody is tinged in gorgeous melancholy, but Abel's the star here. He gives his best vocal performance in ages, emoting with the calm mania of someone coming down from a high. [7]

Julian Axelrod: That whoo! before the wind tunnel synth rush chorus is the most emotional I've heard Abel Tesfaye sound since he begged to fuck Julia Fox in the bathroom in Uncut Gems. It's also the most I've liked Abel Tesfaye since he begged to fuck Julia Fox in the bathroom in Uncut Gems. [7]

Maxwell Cavaseno: "Lost in the Fire" was like chromed-out La Brean spittle getting hacked into your mouth with vengeance and spite, a weirdly underappreciated chance for Tesfaye to find his weapons again by remembering his urges for cruelty. Here he's returned to something else that's familiar from his early work: detachment and disconnect. The Vangelisian synths swooshing around his falsetto also occupied so much of Kiss Land, but there he was trying to convey a stir of emotions. "Blinding Lights" isn't just numb; there's a deliberate disaffect. You end up learning what it's like if the whole point of "Take On Me" was to feel resigned to the helplessness of things moving beyond you at a rate where focus and absorption is not only impossible, but detrimental. Is that perhaps a reductive retro-futurism? Sure, if you think you can control your future. This song doesn't sound like it expects to. [6]

Katherine St Asaph: Ten(!) years(!!!) into the Weeknd's career, "Blinding Lights" finds him doing full-on outrun, after several singles of just mostly outrun. I wonder whether Max Martin ever finds it weird that the going sound of pop -- dictated as much by him as all the Redditors leaving comments on Chromatics videos -- now sounds exactly like the stuff that was popular around the time he was doing hair metal. Imagined Shitty A&R Guy brief for this: "Can you get me a song that sounds like Giorgio Moroder, or 'Take On Me,' or honestly just that Vine with the girl grinning to 'Take On Me'"? (Writing that, one gets the creeping realization that those references are all very specifically 2015, which perhaps says something about Martin's adaptation to the times. But so many people have been so wrong, like David-Frum-predicting-Trump's-trouncing wrong, by predicting Martin's decline, so who knows?) It's a backward trajectory for Abel Tesfaye, in more ways than one. We think of artists beginning their careers with this kind of fakedeep, false-heroic faux-lovelorn bullshit, a valentine cut from polyester and trimmed in coke, and then maybe it's revealed through tabloids or journalism or scandals or basic judging of character that they don't so much have skeletons in their closet as ascended to a fame on a staircase of skeletons, many freshly torn. But with House of Balloons and its subsequent trilogy the Weeknd built his on-record brand as an admitted, unapologetic scumbag, whose songs were filled with often-drugged women, used When the public loved the scumbaggery enough to boost him from hipster-famous to famous-famous, he paired each more charming pop track with a repudiation: "Heartless"'s "lowlife for life," "The Hills"' "when I'm fucked up, that's the real me." (His mentor Drake has also tried to do this, with less focus and less convincingly.) But it increasingly seems like The Weeknd's long-term goal is for his music to culminate in sensitive facade: a Miami Vice Byron who soothes with familiarity of form, with singles so expensively vulnerable they gleam like a neuralyzer and erases memories equally well. I suspect, for much of my cohort, that's the generational dream. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[krahka]

The KleskizhAUs and their Poetic Styles

Under read more because lomg

SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous Sith Juggernaut. Excessively proud of his Sith ancestry but also ridiculously light side and somehow doesn’t see this as a problem. Loves lightsabers, loves the Empire but is a little less clear on whether he likes the Empire as an institution or the Empire as the people, and hint, it’s the people, he’ll pick the people if he had to.

Poetry: ALL CAPS HAIKUS FREE VERSE ASTRONOMY METAPHORS EXTREMELY VIOLENT REFERENCES TO ANCIENT SITH HISTORY BEAUTIFUL WORDS BEATEN STRAIGHT OUT OF HIS HEART OF DARK PASSION

DS!SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous and awful Sith Juggernaut. Believes himself morally and genetically superior to all others. Delights in toying with his inferiors, especially in breaking their hearts with his charm and facade of kindness. 

Poetry: Flowery and romantic and flattering. More or less copies of ancient Sith poems, but with the words changed a bit. They’re mostly for showing off how cultured he is and how much he loves you babe, so he doesn’t put in much effort. 

ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage. A scion of the Direnni but not on great terms with his family due to his allegiance to the Aldmeri Dominion and his marrying a Bosmer because of Spinner shenanigans. Ambassador of the Queen and definitely not one of her Eyes nosir. Got pressganged into the Buoyant Armigers after impressing Vivec by exemplifying all of hir favorite virtues and vices just by accident.

Poetry: Sonnets. Ballads. Sexually explicit but it’s so purple that you can hardly tell just how sexually explicit it really is. Mostly about his own adventures and the people he knows. Melodramatic as fuck. The stuff he wrote when Vivec specifically was taking an interest in him is his best work, since he starts getting more experimental and tones down the silliness without losing that red hot emotional core that really elevates the verse to something that so many people try and fail to replicate in the future that it’s become its own genre. 

DS!ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage what dabbles in necromancy. Believes himself the rightful king of all of High Rock with the Bretons as his rebellious subjects. Allied with Mannimarco because he promised him that when Planemeld happened, he could have his ancestral holdings all to himself, with all the people there living only to glorify him. The kinda guy you end up killing in the Daggerfall Covenant quests or in a Balfiera focused dungeon DLC. 

Poetry: Pretty similar to light side ESO!Kleskizhae, but if he thinks you didn’t appreciate his work he’ll torture you until you do. Try and critique it and he’ll just plain murder you and raise your corpse to grovel for his forgiveness and admit that you were wrong. Also his poetry is his annoying boss mechanic somehow. Didn’t read the books in his dungeon? Too bad because that’s how you defeat him. 

GW2 Klejskizae

Norn Herald. Skald, champion of Wolf, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers. A Delight unto all people of Tyria! Your new best friend who is not using your friendship with him to learn your secrets! Come and listen to him channel the spirits and the Legends next Dragon Bash!

Poetry: Actually more into prose. Veddas. Stories about heroes, exaggerated for effect. Tales that he keeps in his mind that he tells differently each time he’s asked to tell it, depending on what he thinks his audience needs to hear. The poetry tends to be more personal, often taking the form of prayers to the Spirits that are between him and them. Also will write songs, also about heroes, with calls to action for the Pact. 

TES!Specifically Klejskizae

Nord Skaald. Traveling yeller. Delighter of audiences all throughout Tamriel. Follower of the Old Ways. Probably also in the Blades. 

Poetry: SCREAMING TAVERN SONGS. Great heroes, sometimes gets kicked out of taverns in Skyrim because he’s performing songs about non-Nord heroes but how can you not be excited by EVERYONE

SWTOR!Specifically Klejskizae

Mandalorian what will scream battle poems in your ear as he faces you in glorious hand to hand combat. Has some very weird ideas of what being Mandalorian is, but they’re closer to reality than his Sith version’s ideas of being Sith. 

Poetry: You thought Sith Kleskizhae’s poetry was gory and violent? You haven’t heard Mando Klejskizae. They are ridiculous. Everything ends with lovers embracing for the last time as they die in battle and their death is described in excruciating detail.

FFXIV Kleskizhae

Ishgardian adventurer. Dragoony Bard. Got kicked out for being way too scandalous for the theocracy and for talking too much about how he thought that maybe we should just smooch the Dragons? 

Poetry: The poetry isn’t why he’s not liked back in Ishgard, though that poetry was a means to transmit his unpopular and scandalous ideas and activities. The poetry specifically is why he’s distrusted in Gridania after he met an elemental and challenged it to a rap battle and it went very poorly. (Kleskizhae won and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise or that that’s not the point and there is no winning because he definitely won)

West Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. Sort of into the whole BoS thing of keeping dangerous tech out of people’s hands but also he’s into protecting people in any way he can, since they must protect those who will inherit the past, yes? That is what we’re doing, right? Right?

Poetry: He found a book of poems about Arthurian legends and they changed his life, as did Grognak the Barbarian which he’s sure is in the same canon. He’s also read a bunch of Shakespeare and only sort of understands it. So yeah, sonnets that are Shakespeare ripoffs. Casting modern topics into medieval terms. Sometimes it’ll get weird and his BoS worldview will come in and make them anachronistic but it’s unintentional because he just wants to write like the knights of yore. 

East Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Enclave soldier, later deserter once he sees that oh shit killing everyone wasn’t supposed to be what they were going to do! He wasn’t listening to the quiet part! Ends up aiding synths because it pisses off the BoS and also saves lives. Still believes in America but it’s one that maybe never existed. 

Poetry: The Enclave did preserve a lot of good American literature in their databanks, though they’re kinda sketchy about distributing it to their soldiers since even before 2077 they realized that a lot of the American canon contains like, anti-war, anti-corporate ideas and they couldn’t have that in their new society. He read Leaves of Grass once and it blew his mind. He might just surrender to the Brotherhood if they let him have access to their books, because he needs those. But also he might not because they would probably kill him and he’s also spending his post-Raven Rock time helping synths out of the Institute and that’s something they’d kill him for. And probably also kill a lot of other people if they realized that the Railroad had ex-Enclave in there. And the Institute doesn’t care for the humanities, which is why they had to create machines to teach them how to be human and then proceed to do such terrible things to the humans they’ve created; because they are less machine than they are and they resent them for it. 

Modern Vlogger Klaus K. Zheng

Relationship advice vlogger, specifically as a counter-voice to all those shitty misogynist PUAs that are targeting lonely straight men. Also here for the lonely women and the lonely queers since he’s a queer man himself. 

Poetry: He’s got a Master’s in Poetry and he feels it was time well spent, even if he didn’t care as much for academia as he did for the writing and the reading. One of the rewards for donating to his Patreon at a higher tier is a short poem written just for you about whatever subject you wish. (Assuming that it’s not extremely objectionable. He’ll gladly write poems about all sorts of sex acts, but he won’t write one about the virtues of white power.)

HZD Kleskizhae

Carja Warrior. Participated in the Red Raids because that was what the will of the Sun was but he couldn’t take the violence and the genocide and ended up joining with Sun-Prince Avad to overthrow the murderous king literally as soon as he could. Has been on a tour of goodwill ever since. 

Poetry: Overuses the words “glinting”, “scintillating”, “resplendent”, “radiant”, “brilliant” and other words that mean A LOT OF LIGHT because he’s really into writing ridiculous songs about the Sun. A lot more personal and emotional than a lot of Carja poetry, since it’s more about love than about praising the Sun or the King. It’s a new dawn, and what the world needs is love’s shining rays to heal her wounds. With the help of some Oseram who wanted to promote the newly invented phonograph, manages to become the first real pop star after the apocalypse.

DA Kleskizhae

Tevinter Battlemage. Was sent off to the front lines against the Qunari to keep from embarrassing his family and his master. Accidentally ended up embarrassing them anyway. 

Poetry: So he’s really into bringing up the Old Gods in his poems. He doesn’t worship them, he’s a good Andrastian, but you know how in the Renaissance everyone was a huge Greeceaboo? Yeah, it’s like that. 

WtA Klaus K. Zheng

Fianna Galliard. He’s a werewolf poet who sings ballads of his pack’s glorious battles and lifts their spirits in the name of Gaia and Stag!

Poetry: He’s got a soft spot for dirty limericks. All of the Kleskizhaes will make improv poems upon request when they’re drunk enough but Fianna!Klaus is the master of the drunken on-the-spot poem. Like they get way better when he’s drunk and they’re improvised, as opposed to the usual thing where they’re charmingly bad.

VtM Klaus K. Zheng

Toreador. Got the vampire bug some time in the Victorian era, I dunno if he was actually British or what.

Poetry: Lord Byron himself once called his poems “a bit maudlin.” His sire was certainly fond of his work, but if he had more time in his peak living creative years he would have probably been a better known figure in the Romantic movement. As it is he’s fairly irrelevant and forgotten by all but a few intense scholars of the period, and even they consider him a minor figure. 

Shadowrun Klaus K. Zheng

Elven Street Samurai. Just wants to make the world a better place through the power of love and also katanas. Probably unfortunately involved with Aztechnology which is gonna end badly for him probably. 

Poetry: Machines and corporations have not yet conquered the metahuman soul, and that is why he writes. Has been banned from a couple of Runner BBSs for constantly posting about his latest runs in the form of epic poem, and that’s not what these boards are for, @GLORIOUSSAMURAI, please turn off your caps lock

Star Trek Kleskizhae

Romulan Tactical Officer. Fought in the Dominion War, joined the Romulan Republic after Romulus asplode, because they wouldn’t let him quietly desert and because he believes in the true Romulan spirit that can never be repressed!

Poetry: He’s trying to revive ancient pre-Awakening Vulcan poetic traditions whilst failing to recognize that lots of it doesn’t work in the modern Romulan language. He’s always been super into poetry but after the destruction of Romulus, he becomes obsessed with writing the perfect series of poems to describe it for the future, so that people will remember what it’s like long after everyone who remembers it is dead. He hasn’t been successful yet and it’s upsetting him but he can’t just not do it. He owes it to the dead. 

Bionicle Kleskizhae

He's a proud Skakdi warlord of Fire who is trying his best to unite his proud and noble people against the wicked deprivations of the Makuta and might also be in the Order of Mata Nui because sometimes Kleskizhae is a spy? But always he is very loud. 

Poetry: Extremely long and elaborate war chants with 40 verses that he’s trying to get his guys to chant into battle but no one else but him can remember it all and he keeps adding more verses. But also he’s written love poetry that’s gone all the way around Greg and made romance canon again! He’s done it! With the chiseling of the tablets he’s made love real!

[hazelandglasz]

Would You Dare To Say ...

Follow-up to this - the Date!!

ON AO3 - yes i’m turning these into a verse, so prompt away, it will be at the top of my list :)

Kurt tries not to be a ball of nerves as he enters the coffee shop Blaine recommended for their reunion.

It has been ten years since they last saw each other, at Sectionals, but Kurt has some mad Google-fu skills and he has found Blaine’s Facebook.

Part of him is appalled that Blaine’s profile is completely opened, but that part is quickly silenced by the rest of his brain which was delighted by that very fact because behold, pictures.

And some of these pictures are, simply put, criminal.

While Kurt has grown into his own body, figuratively and literally, his teenage crush on Blaine has been rekindled by those pictures. God only knows what the real man of flesh and blood will light up.

So there he sits, at a table in a corner but not out of sight of the door, waiting for a man he has not been able to completely forget to enter his life.

Literally.

Some noise at the door pulls Kurt out of his train of thoughts. A little old lady seems to be in trouble with her cane and umbrella and the door to hold up, but before Kurt can stand and swoop to the rescue, someone beats him to it.

Someone with carefully groomed curls and a blinding smile.

The epitome of the Disney Prince, even ten years later.

“Oh, Kurt!” Blaine says softly when he finds him. He walks carefully around the table, unwrapping his scarf in slow motion--at least that’s how it goes in Kurt’s mind--before standing next to Kurt’s table. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Kurt says, and he wants to slam his face on the table when he hears how breathless he sounds.

You are a professional, a rising star of the runway, not a swooning damsel in distress, for fuck’s sake.

Blaine sits down and says nothing, simply smiling at Kurt in that disarming way of his.

Don’t fidget, do not fidget, do not--oh fuck.

“It’s good to see you,” Kurt finally says, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Blaine scoots closer and nods. “It is. Who would have thought Fate would bring us together again?”

Kurt has to remind himself to exhale. “Fate seems to be very interested in us.”

Blaine snorts. “Can’t blame them, we are very interesting.” Blaine looks at Kurt with a crooked smile. “You are still the most interesting man I know.” He pauses, wincing as he shakes his head. “Or knew.”

Kurt feels his face flushing with the praise and he allows himself a moment to bask in it. “Working hard to stay ahead of the pack,” he replies, not reacting to Blaine’s hesitation.

“So I saw,” Blaine says, cocking his head to the side. “Let me reiterate my congratulations on your success.”

“Thank you.”

“Interesting interview you gave recently.”

Kurt opens and closes his mouth rapidly.

Oh.

Right.

There it is, the elephant in the coffee shop.

“Right,” Kurt says simply, straightening up. He goes to continue but their waiter approaches the table right then and there.

Blaine smiles at the teenage boy, glancing at Kurt, before ordering a medium drip for himself and a non-fat mocha for Kurt.

“That is, if that’s still your preferred drink?”

“It is,” Kurt says and it is very warm suddenly in this coffee shop.

The waiter leaves and Kurt can only stare at Blaine less he jumps over the table and kisses him senseless.

“You remember my coffee order?”

Blaine looks sheepish but he still smiles as he shrugs it off. “Of course. I have a very good memory,” he adds, striking Kurt with, “for the people who matter.”

Oh Lord.

This is how I die.

Not too bad a way to go.

“About that interview,” Kurt starts, puzzled when Blaine’s cheeks instantly flush, “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

“Ten years later.”

“Not like you were the easiest to read back then,” Kurt says, crossing his arms against his chest.

“And I had a big case of obliviousitis,” Blaine replies.

“And besides--what?” Kurt is fairly sure he didn’t hear that right.

“There is something I need to tell you, Kurt.”

Kurt is all ears.

“It has come to my attention that though I never put it into words, my feelings for you back then may have been ... aligned with yours, so to speak.”

Uh?

“And that I could have done something to make you see that your feelings were more than welcome, and reciprocated.”

“Wha-- But-- How?”

“Who, to tell you the truth,” Blaine says, pouting a little as he takes his phone out. “The Warblers apparently knew all about our feelings for each other.”

Okay, this is how I die. Neat.

“Feelings? For? Each other?”

Blaine nods, keeping his eyes on his hands.

“You--?”

Blaine snaps his head up and looks at Kurt, jaw squared to face the music.

“I should have told you this back when we were at Dalton, but,” Blaine scoots closer, carefully reaching for Kurt’s hand, “being your friend, having you nearby, made me stronger as a person. You constantly made me strained to be better, to do better--you moved me, Kurt, to become the best version of myself, and I should have seen that only ... only Love can move us this way.”

Blaine pauses, just long enough for Kurt to stabilize his rocking world. 

“There is a moment, Kurt, when you say to yourself, My life would not be the same without that particular person by my side. And seeing you on TV, that made me realize that this person, for me ... It’s you. If you still feel that whumph!”

Kurt doesn’t let Blaine finish his sentence, leaning over the table to kiss him.

It is sweet, as first kisses go, and cannot last more than a couple of seconds.

And yet, when he sits back in his chair, both he and Blaine are breathing heavily like they just made out.

“We should--,” Blaine chuckles, running his free hand through his hair. “We should talk some more about us.”

“I thought we were,” Kurt says in a growl before standing up and pulling Blaine to his feet to resume their kissing.

TBC?

[spectral-musette]

So I saw the new live-action Aladdin last night.

Like Beauty and the Beast (2017), this was a direct remake of the animated musical from the Disney Renaissance, songs and all, with a new script following the same storyline. BatB (2017) worked a little better for me, personally, I think, but that’s quite subjective, and I can definitely see people preferring Aladdin (2019).

This movie faces the similar trouble of BatB in that Aladdin (1992) is such a beautiful film that it would be very difficult to improve on it without just making a unique film rather than a remake (more in the style of Cinderella (2015), for instance). But the degree to which we follow the storyline of Aladdin (1992) and faithfully re-stage those songs makes direct comparisons inevitable, and, in terms of my own preference, Aladdin (1992) is usually coming out on top.

Visually speaking, it’s very colorful and appealing, but it doesn’t quite have the same distinctive palette that Aladdin (1992) does. A lot of the settings (while beautiful) seemed to be CG, so while having a sense of not occupying the real world wasn’t necessarily bad for this type of over the top fantasy film, I think I could’ve used a little more grounding.

The one thing that 2019 has over 1992 is casting people of color. I thought the cast was great, and any nitpicks I have with characterization come down to the script, not the performances, which were excellent.

I’ve marked any plot points that significantly differ from Aladdin (1992) as (SPOILERS) and with a strikethrough.

By musical number:

 Arabian Nights:

I actually quite liked this. The friend that I was in the theatre with said she was a bit thrown by the recognition of Will Smith’s voice, but it didn’t bother me. The new lyrics were good, and I loved the use of the verse from the old animated tv series (“take off and take flight/may shock and amaze” etc.).

One Jump Ahead:

This was the song I struggled the most with. The slow down of the tempo absolutely didn’t work. To me, this needs to be a fast-paced song to convey the adrenaline and momentum of the scene. By tying it to a slower, heavy beat, it felt positively plodding. The singing was certainly fine and I liked Aladdin’s voice a lot, but the tempo was killing me.

Jasmine’s New Song (Speechless):

Jasmine absolutely needed at least one more song. This one was fine; it sounded a bit pop, but I’m sure the original songs sounded pop at the time too. I think I’d have to give it another listen to see how it fits with the musical themes of the new score and with the other songs.

Friend Like Me:

Not much change in content from the original song, but different delivery, of course. If you are able to like Will Smith’s take on the Genie despite it not being the same as Robin Williams’, you’ll probably be okay with this.

Prince Ali:

Somehow felt very stagey, not in a bad way? Again, pretty similar to the original song, though I did note the “correction” from “brush up your Sunday salaam” to “Friday salaam”.

A Whole New World:

Pretty singing of a pretty song, no major lyric changes. The friend I was with complained about the slow tempo of this one, but it didn’t bother me the way that One Jump Ahead did.

Prince Ali (reprise): DIDN’T HAPPEN D: and I missed it a lot. Reprised “Speechless” instead, which was certainly dramatic, but the lyrics seemed lackluster here. A big feature of the classic Aladdin songs is that they tend to be wordy and eloquent (Howard Ashman’s touch, I guess, and no doubt Tim Rice too), so it felt a little out of place.

Surprisingly, we didn’t even have a pop cover of Speechless for the end credits. Maybe I was spoiled by three new songs that I liked in BatB (2017), but I felt like there was room for more additions in this film.

By major character:

Aladdin: Mena Massoud was excellent, loved the boy. Adorable as heck (the eyes and the smile), and very charming. His singing was good, though I felt like he could’ve used a little more of a chance to impress. The physicality of the role was amazing, both in his parkour scenes in Agrabah, and with the (SPOILERS) dance number in which the Genie is controlling Aladdin’s movements. The performance of doing complex dance steps while selling that he wasn’t in control of his own body was superbly done.

The thing I missed most about the animated version of the character was that this Aladdin didn’t quite seem to be quite the quick-thinking trickster that Animated Aladdin is. There’s an element there, but it didn’t come across as strongly to me. Animated Aladdin takes to the role of Prince Ali pretty handily, and his missteps are when he overacts it, being too much like how he thinks a prince should be. In contrast, New Aladdin is pretty paralyzed by nerves, which was charming in its way, just different. There’s also a change that we see New Aladdin stealing valuables to make a living, (though clearly not a great one) as a pickpocket, compared to Animated Aladdin who we only ever see steal food for himself and others (despite his klepto monkey). The dynamic with Genie is different too, less openly affectionate, but that’s also a factor of Genie’s change in characterization. I think it also is factor in inter-character dynamics that Animated Aladdin skews a bit younger, still a teenager, while New Aladdin is more grown up, a young man.

Abu: Abu’s CG face was a little uncanny valley to me. I think I would’ve preferred to see something more like the performance of Jack the Monkey in the PotC films, even if it wouldn’t have been quite as expressive and human-like as animated Abu. However, I do get that working with animals is pretty tough, and I see why the choices were made.

The Genie: Will Smith was doing his thing, and I didn’t really expect anything else. I warmed pretty well to his take on the character. He absolutely doesn’t do the quick-quippy motor-mouthed slapstick style of Robin Williams’ Genie, and it’s probably better that way. His performances of the iconic songs were solid, I think, striking a balance of nostalgia and novelty. How an individual viewer might want that balance to lean is going to vary, though.

I thought the film might’ve undersold the Genie’s longing to be free of the lamp. This was especially noticeable in the scene where Aladdin tells him that he can’t use his third wish to free him. Original Genie reacts with hurt and betrayal, New Genie redirects the conversation to be about Aladdin continuing to lie to Jasmine about his identity, buying his own con, as it were. Part of it is that New Genie is a little more emotionally reserved, plays things a bit closer to the (absent) vest. I think the case could’ve been made that Genie never really expected Aladdin to follow through on that promise, but as it was, it just didn’t quite ring true.

(SPOILERS)

I did really like the storytelling framing of the beginning of the film, but I thought it was underused! It would have been charming to Princess Bride the whole narrative, with the kids interjecting occasionally, and seeing the story through their eyes with their father playing the role of the Genie. Let the audience buy the storytelling device, and at the end when the kids are expressing their incredulity that such a story could be true, the reveal to the audience that their mother is the princess’s handmaiden would’ve been enough to leave the ambiguity – is the Mariner really truly the Genie, or is it just a story? I think that could’ve been lovely.

Princess Jasmine: Naomi Scott is beautiful, has a lovely voice, and gave a charming performance. I do wish they had cast someone who looks a little more like Animated Jasmine, but I don’t dislike New Jasmine. Giving Jasmine a strong motivation to become a leader, be her father’s successor, and make a positive difference in the lives of the people in her city was nice.

Jafar: While still menacing, Jafar lost some of the gleeful mustache twirling evil of Animated Jafar. I missed that high, cruel laughter and the disdainful aristocratic bearing. I do understand avoiding some of the iconic lines, but unfortunately the replacements weren’t… as good. New Jafar had interesting aspects, but it seemed like some of his story arc might’ve gotten left on the cutting room floor. It really seemed at first that we were implying that Jafar had actually murdered Jasmine’s late mother, but the movie just never picked up that thread. It wasn’t a bad performance, just a different character.

Iago: Iago seemed sort of in limbo between being a true magicians familiar, a fully realized character as in the animated film, and just being a parrot. I think going entirely in either direction would’ve been an improvement over what we got (mostly parrot behavior with occasional phrases that seemed to show independent thought). I think Jafar suffered a bit from this reduction of Iago’s role too– is it harder to have a dark comedy double act with an actual realistic parrot? (Parrot owners probably disagree)

Dahlia: An original character, and an interesting addition: Jasmine’s handmaiden (allowing Jasmine to pull some Padme-style who-is-the-real-princess shenanigans early in the film). She was charming, sweetly awkward at times, and (SPOILERS) though the b-plot romance between her and the Genie wasn’t quite pulled off with the panache it could’ve been (it’s no Lumiere/Plumette, okay?), it was cute and I liked it okay. Interestingly, her features were probably a closer match to animated Princess Jasmine.

Carpet: Probably the most faithful to the characterization in (1992). I have always adored Carpet, and I thought the gestures and movements of the CG version nicely captured the spirit of the original, though I think with comparatively less screentime? I genuinely reacted with anxiety every time Carpet was in danger even though I obviously knew everything was going to be all right in the end. #I can’t believe it, I’m losing (my heart) to a rug

There were definitely moments that I felt like a sequel was being set up, which is an interesting choice considering how notoriously bad The Return of Jafar is. That said, I do think you could absolutely pull some story elements from that hot mess and Aladdin and The King of Thieves (which is charming in its way but still direct to video quality) and actually make a film that would be able to flesh out this new version of the story and blossom outside the shadow of the original animated film. I’m not sure that’s going to actually happen, but it would be interesting to see.