#I have seen first hand what can happen when a trans kids parents find out and ladies gentleman and all in-between

[wuhoh]

Y'all hear about those anti-trans laws they have in South Carolina?

Here's the thing: they are not good

[truly-morgan]

[Transmasc Mob and supportive Reigen]

Reigen + Mob | Mob Psycho 100 18-10-2022

I've been having brain worms for the past few hours now:

Young trans dude Mob whose first person he ever told was his shisho. And how much Reigen is there for him.

Of course, Reigen reacts positively and is supportive, but he doesn't know what else to say, especially with how Mob seems to be waiting for a little more. That night he does a lot of research and the next day when Mob comes to the office he can have a better talk with him.

Reigen who's the one helping Mob cut his hair even shorter than they already were, to a length that the boy prefers. "If your parents ask, just say something got stuck in it and needed to be cut" he suggested.

Reigen who's ready to take Mob shopping for masculine outfits that make him feel more comfortable any time he needs new clothes. He can even slip one of two fashion tips here and there.

Reigen who's the one to get Mob's first binder, gifting it to him and seeing just how much more confident it seems to make him (and he's ready to buy another one when Mob outgrow this one eventually).

Reigen who's by Mob's side when he decides to come out to Ritsu. He does it at the office, feeling safe in the familiar environment and with Reigen near them. He's not sitting with them, leaving room for the brothers, but he being within eyesight reassures Mob.

Of course, everything goes perfectly fine (just like Reigen assured him it would be) and Ritsu is also ready to support him, especially at home.

Reigen who's the one to encourage Mob to switch to the school pant uniform, seeing that it would likely make him more comfortable. Plus, Salt Middle School doesn't have a rule that certain people need to wear certain clothes.

Mob is already discreet enough so not many people notice it. Many (and slowly most) starts referring to him by his preferred pronouns, for most because he's seen a small guy who just didn't hit puberty. Maybe some don't even remember what he looked like before.

Reigen who's ready to throw hands if anyone dares disrespect Mob and purposefully misgender him. Mob may be a bit afraid to tell people off, in case something might happen, but Reigen doesn't mind taking care of these people.

Reigen who's really glad to hear that the body improvement club members all seem also very supportive once they realised Mob was trans, helping find a solution for when he exercises. "Goda-senpai said it could be dangerous doing it in my binder" Mob had told him, "So they instead tried to find a solution for me to be able to train with them without it but still be comfortable".

The older man was more than happy to hear they did so, he did read online it was bad doing exercise in it.

Reigen who's ready to be there if needed when, once a bit older and feels safe to do so, comes out to his parents. Patiently waiting in a park near Mob's house, phone in hand in case Mob calls him. (he never met the kid's parents before & now is not the time. plus Ritsu is there) He smiles when he receives a message, telling him everything went smoothly and his parents are also supportive.

Reigen who's ready to go with Mob when he seeks hrt and/or surgeries.

I just think Reigen would be there for Mob throughout everything, seeing him grow more and more confident in many ways. He'd be that person who knew barely anything about trans stuff in general to try to know as much as he can to help Mob.

Original

[dandansposts]

trans did vergil wrt nero below cut baybey!!!!!!!

tl;dr vergil knows he has a kid but hasnt seen that kid since he was a newborn by dmc5. v feels like theyre more entitled to being nero's parent than anyone else in the system for reasons

let us get some basics out of the way. vergil is trans, he's asexual, and he has DID according to me. i also think he's autistic. also according to me, eva was a witch and while she did teach both her sons how to use magic as a sort of companion activity to sparda training them in combat, vergil was the one who really took to it; dante for the most part didn't have the attention span for the kind of book learning needed to learn the ins and outs of magic. he can do some basics, has taught himself some things as he's aged, but doesn't really consider himself to be a witch. (witch being a gender neutral term here)

vergil, on the other hand, hyperfixated on it even after eva died, though from there it would have become more v's thing than anyone else's. v considers themself as well as the system as a whole to be a witch, but there's some discrepancies between alters based on opinions on eva and degree of attachment to her memory. (v's a total mama's boy (gender neutral) and i wont be argued w about it. source of strife btwn them and vergil. delicious)

i'm going off my headcanons so i will be including nelo angelo in this, as well as altered pronouns from canon, so

pronoun list:

v: they/them

vergil: he/him

griffon: he/him

shadow: she/her

nightmare: it/its

nelo angelo: he/him

nero: he/they

dante: he/him

vergil system collective pronouns: they/he

yeah im an enby nero truther as well and what of it.

basic summary of events leading up to nero's conception is this:

vergil is in his late teens. he is attempting to transition via magic though this is entirely homebrewed, entirely a spell of his/v's own making, and entirely untested

this backfires horrifically, almost killing them in the process. the ramifications of this leave them physically weak and as we all know this is unacceptable.

prior to this the plan to raise the temen ni gru is already in the works but this just spurs them on. weak, recovering slowly bc as previously stated they nearly killed themself, they head to fortuna looking for information; if you're gonna find anything on ancient demon towers and hell gates its gonna be in the dusty church basement libraries of thee sparda cult id think.

i have 2 branching theories here but the end result is pretty much the same and results in them getting pregnant and carrying baby nero to term. theory one is Unpleasant and i'm going to leave it at that but theory 2 is a sex for information type dealie. makes more sense to me for vergil to view sex as a largely transactional thing and not really have a problem with using it to get info. given that he kinda, y'know, is an orphan and i imagine hasnt had any sex ed, i'm really operating under the assumption that he doesnt really know where babies come from? or at the very least isnt fully aware that this is a risk.

demon baby proceeds to wreak havoc upon an already very weak vergil; abortion attempts are made but are unfruitful. information quest continues despite this.

to make a long story short v is the alter who's most present at nero's birth; they're the one who first lays eyes on this baby, they're the one who holds him, who cleans him, who has a horrible little panic attack wherever the fuck this happens bc what in the fuck tbh. i imagine here, vulnerable and tired and extremely weak, they see Baby and theyre like oh.... youre small and defenseless and yet you have caused me so many problems.... my baby now

power quest takes precedent, nero is abandoned in fortuna days after being born. v later claims to have been against this but at the time would have agreed that power comes first; how else are you going to protect yourself or your baby when you're a heavily traumatized half demon teen dad

raising the temen ni gru becomes a pretty much suicidal endevour from here. it's stupid and dangerous and will probably end with them dying awful and bloody but they've just experienced true weakness; it's power and therefore safety and stability or death. canon pretty much happens from here.

now. i have done a lot of world building on witches in my dmc headcanons and am SO willing to talk about it but the necessary information here is the ability to practice witchcraft is generally inherited mother to daughter (strictly in the biological sense) as it was a gift bestowed upon human priestesses by demons prior to sparda cutting the human and demon worlds off from each other. eva's family goes waaaaaay the fuck back as the original priestesses of sparda's family line. vergil and dante both inherit this ability but crucially so does nero, despite the fact that according to me he is for all intents and purposes amab. chalk this up to either nero being intersex or vergils fuckshit genetics messing with things. either way, nero inherits this ability. or if you are taking my ideas and running with it, which by all means please do, and you decide he's a trans man, that literally works lkke i dont care all that you need to know here is nero inherits the ability to preform witchcraft from vergil.

a very good friend of mine has allowed me to bounce ideas off him and has given me many ideas so should i talk about neros witchcraft at any point, a lot of the credit for the ideas goes to him.

and if he is reading this and would like me to credit him for his baller ideas he should dm me on discord but ANYWAY.

i am now going to breakdown how each alter relates to nero. i feel its worth it to note that no matter what happened in fortuna to create nero, the whole pregnancy was probably pretty traumatic and dysphoria enducing.

as i'm sure most DID havers and systems can tell you, interpersonal relationships when you are like this can get wildly complicated. you're balancing differing opinions and outlooks and gut reactions and it can be really difficult! so it follows, to me at least, that vergil & co have a very complicated relationship w/ their kid post DMC5 and just. super complicated feelings about nero In General.

vergil

now, vergil has extremely limited experience with people and a very narrow, very warped view of what family means. he also has a massively warped moral compass and tends to put self preservation above all else. this is really obvious when he doesnt have the other alters holding him back; he would have killed both dante and nero if they weren't so durable just because they got in his way. that said, it's not like he doesn't care about them. dante's his twin brother, the one thing he wants more than anything is for dante to join him and i imagine it's similar with nero.

(unfortunately nero's a little too much like his uncle to join vergil's crazy power quests but y'know.)

he absolutely would not have been a good dad to a small child but with nero grown up and not dependent upon him for anyrhing, i can see vergil really being the one who tells nero about their family, about where they come from, and just all of the history there, which like... nero's an ophan, i can see that being very important to him.

i also think the whole arm thing like... in vergils mind, thats a mercy. he didn't try to kill him, just ripped off his arm bc he Needed the yamato for self preservation reasons. like, you get in his way, vergil will kill you. he didnt kill nero, to him that is almost positively a mercy and i imagine he has significant difficulty understanding why nero might hold that against him- vergil's been torn apart and remade and just destroyed more times than he probably remembers, like... this isn't anything to him.

as for interactions with infant nero, i can see vergil having a similar Oh... My Baby initial reaction as v, but this is Vergil- he needs to be strong, and if he can't protect himself, how's he supposed to protect a baby? i think he's fully aware that the temen ni gru quest is almost certainly a suicide mission, but in his mind, he has no choice.

in summary, i think he tries. i think he is a terrible father but i think every decision he's ever made has just been him Trying in his own fucked up way. whether or not he ever has much of a relationship with nero is entirely up to nero.

v

v is really interesting to me wrt nero. i see them as viewing themself as being somehow more entitled to being nero's parent than anyone else. on top of that, v is manipulative, they're cagey, they're the first alter who actually talks to adult nero, they're the kind of person who'll tell you only what you need to know to the point where it's basically a lie of omission.

this is all self defense, but it's still something that makes them wildly unpleasant to be arnd. couple that with feeling like nero Belongs to them, they actively sabotage other alters attempts to get to know their kid (until confronted about it). the non-humans are just "familiars", vergil and nelo angelo are "dangerous", etc. they honestly probably dont even really tell nero that they're All Vergil, Technically. this is probably something nero finds out from either dante (thinking nero already knew) or griffon (just telling him bc vergil doesnt think it's relevant information and v is actively keeping that from him)

that all said, v cares very deeply about nero and about what he thinks of them. they love him Dearly, would do anything for him, and genuinely just want what's best for him, though their idea of what's best for him doesn't always match up with reality.

they'd delight in sharing their witchcraft with him, in sharing the history of that, sharing everything they know, just... Teaching him like eva did them.

as with vergil they are just doing their fucking best. they just kind of happen to be an asshole. they also just happen to be emotionally unavailable. these things make interpersonal relationships difficult. i imaginr they also make connecting with your long lost son extremely difficult as well.

griffon

as v's kinda direct protector, griffon's heavily entwined with their bullshit but that does Not mean he puts up with it. post dmc5 and post hell, griffon? he is not pulling punches. nero wants Truth, in all its gory details? he should talk to griffon.

out of all of them, griffon's the most... mentally sound, shall we say. he's generally levelheaded, he's very silly, and is the most openly affectionate aside from shadow.

he very much considers nero to be Their son, rather than His son; nero's as much his as he is any other alters, they're all nero's dad, full stop.

how he shows affection, however, is by relentlessly bullying and he Definitely takes it too far and nero Definitely does not always understand that he's joking.

what v won't admit and what griffon has given up trying to tell them is that he was just about as present during nero's birth as They were, they are Very closely tied as alters, but . well. u try telling that to a wildly unstable witch.

shadow and nightmare

to be honest, i don't have a whole hell of a lot to say about them. they love nero, they both consider him the system's kid, etc, but they don't tend to front unless there's some.kind of imminent danger be that psychological or physical.

That Said, shadow can be VERY snuggly if you catch her fronting outside Danger Time. she's extremely sweet and loving to anyone she likes, and she Likes nero, that's her BABY.

angelo

and finally we come to the one that is entirely headcanoned. i'm gonna keep this relatively brief bc im running out of steam anf patience to keep.typung this but angelo's intial gut reaction to nero is about the same as it is to dante, which is just . sheer, gut wrenching terror followed by the worlds most aggressive fight response. consequently i Do think he's gutted nero once or twice.

as he begins to recover, begins to get out of the mundus brainwashing and starts to really just. be a person, if nero is willing to let him in he is the most fatherly. he's gentle but firm, he's patient, he's the kind of person who will do little things for you just because he wants you to be happy. i also don't see him pulling a v; he's very honest, very humble, and *very* willing to apologize and admit to wrongdoing- for fuckssake, he gutted his son, who he really does want a relationship with. gotta start somewhere, u know.

i can talk more about system interpersonal relations but as a tldr v Does Not Like Angelo Whatsoever; angelo represents the single worst time in their life, and he's also just everything v isnt.

anyway. thank you all for reading if youve gotten this far. if you wanna hear about anything else i may have mentioned in passing i am ABSOLUTELY willing to babble about my dmc headcanons.

[the-storming-sea]

For prompts: Todoroki using every single Toshi-Izuku interaction to add to his "Izuku is All Might's secret love child' conspiracy board

Tfw its been like two to three days but Many Things have happened in that time. Oops

Uh, anyways–

"Dude. What. The. Fuck."

Sero, Kirishima, and Yaoyorozu stared, wide-eyed and nearly slack-jawed from the futon they currently sat at. Across from them, hanging off the wall was a large pinboard, polaroid pictures and newspapers articles with certain words and pictures circled in with bright red marker tacked onto different places, red string connecting each and every single one of those pictures together.

And in front of that pinboard stood Todoroki Shouto, one of the most powerful students at UA, son of the current Number One Hero, wide-eyed and wild-haired and probably, by definition, out of his fucking mind.

"Listen. I'm not crazy–"

"Literally everything that's happening now is providing evidence to the contrary."

"–but All Might is Midoriya's father."

"That's." Kirishima blinked, once, his brain attempting to process what his classmate was saying. "What?"

"All Might. Is. Midoriya's. Father," Todoroki said, slower, like he was trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. Or to anyone.

"Todoroki, All Might's never been in a public relationship before," Yaoyorozu replied, slower. Of all of Todoroki's eccentricities, this had to be the weirdest one yet. "Not to mention, all of All Might's speculated relationships have been with men."

"Then at least one of his partners is trans, or he's trans!"

"They don't even look the same!"

"Then Midoriya gets his looks from his mother! They have the same quirk! They practically act the same!" Todoroki threw his hands up in exasperation, frost creeping on the side of his fingers. "I'm still right!"

"Bro, you've met Midoriya's mother."

"Artificial insemination! Adoption! Again, secret love child!"

Todoroki slapped his hand on the board, slightly burning the edges of one of the newspaper clippings. "Look, see here," he said, pointing to the clipping. Kirishima tentatively walked up, squinting at the headline. "Read this."

"'Mystery Samaritans Found Cleaning Up Takoba Beach.'" Kirishima frowned. "So?"

Sero's eyes brightened. "Oh, I remember that! I used to go to the beach all the time with my family," he said. "What's that gotta do with anything?"

"Look at this photo!"

Kirishima turned his eyes towards the photo, frowning. His eyes widened in shock.

"Holy shit, is that Midoriya?"

"Huh, so it is," Yaoyorozu said. "And...is that...?"

"YES!" Todoroki exclaimed, once again slapping his hand on the pinboard and startling his friends. "All Might, as he currently looks now, and Midoriya found at Takoba beach a full year before the school year starts. That means they knew each other before the school year started!"

"You repeated yourself."

"I know I know I know but why," Todoroki pressed, taking a deep breath, "why would All Might, in his weakened state before Kamino, be seen with Midoriya unless...unless that was his secret son."

He clapped his hands together just as he was finishing his point, clearly pleased by his argument. The three stared back at him, slightly alarmed.

"Or...maybe he just met him recently and they decided to clean the beach together," Yaoyorozu said tentatively. "It could happen."

"Or, or they decided to train for Midoriya's UA Exam together by lifting appliances at the beach! Or working out around the beach a year before!" he protested. "My father used to make me train by lifting up heavy objects ten times my size and pushing my quirk before the UA exam too!"

Sero frowned. "Todo, I know good parenting is a foreign concept to you, but comparing your relationship with your dad to Midoriya and All Might maybe isn't the best of ideas."

"I'm pretty sure Iida used to train with his hero brother in a very normal way," Todoroki nearly fucking pouted. The guy was really fired up– metaphorically and a little bit literally, judging by his floor. "But, but anyway, what I'm trying to say was that All Might, trying to make sure Midoriya would be strong enough for the entrance exam, made him clean up the beach because he was helping to train his son!"

Kirishima stared at him. "Bro."

"I'm right! Not to mention, why would he be in his thinner state around Midoriya if he wasn't his son?!"

"Maybe he told him about the weakened form back then by accident?" Sero said. "Todoroki, seriously. You're looking too deep into this."

"I agree," Yaoyorozu said. She loved her friend, truly, but as good as it was for Todoroki to exhibit any other emotion besides confusion and rage, this couldn't be healthy for him.

Todoroki groaned. "Okay, okay, fine. Exhibit B!" He pointed to a picture of All Might and Midoriya walking into All Might's office. "They eat lunch together! Who does that with a teacher?!"

Kirishima hummed. "Okay, I'll give you that one," he said, looking back at the others. "You gotta admit, that is a little suspicious."

"You forget, Midoriya broke his bones a lot at the beginning of the year just by activating his quirk," Yaoyorozu said, calmly. "As the Heroics teacher, All Might would want to make sure they can find a way for Midoriya to improve his quirk use without breaking his bones, so it would make sense for All Might to meet up with Midoriya out of class."

"But why continuously?!" Todoroki pressed. "Even after Midoriya got a handle of his quirk?!"

Yaoyorozu frowned. "Well, Bakugo meets with them now. Is Bakugo All Might's son too?"

"Details, details," Todoroki said with a wave of his hand. "Bakugo's practically Midoirya's boyfriend anyways. All Might probably wants to vet him or something."

"Somehow I believe that less than your 'All Might is Midoriya's dad' theory."

"They're going to get together, just you wait," Todoroki said. "Anyways, back to business. It's not just at school too! Even now that we're in the dorms, lately All Might will eat with Midoriya, alone, just the two of them!"

He pointed to another picture of Midoriya and All Might eating meat buns on a bench, no one else in sight, lightly chatting. "See! It would make sense if All Might ate with any one of us, or if there was a bigger crowd, but it's just those two! That's a normal parenting thing, right?"

"Dude how did you even get that picture."

"Irrelevant."

Yaoyorozu ran her eyes over the full board again, wincing internally. As...off-putting as her friend's efforts were, he did have a point. All Might's actions towards Midoriya were unprecedented of a teacher, Aizawa would certainly never be caught dead with any of them. And sure, they simply could be good friends who met a little before the Takoba news article picture, friends could be of all ages after all, but with the way All Might treated Midoriya daily, it was getting more and more likely that Todoroki's theory was correct. Which had some very interesting implications and also a media shitstorm on its way if it was true.

"And," Todoroki continued, now rambling as fast as Midoriya was, "did you know that All Might visited the Midoriya's to talk about the dorm system alone?"

Kirishima's mouth dropped. "Seriously?"

Todoroki nodded, eyes wide and a small smile on his face. "Aizawa-sensei told us himself back when he asked my father if I could stay in the dorms! My father asked where All Might was and Aizawa-sensei told him that they split up right before the Midoriya's!"

Sero's eyes widened. "Okay, I will admit that that's weird."

"I know right?!" Todoroki exclaimed, out of breath and restlessly pacing the floor. "Not only that, but All Might was one of the first people Midoriya texted right after he got his hero license. And Midoriya ended up interning with a hero who All Might knows directly and worked with Nighteye during his work-study who's All Might's only sidekick! And then Midoriya was invited personally to I-Island by All Might! And–"

Knock knock.

The group froze.

"Young Todoroki? Can I speak with you?"

Fuck.

Todoroki tentatively walked over to his door, opening it just enough to find All Might standing behind it, a worried expression on his face. "Are you all alright? The kids downstairs reported a lot of yelling, and I think you may have frozen and burnt through your floor?"

Todoroki looked back at his floor, which now looked slightly more like the training room back home than it did his dorm room. "Right. I can pay for that."

"No need my boy, just make sure it doesn't happen again or I think Aizawa'll have all of our heads," All Might chuckled. He then frowned, slightly opening the door more. "What on Earth is that?"

His eyes were pointed directly behind Todoroki, to the pinboard the high schooler had been deliriously gesturing towards for the past few minutes. Kirishima, Sero, and Yaoyorozu stared at each other awkwardly, shuffling their feet.

"Um...well, y'see–"

"All Might, is Midoriya your illegitimate child?"

The air paused. Everyone turned their eyes to the teen.

All Might blinked. "I'm sorry...what?"

WHAT THE FUCK, TODOROKI?!

"Todoroki, bro, you can't just ask shit like that!" Kirishima exclaimed, who now, like the many people around him, was going through all the stages of grief. "That's not one of those things you can just ask people!"

Todoroki tilted his head. "I asked Midoriya."

"YOU ASKED MIDORIYA?!"

"I–"

The kids now directed their attention back to All Might, who had managed to shake himself out of his stupor and somehow made his way to the pinboard. "I'm not...young Todoroki, believe me when I say I'm 100% sure I'm not Midoriya's biological father," he said, rapidly glancing back and forth from the board to Todoroki. "As...creepily impressive as this is," he continued, gesturing to the entirety of the board, "I've never had a child, and besides, young Midoriya's biological father works overseas, in America."

He pointed to the slightly burnt newspaper clipping of Takoba beach, looking back at Todoroki. "Is this about the Takoba beach cleaning?"

Todoroki nodded.

"Huh." All Might turned to the clipping, a strange, soft, thoughtful look on his face. "I didn't know they did a report about it." He turned back to Todoroki. "May I keep this?"

Todoroki nodded again, even slower, and a delighted smile appeared on All Might's face. The four students watched with wide eyes as he took the newspaper clipping in one hand and the pin in between his other fingers, gently lifting the pin from where it had been embedded in the pin board, lifting the newspaper clipping from its place, and placing the pin back where he had found it. Seconds passed. All Might rubbing his thumb over the picture in the newspaper with a soft chuckle. He then gently folded it, each crease careful not to tear the newspaper apart, before placing it in the pocket of his tracksuit.

Then, as if he remembered that there were other people in the room, he turned to Todoroki. "Ah, Aizawa-kun said that you had redecorated your room yourself, yes?"

Todoroki nodded, still stunned. "Perfect! The bots will be up here in a few minutes or so to repair your floor, and then refurbish your room any way you see fit." All Might clapped his hands together, a bright smile on his face. "Just try not to do it as much, alright? And please stop stalking young Midoriya and I. I don't know how many times I can catch you in the act before telling him that one of his best friend's have been stalking us to obtain proof of our non-existant biological relationship."

"You saw me?"

"Young Todoroki, I've been the number one hero for three and a half decades."

"Oh." Todoroki frowned. "Sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again, please." All Might took a heavy sigh before finally addressing the others in the room. "Young Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, and Sero, I'll be seeing you in class tomorrow. Plus Ultra!"

"See you!"

"See you tomorrow All Might!"

All Might left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Todoroki, Kirishima, Sero, and Yaoyorozu in the room, waiting for the repair bots to arrive, silent and bewildered with what had just transpired in the past ten minutes. The four of them couldn't move, only the sound of breathing being proof that any of them were even alive. After what felt like several, long, painstaking seconds, Todoroki turned to his friends.

"Y'know, All Might worked in America for a while."

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, TODOROKI."

[tssidesfics]

TSSides Anti-Fairytale AU

I’m not coming for fairytales. They have their place, but as an aromantic person...I do not feel seen. And then I decided to re-watch Enchanted (pirated, of course, because fuck Disney). And then this idea happened. 

Patton was a child-king who married his best friend when forced to, and then she died in childbirth. He’s given Roman everything he could, but he’s lived his life dictated by the advisors who’ve used him as a puppet king his whole rule. He’s miserable because he doesn’t like how the system functions but he thinks he’s chained to tradition.

Roman copes with his complicated relationship with his father by questing and almost dying, like, every other week. Anxious attachment for days. Boy keeps trying very hard to find a princess and can’t seem to figure out why nothing will stick. To which Patton goes “oh. He got it from me. Oops.”

All I know is Remus is aromantic and aplatonic and exactly as chaotic as he should be.

Roman’s birthday. Ball. The classic. He greets all the noble families and he’s seen those losers a bunch before, but this time, he meets a new “girl” with a family he usually hates who intrigues him. He is not a girl and I will not be misgendering him because ew, but, gist: Virgil, transphobic rich parents forcing him to conform to gender roles, absolutely miserable, in Peak Bitch (gender-neutral) form. Roman mistakenly believes he’s cured and talks Virgil up a lot. Convinces himself he’s fallen madly in love.

Problem is, he tells Patton, who’s shocked he found a “girl” but absolutely is on-board, and then goes to the family to ask for Virgil’s hand and there’s no Virgil.

Thus begins the Mulan ripoff but openly trans where Virgil poses as a boy servant at the castle because his parents can’t get into the castle willy-nilly and it’s the safest place to be. Absolutely loathes Roman’s very existence because that dumb bitch flirted with him while he was a girl and therefore VIrgil thinks he is The WorstTM. Then Roman catches him grouching about and decides to solve this by teaching him sword-play, mostly to give him the excuse to beat on a dummy with a sword-shaped stick. 

Meanwhile Roman is just le sigh I did it again. I connected more with a boy than a girl. Why did she have to run away? Now I’m doomed to be weird.

Well then assassins break into the castle and Ever-Paranoid Virgil immediately susses them out as bad news and uses the remnants of the ball to absolutely wreck them when they try to kill Roman and his father while they’re taking a rare opportunity to chat and bond. Patton decides he is Adopting This Child, fuck you, advisors, he’s as thin as a stick, and Virgil now gets to eat with the royal family. 

It’s the first time Patton has ever actually told his advisors to go fuck themselves. It’s the first step toward a positive turnaround and it happened because Patton’s dad instincts took over and nothing in the world is more valid than that, fight me.

Enter genderqueer icon morally neutral witch, Janus, all pronouns, who’s trying to topple the monarchy to enact lasting change and didn’t want to dirty her hands right away, but honestly people are so unreliable. So he gets onto Patton’s crew as a handmaiden and excuse you who gave the king permission to be actually endearing?

Roman feels slightly weird because Patton’s calling Virgil “kiddo” and he’s not calling him his son but he also treats him very similarly as he does to Roman and Remus, which isn’t great but is significantly better than it could be, but Roman’s got a crush. 

Then Janus finds out Virgil’s trans and reveals this. Virgil thinks he’s about to get blackmailed into murdering the only people who have ever cared about him and then Janus just rolls their eyes like “excuse you I’m evil not psychopathic. I can give you a potion to make your body reflect your mind. You in?”

“Great, so my only cure to stop feeling like frozen trash reheated in a forest fire is to accept the highly dangerous bribe of a definitely evil witch! Thanks! I hate it!”

Yes Virgil memes even in a fantasy world where Tumblr doesn’t exist.

Also Virgil and Roman are bonding. A lot. They’re getting very close and Virgil even lets slip that he loves Roman and then tries to fling himself out a window. Roman gets touched, stops him, and tries to kiss him, but Virgil leans away. Roman expresses confusion.

“I...I love you, but I don’t want to kiss you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. But I’ve...never wanted to kiss anyone. For any reason.”

“But...you still love me?”

“I do. I’m sorry.”

Roman...doesn’t feel as rejected as he thinks he maybe should? Honestly, it’s not totally a relief, but it’s just kinda...neutral. It’s not even a disappointment. 

Well, Janus is not evil and actually wants to run a kingdom (instating a committee mixed of educated rich fucks and working class receiving education) a whole lot more than Patton, who thinks she’s just...kinda awesome and very misunderstood. There’s a lot of hissing and grumbling that they’re not misunderstood, they’re evil, they don’t even have a tragic backstory, they just kill people to enact the change they want to see, just because they got ditched in a forest as a baby and was raised by a magic snake means nothing. The snake was a very loving and supportive parent.

Roman talks to Patton and Patton is like “fuck marriage rules. Fuck heteronormativity. Fuck my advisors. My kingdom is a haven for the gays. All the gays. Of every color. Come here and be merry and queer.”

Virgil’s just like “yo no reason but in this new world where it’s okay to love whatever gender is it maybe cool to be a boy when the world says you’re a girl?”

Janus draws a knife and glares at Patton and Patton’s just like “even if my partner wasn’t threatening to kill me I’d say it was fine why?”

“No reason.”

“Virgil.”

“What?”

“Is there something you want to share?”

“No.”

“Is there something you need to share?”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re being defensive again, Storm Grouch.”

Virgil sticks his tongue out. “Fine. People used to think I was a girl and I have a stupid body. Happy?”

And Patton learns from Janus the fine art of Validating The Fuck Out Of Gender.

The advisors stage a coop and lock Janus in an anti-magic cage, and then at the same time Virgil’s biological nightmares track him down and steal a spelled green apple from Janus’ shop they give Virgil. You know the drill. Deep sleep like death, yadda yadda.

Well, they immediately claim the body making a big dramatic deal about how they have to bury “her” and they’ll take “her” home to see her off and it’s so tragic, just as they were reunited, when the reality is they have the antidote back home, they’re just looking for control over his life again.

Except Roman goes off. “He is staying here where he--where he will be buried under the name Virgil dressed properly and if you came anywhere near his body I’ll kill you myself.”

Guess what constitutes a totally platonic, non-kiss related act of queerplatonic true love, bitch? Fighting your transphobic partner’s parents over their dead body.

Kingdom’s retaken, sweeping reform while Patton retires to be a stay at home dad to fix his relationship with his kids. Virgil gets formerly adopted. The stepparent is actually a morally neutral genderqueer witch who runs the kingdom fairly and justly, the central love story is trans and aromantic, and my queer ass is something resembling happy.

Logan is probably one of the advisors and the only one with sense who probably starts knocking off his coworkers after the coop because they’re all deeply, deeply stupid. Remus probably spends half the story making friends with a troll he brings in to save the day in the third act.

[jj-babebank]

Camp Willowdale / JJ Maybank AU / PART 8

Synopsis: Camp Willowdale is buzzing with new campers. It’s Caroline Windsor’s first year as a camp counsellor after attending the camp as a camper for ten years. Little does she know that this year Willowdale Lake is going to be a little different from what she is used to it being…

Warnings: future chapters may include curse words, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activities, mentions of death.

Pairings: JJ Maybank x fem OC Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4; Part 5 ; Part 6 ; Part 7

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 8 –

49 days of summer camp left

Caroline sat in her bed, hugging her knees against her chest. Her and JJ had the afternoon off and despite his attempts to lure her into hanging out, and her infatuation with the boy, she’d turned him down, wanting to spend a few hours alone with herself to compose her thoughts. It had been exactly two weeks since the night Madison disappeared. No one had bothered to mess with the campers since then, the bonfire area hadn’t been touched and no dead animals were found in anyone’s suitcase. To the rest of the camp, this seemed like victory; to Caroline – it seemed like the calm before the storm.

During their first day at Camp Willowdale, all of the counselors had been given a Willowdale-branded set of items they’d have to use during their stay. It came with the obvious STAFF t-shirts, sweaters and hats, but it also consisted of other things – such as the thermoses Caroline and JJ were still using to sneak whiskey into their daily routines, and notebooks in which they were advised to plan out their group’s daily schedules. Caroline however had been using her notebook for other purposes. She’d become so obsessed with Madison’s case, that every little thing that happened on camp grounds and seemed even a little out of the ordinary, immediately became a clue to her, which she’d hastily scribble down in her notebook. It had only been two weeks since the disappearance of Madison Hague and Caroline had already filled about a quarter of the pages of her hefty notebook with potential clues and leads. She kept rereading her notes, trying to think of something – anything – that they could do to help them solve the mystery, however nothing was coming to her. Ever since the dress incident, Caroline and her friends hadn’t found anything else that could relate to Madison, though Caroline was glad that none of them had given up on their mission.

Caroline was so deep in her own thoughts, she nearly jumped at the sound of a sudden knock on the door. She quickly closed her notebook and tucked it under her mattress and went to open the door, revealing a panting JJ leaning on the doorframe.

“Hey, C,” he breathed.

“JJ, what’re you doing here? I told you I -”

JJ cut her off by pushing past her and walking into her cabin, “Yeah, yeah, you wanna be alone, I know,” he sat on her bed, taking his snapback off, “but I was thinking… you’ve been so busy with the kids and with the whole Madison thing, and believe me – I really appreciate you for being like that, but -”

Caroline crossed her arms, “Where are you going with this?”

JJ sighed, “You’ve just totally forgotten how to have fun, C,” he said, “The primary reason that we all came here was to have fun and look at you – you barely eat, or sleep, or do anything other than your counselor duties and this whole Madison investigation thing…” JJ sighed again, looking at the hat in his lap and playing with its adjustable strap, “All I’m saying, C, is what if Madison really did go home and you’ve just wasted all this energy on nothing…Thing is,” JJ looked up into her eyes, “I miss you, the old you, and I know that that you’s still somewhere in there, it’s just this whole Madison thing blocking it.” he placed the hat back on his head and stood up, walking towards Caroline, “Hang out with me now,” he said, stopping directly in front of her and lifting her chin up so that she was facing him, “And I promise we’ll think about Madison later,”

Caroline couldn’t really process what was going on. JJ was touching her and standing in such an intimate distance from her, that she could basically feel his breath on her face. For a second she forgot all about Madison, and the dead owl, and the bonfire area. All she could think about was JJ Maybank, who had just told her that he misses her and wants to “hang out with her”. Caroline stood there, lost in thought. What if he was right? What if Madison really did go home and that dress never even belonged to her? What if it was Jenna Kinley’s all along and Sarah had just gotten the perfume wrong? What if JJ really did miss her because he liked her as more than a friend? No, no, that couldn’t be it. But what if –

“Um, Carrie?” JJ’s voice suddenly broke her out of her trans, “So d’you wanna do something together or -”

“Yes!” she said, a little too excitedly for her own taste, of course I’d like to hang out with you, JJ, she thought, “What do you want to do?”

JJ’s face immediately lit up at her words, “Well I was thinking perhaps a picnic?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, “Don’t picnics require food? We don’t have access to anything unless it’s mealtime,”

“Yeah, but we do have whiskey,” JJ winked with a mischievous look on his face, walking towards the storage room of the girls’ cabin where they still had a few bottles of alcohol left.

Caroline rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless – this was going to finally be her first date with JJ Maybank. Well, sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting a beautiful orange reflection onto the peaceful water of lake Willowdale. Caroline and JJ had taken a seat on the lakefront, drinking their whiskeys and admiring the sunset, reminiscing the days when they were kids again.

“D’you remember that one summer when Rafe Cameron got food poisoning and ended up barfing on stage at the Will-all-hail banquet?” JJ laughed at the memory.

Caroline frowned, thinking about it, “Beats having Rafe Cameron as your counselor by a mile,”

JJ turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, “Rafe was a counselor here?” his tone almost sounding amused.

Caroline nodded, “Oh yeah,” she smirked, “For the same reason as Sarah – too stuck up for his own good so their dad shipped him over here as a punishment,”

JJ snorted, “I mean that family is pretty far up their own ass,”

“They have a sister too,” said Caroline, “I haven’t seen her around here though, so we at least know that one of them must be doing something right,”

The pair laughed at the thought of their spoiled friend and her older brother.

“Man, I missed this place,” said JJ suddenly, leaning back on his elbows.

His tone sounded different as he looked at the horizon and Caroline could sense that something wasn’t right, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask -”

“Parents got divorced,” JJ quickly explained, “And unfortunately for me, my dad got custody,” he sighed, “Somehow my mom was deemed ‘incapable’ of taking care of me because she couldn’t financially afford to. Load of bullshit, if you ask me,”

“But my mom -”

“Yeah, they still talk,” said JJ, knowing what Caroline was about to say, “I still see my mom every other weekend, you know, it’s not the end of the world,” he smiled at Caroline reassuringly, “It’s just living with my old man meant working for my cut at home, which also meant summer jobs back in Kildare,”

“So that’s where you’ve been all this time…” whispered Caroline, mostly to herself, however JJ heard her.

“Yeah,” he responded, “Now that I’m old enough to be a counselor here and actually get paid for coming to summer camp I thought why not? Besides, your mom did tip mine off that you’d be here too,” he winked at Caroline, making her blush.

“Yeah, about that,” she said apologetically, “My mom likes to yap a lot, I wouldn’t take most of what she says seriously,”

“Well you are here, aren’t you?” said JJ, his face slightly leaning in towards Caroline’s.

Holy shit, this was it. Caroline was about to kiss JJ Maybank after a decade of fawning over him. Shit, shit, shit, she hadn’t really kissed anyone since that idiot from her class planted one on her at prom. What if she was a bad kisser? What if she’d forgotten how to kiss? As JJ closed his eyes and leaned even closer, Caroline decided to push the doubtful thoughts to the side as she closed her eyes too, leaning in towards him too. Their faces were inches apart, hearts pounding in their chests and, just as their lips were finally about to meet –

“There you are!” Sarah’s loud voice came from the hill behind them, startling them and making them both jump and immediately pull apart and straighten up. John B stumbled after her.

Caroline coughed awkwardly, trying to cover up the shame and embarrassment she was currently feeling, “Sarah… what are you doing here?”

With a knowing smirk on her face, Sarah put both hands on her hips, “Nothing,” she sing-sang, obviously finding the whole situation hilarious, “I’m sure it can wait,” she winked down at Caroline, while John B was waving around frantically behind Sarah at JJ, mouthing the words “DID YOU BONE?!” quite obviously.

JJ groaned as he stood up, helping Caroline up as well, “We’re all yours now, Sarah, what’s up?”

“Well me and John B had the afternoon free as well, so we went out front to his van and you’ll never believe what was taped to the door,”

“Wait, why’d you go to his van in the first place?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “That’s beside the point now, Carrie, look” she shoved a piece of paper in the girl’s hands.

As Caroline unfolded the paper, the group gathered around her to look at what was written on it - 41° 56’ 54.3732” N, 87° 39’ 19.2024” W.

“I have no idea what that means though,” confessed Sarah.

“Looks like coordinates to me,” said JJ.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” gasped John B, “But Sarah didn’t want to believe me,”

“Does anyone know how to read geographical coordinates?” JJ looked at his friends.

“Do I look like Google Maps to you?” asked Sarah.

“You’re right,” Caroline said as an idea sparked in her mind, “We can’t read coordinates, but I know someone who can,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“I’m just saying, Miss P,” JJ spoke confidently once the group was inside Pricilla’s office, “Now’s about the best time to host the traditional yearly treasure hunt,”

Pricilla squinted up at JJ through her pink glasses from where she was sat at her desk, “Keep talking, Maybank,”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that it’s already been two weeks and none of these kids can read a compass yet?” continued JJ, earning a slow nod from the camp director, “Think about it, Miss P – Willowdale ain’t Willowdale without its treasure hunt,”

As JJ spoke, the rest of the group were silently praying behind him that his charismatic way with manipulating will work on Pricilla, giving them an excuse to ask her to decipher the mysterious coordinates they had gotten their hands onto. The old lady leaned back in her old leather chair and looked at JJ skeptically for a while, adding to the already built up tension.

“Give me a few days to map out the course and set up the coordinates,” she finally spoke, causing everyone in the group to silently cheer behind JJ. As they thanked her and turned to leave, she spoke up again, “Oh, and Maybank,” she called, everyone turning to look at her, “No funny business,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Finally some normal camp activities. Thank you for reading so far, I would greatly appreciate you letting me know what you think about the story and the characters xxx

tags: @k-k0129 ; @hayleyy-l ; @marvellover04 ; @dumbasscorn ; @thrown-off-her-rhythm

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

[arashikitten]

Monkie Kid Soulmate Au

Thank you, MKD, for helping me create this monstrosity. 

I noticed there weren’t any soulmate au’s for Monkie Kid yet so I decided to make one Myself!

In this au, there are three types of soulmate a person can have: the typical romantic soulmate, platonic soulmate (i.e. best friends, family, things of that nature), and enemy soulmates (rivals, nemesis, mortal enemies, things along that line). People can have multiple soulmates, and in fact it is very common for people to have three or more at any given point! It is also possible for someone to have only one or two types of soulmate: for example, someone who is asexual might only have platonic soulmates and/or enemy soulmates. 

As for how one identifies their soulmate, a small mark/symbol will appear on the wrist, palm, or back of the person a year before they meet their soulmate in person, at which point the mark will take on color. The placement of the marks often determines the type of bond: a mark on the palm indicates a romantic bond, on the wrist indicates a platonic bond, and on the back indicates an enemy bond (that being said, there have been instances where this rule does not apply).

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into the meat of this au!

Red Son is born with two soulmarks: A stylized, cartoon bull head, and a large, red and gold fan. They both appear on his back, and from a young age, he tries to ignore the possibility that his own parents may one day become his worst enemies. He grows up very close to DBK and Iron fan: he wants desperately to maintain a good relationship with them, and he ends up cutting off any sort of interaction with anyone else.

DBK gets sealed under the mountain, and Red’s world shatters. Both he and Iron fan grieve for a long time, and Red Son now feels even more alone. 

So, he starts attempting to free his father from his prison under the mountain.

Fast forward about 300 years, to when MK is born without a single mark. He grows up and for ten years, his palms, wrists and back remain blank.

Then, about a month after his tenth birthday, a small, grey dragon appears, wrapped around his wrist, along with a grey cartoon pig wearing a chef’s hat (Pigsy) and a small cicada (Mr. Tang). 

Six months later, MK gets kicked out of his home, living on the streets for five months until, late one night, Pigsy finds him in the alleyway next to the noodle shop (The small stylized monkey face on Pigsy’s wrist glows with color. He and Tang adopt Mk two weeks later.). 

Mei walks into the shop about a month later, while Tang is telling MK a story from Journey to the West. All three of the soul marks on her wrist light up, and she and Mk become best friends over a game of Monkey mech.

Six years later, Red Son wakes up with a grey, stylized Monkey face on his palm, and a small dragon wrapped around his left wrist. He despises them both; he begins wearing finger-less gloves, if only so that he doesn’t have to see the grinning face of the Demon who sealed his father away staring up at him every day. Besides, he doesn’t need other soul mates: Once his father is free, Red Son’s family will be whole again, and they will rule the world with an iron fist (Note that at this point, Red is in complete denial that DBK and Iron fan could be his enemies: the fact that their marks showed up on his back indicates that they will become his worst enemies, so Red has spent his entire life trying desperately to ensure that doesn’t happen.). (He still fails in the end)

Mei and Mk both wake up that same morning with a new soulmark: A small, stylized flame that appears on Mk’s palm and on Mei’s wrist. They both gush to each other about it over a bowl of noodles, Mei is excited to get a new bestie while Mk is freaking out over the fact that he may have a boyfriend/girlfriend in a years time (Note: I 100% headcanon Mk as both gay and trans: but I like to think he struggled a bit more with his sexuality. At this point, Mk is still questioning it a bit, but by the time the events of episode one roll around, he’s pretty sure of his identity. Mei is ace, Red Son is Bi, Pigsy is Pan, and Mr. Tang is gay.). Mk also gains a small peach on his right wrist, and he and Mei speculate as to why only Mk got a second mark (Way up on Flower Fruit Mountain, Sun Wukong gains a new soul mark for the first time in 400 years. This prompts him to begin looking into possibly getting a successor).

Mei, Mk, Pigsy, and Mr. Tang also get two marks on their backs: a demon head and an iron fan. Mk and Mr. Tang, upon seeing what exactly the marks are, absolutely freak out. They both firmly believe that the marks represent DBK and Princess Iron fan, and the implication that two very powerful demons might be going after them in a year’s time is more than enough to scare the two. Pigsy and Mei are a bit more skeptical, citing that DBK and Iron fan are just myths, and even if they weren’t, DBK would still be trapped under the mountain by the Monkey King’s staff. 

This only freaks the other two out more, as that carries the implication that DBK will be free to wreak havoc on the world in a year’s time. So, MK and Mr. Tang begin to delve even deeper into the lore surrounding DBK and Sun Wukong, desperately trying to prepare just in case (Sun Wukong actually happens to overhear one of these study sessions while he’s out searching for a successor, and is impressed by Mk’s knowledge of him. He decides to keep an eye on the kid, and eventually makes the choice to make him his successor.).

As the year progresses, MK gets three new enemy marks:a dark grey spider on his shoulder (It scares the hell out of MK the first time he sees it, and he smacks it multiple times before realizing that it’s not an actual spider. He then proceeds to panic even more when he realizes it’s a soulmark.), a more menacing version of Mk’s own soul mark that appears on his lower back (three guesses as to who that one belongs to), and finally, a pale grey skull right in the middle of Mk’s shoulder blades, larger than any other soulmark so far. With each new enemy mark, Mk becomes more and more nervous: Just what will happen to give him so many enemies?

Meanwhile, Red Son gains only one new mark: the same pale grey skull, right in between the fan and the bull head. This one worries Red Son the most: while he has never actually seen the white bone spirit, he’s heard several disturbing horror stories over the years, and the idea of becoming allies or gods forbid, enemies with the cruel creature makes the fire demon nervous. 

Then, we get to the pilot. Red frees his father, MK gets the staff, and the chase across the city ensues. Red returns to the lair empty handed and bruised. He heads to his room to patch up, when he notices a small flare of bright, emerald green on his wrist. Pulling off the finger-less gloves, Red Son sees that the dragon is now a bright, glowing green. The mark on his palm has also taken on a color, bright reds mixing with vibrant golds as the colored monkey mark on his palm smiles up at him. 

That’s when it clicks: The only two people he’d encountered today, aside from his mother and father, are the Noodle Boy and the mysterious person on the bike. 

Red Son furiously vows that he will never, ever side with the Noodle boy, even if it kills him, and he will remain steadfastly loyal to his mother and father (From then on, he takes extra care to hide his palms and wrists from his parents, out of the intense fear that they will cast him out if they learn of who exactly the marks represent.) (it doesn’t work).

Meanwhile, Mk is freaking the fuck out. He can wield the Monkey King’s staff, he just saw one of the most powerful demons get freed from a 300+ year prison, confirming his theory that DBK and Iron fan are the two marks on his shoulder blades (Both of which, Mk notes, gained color that day, further confirming that they relate to DBK and Iron fan.), he got chased all over town by Red Son (who Mk recognizes from the myths), and to top it all off, the flame mark on his palm turned a bright, royal blue sometime between him leaving to deliver noodles, and him getting back to the shop, and the only other person that Mk encountered during that time that even remotely fits the mark is, you guessed it, Red Son. 

Mk relays all of this to the gang, at which point Mei notices that the flame on her wrist has also turned bright blue, providing even further confirmation. Mk is very much bummed out by this, because out of all the people that could’ve been the fire on his palm, of course it had to be the demon who attempted to kill him.

Still, Mk pushes that to the side in favor of focusing on finding the Monkey King. 

The pilot continues much in the same way as in canon, with one notable exception: When Iron Fan shows up on the gang’s way to Flower Fruit mountain, she sees the small blue flame on MK’s palm. Putting two and two together, she realizes that her son is soulbound to MK, and that this bond may eventually cause Red to turn on his parents, which is why Iron Fan and DBK begin to push him away in later episodes. 

After that, things resume canon again: MK survives and gets to Flower Fruit Mountain, Wukong tells him that he chose Mk to be his successor (Which is when the peach mark on MK wrist gains color, and Mk proceeds to lose his entire shit over the fact that holy fuck, he’s soul bonded to Sun freaking Wukong. Wukong finds this both utterly hilarious and a little bit adorable.), the big fight between DBK and Mk happens, yada yada yada. The day is saved, and Mk goes home with his newfound powers.

Episode one is where we begin to see more long-term changes. By this point, both DBK and Iron fan know that their son is bound to the little thief, most likely romantically, and that their own blue flame mark is located on their backs, implying that Red Son will most likely turn against them in the near future. So, they start to distance themselves from him. 

They send Red to take control of the weather station and defeat MK, something that both of them know will end in failure. Red Son is oblivious to this (not really) and gladly takes on the task, desperate to prove himself. And t first, it seems that Red is actually successful!

...Before Mk comes back with a new grip on his powers and absolutely destroys Red Son. 

Red Son goes back to the lair, sparks still flying off of him, and on his way to his room, he overhears quiet conversation between his parents.

Curious, he quietly listens in, and finds out that not only do his parents know about the mark on his palm (How??? How did they find out???), but they are also planning on a way to get him “out of the picture”. 

Red Son absolutely panics at this revelation, and begins to spiral into waves of self-loathing and intense anxiety. Now he is desperate to remain on his parent’s good side by any means necessary, and so he buries himself in plans and research on powerful artifacts that he can steal for his father. 

While that’s going on, Mk meets the spider queen (The Spider on his shoulder becomes purple and green, and Mk spends three hours scrubbing at it in the shower that night), the whole clone thing happens, Mei gets her sword, and the calabash incident goes down (the main difference here is that when Mk hears that Red Son was also sealed away with his parents, Mk feels inexplicably upset about it: as much as he dislikes the fire demon, there’s still a small part of him that desperately wants them to be friends.). At this point, both Mk and Mei have kinda just accepted that the blue flame mark exists, and they don’t pay it too much attention, even if Mk kinda wants to know more about the hotheaded fire demon.

Then the race rolls around. At this point, Red is a nervous, paranoid wreck, his self esteem (which really wasn’t all that great to begin with) is deteriorating at a frightening speed, and he is desperate for a chance to prove to his parents that he is loyal, that he’s not worthless. 

So when he hears that the winner of this year’s great wall race will receive a peach of immortality, he rushes to apply for it. He excitedly tells Iron Fan, fervently hoping that she’ll at least listen to him, only to be crushed when she dismisses him out of hand, saying that even if the peaches could do  anything for them, it wouldn’t change all of Red Son’s failures in the past. Red Son, disheartened, still joins the race, and is absolutely furious when he sees that both Mk and Mei (When Red found out that she’s a descendant of one of the great dragons, he started calling her “Horse Girl” under the assumption that the dragon she is descended from was the dragon horse from Journey to the West) also entered. He starts arguing and bantering with them, and for just a moment, Red feels... content. Not happy, per se, but the constant anxiety and paranoia begins to lessen for a moment.

Then DBK and Iron fan show up, and Red Son goes silent. His back goes rigid, and his eyes glaze over a bit. Mei and Mk both take notice of the Fire demon’s sudden change in demeanor, and even though they still both think he’s a bit of a prick, they can’t help but be a bit concerned. 

Mk is actually about to say something to Red when Jin and Yin hijack the commentator’s box, and the race starts. 

The race goes mostly the same as in canon, with the main exeptions being that Red is far quieter and more focused, and Iron Fan’s taunts are much crueller and more demeaning.

Mei and Mk win, with Red Son getting second place. Instead of attempting to steal the peach trophy, Red Son just... watches them, looking almost broken as he watches the two celebrate. Mk, noticing the strange behavior, reaches out to ask if Red is ok (The reaction the fire demon had to his parents showing up set off all sorts of alarms in Mk’s head, because that had been exactly how he reacted back when he still lived with his parents.), only to be interrupted by DBK’s reemergence from the mountain. 

Iron fan tells Red Son that they are leaving, and Mk immediately picks up on what’s going on. He calls out to Red  just before Iron Fan’s winds whisk him away, and terrified look that the fire demon sends him confirms Mk’s suspicions.

That night, Mk comes up with a plan: He’s gonna get Red Son away from his parents, or die trying. The only other person who knows at first, is Mei: She also has Red Son’s soul mark, and while she’s not as keen on the fire demon as Mk is, she still doesn’t want him to have to deal with abusive parents.

While Mk is doing that, DBK and Iron Fan have fully leaned into the enemy role, disowning Red Son and keeping him locked away in the lair. Red just breaks down at this, and begins refusing to eat or move. All that time that he’d spent, desperately trying to maintain some sort of good relationship with his parents, for nothing. The only people that he could count on turned against him, and that loneliness hits him like a freight train. 

The only thing that brings him comfort, oddly enough, are the soul marks on his left palm and wrist: he takes to rubbing them whenever he feels particularly bad. By now, his feelings toward Mk and Mei are much closer to something positive: they both seemed concerned about him after the race, and where that might’ve pissed him off a few months earlier, now it comforts him with the knowledge that at least someone out there gives a damn. 

We get to episode 8, when Mk gets the skeleton key. Instead of Red Son being the one to steal the key, Iron fan is the one to do it, and she reveals her master plan:

She and DBK plan on releasing the White Bone Spirit from it’s prison, in order for it to possess Red Son so that both will be fully under their control.

Iron Fan gets away with the key, the White Bone Spirit possesses Red Son, and DBK and Iron Fan use him to wreck the entire city.

Mei and Mk do their best to avoid fighting Red Son: it feels so wrong every time they do clash, because they both know it’s not Red Son, they know he’s not the one in control, but it still hurts that they couldn’t get him out in time, that one of their soulmates is suffering like this. 

The final straw comes a week after the initial possession.

Mk is forced to fight a possessed Red son to protect a badly injured Pigsy. Mk begs for Red to fight back, to break free, knowing that the continued possession is taking a toll on the demon’s body. Mei joins him, insisting that Red is stronger than this, that he needs to think about the people that care about him. 

That is enough to allow Red to break through, just for a moment.

He steps back, tears streaming from his eyes as he brokenly whispers that if even his own parents can’t be bothered to care about someone as weak, as broken as he is, then who the hell would? Mei and Mk hate him, his parents disowned him, and it’s not like he really interacts with anyone else.

He is immediately taken by surprise when the two teens blurt out that even though they might’ve started out on opposite sides, that they never fully hated him. Mk in particular says that they were actually worried about Red Son after the race, that they were planning on getting him out before Iron fan stole the skeleton key, that they were still planning on helping him escape, that they really, actually care.

Red Son finally breaks free, and Mk seals the White Bone spirit away again. Mei and Mk beat the absolute crap out of DBK and Iron Fan, who end up escaping  again.

They take Red to one of the few remaining hospitals, so he can recover from his possession, and they make sure to get him some serious therapy while they’re at it. 

Red Son wakes up two days later to see Mei and Mk sitting by his hospital bed on either side of him, and they give him a warm smile when they see that he’s awake.

He cries for a bit as he realizes that it’s over. He’s free now, even if he doesn’t have anywhere to go anymore, and there are two people in the world who keep that blue flame close to their chest instead of turning their backs.

For the first time in over a year, Red doesn’t hide the marks on his wrist and palms.

After all, why should he from the ones who care for him the most?

[umbralstars]

Basically an "All you need to know" about how I personally write Byleth/All of my Byleth headcanons. This is probably not everything but it's still long enough I have to put it under the cut.

* His birthday is 26 day of Blue Sea Star Moon 1159

- I know that 20 of Horsebow is probably the canon date but I've always used this one since my first playthrough and keep it cause I find it funny

* Byleth has all kinds of memory issues

* Demi-panromantic & demisexual

*Trans masc (He/Him & They/Them)

- He remembers and has dreams of things that are from when Sothis was alive

- He sometimes has trouble recalling facts about the world he lives in (such as who is currently ruling, his teaching plans or things that he has taught before, sometimes can't recall where he is). He keeps a journal of important things that he saw, learned, needs to know etc

+ Caused by being misaligned with Sothis' soul and her consciousness trying to overtake his own

+ He doesn't lose memories outright and can recall things if given the right direction. Once a memory is solidified as more long term it's much harder for him to forget it

- Sothis' memories can cause bad flashbacks that can take him minutes to get out of

+ Jeralt and the other mercenaries look out for him when episodes happen. They often have him talk about them afterwards if he wants too (ie like Jeralt and Byleth's conversation at the beginning of the game after the dream about Seiros/meeting with Sothis)

+ He can't speak during them and gets very spacey

- Fighting and strategy is instinctual for him so memory issues in those areas are non-existent

- When his soul fuses with Sothis' his memory problems mostly cease. All the memories about his own life are permanently solidified and he can somewhat tell the difference between his memories and Sothis'. He still can be paralyzed by her memories but has a much easier time getting out of dazes

* Has a love for learning about the history and culture of Fodlan and everywhere else

- When he was little Jeralt would often tell him stories and folktales about Fodlan while they were riding across the country side. The pre-month cutscenes during White Clouds are Byleth recalling those stories

- Loves learning about the places outside of Fodlan just as much as learning about Fodlan itself

- His favorite books are about history or folklore

* At a crossroad between trusting people implicitly and keeping others at arm's length

- His life as a mercenary certainly wasn't easy, even though he doesn't resent it, so he tends towards giving others the benefit of the doubt even when he may doubt their intentions. Cautiously trusting if you will. Some people may view him as naive because he's willing to trust off the bat and he's fine with that.

- Does fall in line with mercs not really trusting nobles but he points that more towards the parents currently in power and not the kids he knows

- Goddess help you if you break his trust. Once you break his trust it's very hard to actually get it back unless you give him cause for why it was broken in the first place

* Very protective of the people he cares about

- Death or injury of people he care for has always been his biggest fear. His family has always tried to tell him it's just a fact of life, their life especially, but he would rather fight tooth and nail to keep someone alive then to just let them die

* Really good with children actually

* Takes his job as a teacher very seriously. He knows how rough Fodlan and fighting can be, so wants to impart good lessons in the hopes of making his students' lives easier. He knows that some of them have already seen horrors or have been on battlefields, so he treats each person accordingly

* Has a really bad resting bitch face so people think he's really intense/scary when first meeting him

- He has complicated feelings towards being perceived as "intense" or "terrifying" since on one hand it's very useful when he needs to be perceived that way, but on the other hand he feels like that first impression makes it hard to connect with people afterward

- He doesn't ever go out of his way to make people perceive him differently mostly because it would be a hassle and he's thinks people who really know him would understand he's not like that

* Byleth is actually very introverted and somewhat has social anxiety

- He spent almost his entire life around the same people moving from place to place so introversion aside he's not the most experienced about talking to new people

- He never stops people when they want to talk and doesn't really hate talking to people it's just that he doesn't go out of his way to do it unless he likes talking to someone or it's important

* Jeralt's mercenary company is his family and the people he's closest to until Garreg Mach. The Mercenaries are an elite group of about 13 people of various backgrounds

- All of them are basically his aunts and uncles cause they practically raised him alongside Jeralt. He does call a lot of them Aunt and Uncle as well

- One or two are also like siblings to him cause they joined with their parent or when they were younger (like 15)

- They were the only people able to get close to Byleth or get him to talk for the first week or so after Jeralt's death

- I need to expand on them more cause they're very important to me and him

* Byleth has trouble outwardly expressing emotions and understanding his own. He actually feels very deeply but just has trouble really expressing it. Very monotone and straight to the point when he speaks and only slight shifts in tone tells how he's really feeling. Actually has hyper empathy

- Grew up like this despite Jeralt and the Mercenaries' best efforts. Jeralt was always best as reading him because he acted so much like Sitri

- Caused once again by a misalignment with Sothis' soul

- After his awakening, Byleth has a better ability to express himself, and even took on some of Sothis' characteristics, but he still has trouble explaining or talking about what he's feeling

* Generally very calming to be around for most people. Won't ever force anyone to talk but will talk if you start conversation

* Has done some very questionable work as a mercenary

- He has taken on a few assassinations in the past despite Jeralt's insistence he never get his hands dirty like that. The Remire Medicine Incident is one not spoken of much within the company

- He's dealt with brigands, putting down rebellions, guarding caravans, guarding nobles, helping train the standing armies, etc everything under the sun. Will practically do anything if the pay is right

- He does have standards and expects a full rundown of the job beforehand like his father and the rest of the company though

* Loves cats and dogs

* Actually pretty religious and devout by the time of his awakening

- He wasn't completely raised without knowledge of the Church as some of the mercenaries are religious, but he was agnostic for a good portion of his life

- As he lived at Garreg Mach and learned more about the Church's teachings he grew to appreciate it more and more

- Rhea taught him a lot during his many conversations with her

- As Archbishop he does his best to learn every aspect of the Church and exemplify them best he can. Really emphasizes giving aid to those in need, leans heavily into the "Goddess" aspect of his soul, reforms many aspects whilst keeping the core of the faith

- Personally speaks to Sothis on more of an equal and friend level then true God and devotee

- Does become known as the Holy Saint and Avatar of the Goddess within the Church years after he steps down as Archbishop. Doesn't really know how to feel about it but can't say his inclusion is wrong

* Byleth doesn't have the highest opinion of Edelgard

- As I write AM/VW Byleth he was never close to Edelgard at all during his time at Garreg Mach

- He really only sees her as the person who started the whole continental war (which he despises as he very much dislikes war in its entirety) and the person he believes to at least be complicit in his father's death (do not debate with me how much Edelgard knew Kronya's plan. This is entirely how Byleth views what happened)

- He never wished for her death, but does view her as someone very misguided and only wishes she never went as far as she did

* Very terrified of sleep after waking up post-Time Skip

- Fears falling asleep and loose more parts of his life an leaving everyone behind again

- Prefers to have someone close by who can wake him or being woken up in the morning

- Got into the unhealthy habit of just working himself into exhaustion and having a very irregular sleep schedule until his friends had an intervention to talk about what was going on

[goldenchan-fx2thepeacock]

Don’t Go Running Off Into Danger, Even If I Do pt 2

So, I have no clue what a publishing schedule is. So here, have more of this dumb fic at 11 pm. FUCK SLEEP! SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2

Danny and Jazz managed to finish just in time to put everything away before their parents got home. He’d actually managed to have a ghost free night. But the peace wasn’t going to last. And this wasn’t about ghosts. He got slammed into his locker.  “Hey look, it’s Fenturd. What’s with the dumb picture of Phantom? You’ll never be on his level,” Dash said and laughter broke out. Danny groaned. At least they didn’t know he was trans. He’d be beaten twice as much if they knew. The locker door closed and locked.  “Seriously Dash? I have to get to class!” He yelled through the metal.  “Whatever Fentina. No one cares! Oh hey, it’s fresh meat!” Dash went away from Danny’s locker. Danny had found out a way to make it so he could open his locker from the inside without it being outerwardly compromised. He jumped out. It was those kids from last night.  “Leave them alone Dash. They haven’t even been here for a day yet. The rules are that newbies get a probation period,” Danny crossed his arms.  “I don’t know Fentoenail. Would you like to take their beating?” Dash mocked him. Danny sighed. He’d have to do this.  “Any day,” 

Danny regretted everything. Dash had hit him twice as hard as normal and his locker trick wasn’t working. Everything hurt. He was going to miss Lancer’s class. At least his ghost sense wasn’t going off or something. Lancer wouldn’t miss him. Suddenly, his locker opened and he tumbled out. He yelped. “Are you okay?” The girl twin said.  “No worse than what I’m used to,” Danny brushed himself off.  “You didn’t have to do that,” The boy twin told Danny. “Yeah, I kinda did. The probation period is sacred. Dash knows that,” “Probation period?” The boy said. “A rule we made up last year. If Dash really wants to break it, I take the beating instead. Fenton gets to take the beating so the new kids don’t have to,”  “That’s not fair. You should report him,” “Nah, he threw like four perfect throws last night and is exempt from punishment,”  “Football?” The boy gave Danny a knowing look.  “Danielle- I mean Daniel Fenton to the main office,” The loud speaker said. “Oh come on! At least it was probably just a misread,” Danny was fuming. The beating plus being deadnamed was getting on his nerves. “We have to head there too,” The girl said. Danny shrugged and let them follow him.

Lancer called them all in at once. “Sup Lancer. Can I help you?” Danny leaned against the wall. “Mr Fenton. You and I both know that you need to show me more respect. W-what happened to you?” Lancer looked up from his papers. “Just a certain football star. Nothing I can’t handle. He broke the probation period,” “That’s a rule between students. I have no need to enforce it,” Lancer sighed. “I have no clue why you of all people were chosen for this, but you are too be Mr and Ms Pines guide around the school,” “Jazz not good enough for you? Had to pick the ‘slacker’ Fenton?” “Daniel, mind your tone. Jazz is our top student,”  “We all know I’m destined to fail in life. Can I get their timetables?” “Yes of course. Listen Danny, both you and I know you’re capable of better grades. I don’t understand why you don’t try,” Danny wasn’t in the mood for Lancer’s pep talks.  “I’ve got more important things to worry about,” Danny grabbed the papers and stalked off with the Pines Twins on his heels.  “Why didn’t he do anything about Dash?” the boy asked. “He has no reason to. Not like I’m about to ask,” Danny handed them their timetables. He’d seen that the girl was named Mabel and the boy Mason. “We’ll start with your classes Mason,”  “I prefer Dipper,” “I’m not calling you by a dumb nickname. Let’s go,” Danny growled.

Just as he was about to lead Mason to his first class, a royal pain in his ass showed up. “Daniel! I require your assistance, little badger,” “It’s bound to be another plan to get in my mom’s pants. Go away,”  “Now, don’t be like that. I’m the mayor after all. You should be honored,” “Plasmius, shut your goddamn mouth. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck,” Danny said so that only Vlad could hear.  “Well, something’s got you in a tizzy. I’ll ask later. I should tell you though, it’s about Danielle,” “What did you do to Dani?” Fury. Wait, he had to get the kids to class.  “Nothing. It wasn’t me. You should ask your ghost hunter girlfriend,” Vlad grinned. Fucking Valerie.  “Come on kids. You’ve got to get to class,” Danny ignored Plasmius. Valerie was going to die. 

At lunch, he purposefully turned into Phantom and waited for Valerie on top of the school. She took no time at all. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Dani,” He glared at her.  “I didn’t do anything to her! You’re going down ghost!” “Am I really?” Danny was pissed. She wasn’t getting any mercy today. He teleported behind her.  “What the... HOW?” “Where is she?!” He growled. “What do you care? She’s always off on her own,”  “Does it look like I care Valerie?!”  “How did you know?!” “I know more than you seem to think. Tell me where Dani is. NOW!” He froze her feet. She looked terrified.  “What’s wrong with you!? Why do you care so much about her? Ghosts don’t have feelings,” Danny lost it at that point. The laughter was dark. Hollow. Horrible. Val’s terror was visible.  “Don’t have feelings? DON’T HAVE FEELINGS? FUCK YOU! I’M SO TIRED OF ALL THIS!” “Phantom, calm down,” Val was terrified. Danny wasn’t done. The rings were threatening to come down and expose him to her.  “So you admit this is real? Would you like to know how it feels to die Val? How it feels to live on the line between life and death? Wait, I can’t do that! You don’t have a deactivated portal in your basement that I can make you turn on while your inside. I don’t have a stupid jumpsuit with your dad’s face on it so I can take off the that sticker. You don’t have parents that threaten to rip you apart molecule by molecule for just exsisting! You don’t have to see a future where you become evil because you cheated on one test and your family all died! Can you even begin to comprehend what I go through? Ever been cloned? And forced to do something incredibly painful so that one clone can get fixed and watch another get lied too? And that’s just the brunt of it Valerie. Keep telling me how I don’t feel. How I’m nothing!” Danny screamed at ice engulfed their feet. Val’s eyes went wide.  “D-Danny?” She said quietly. “Congratulations! You aren’t as niave as the rest of Amity Park! How does it feel?” He’d snapped. “Calm down! I’ll tell you where Dani is!” She shrieked. That hollow laugh came back. But instead of an angry rant afterwards, he just sunk to his knees and screamed. It wasn’t a wail. It was a scream of pain. Of being done with the world.  “I can’t do this anymore,” He sobbed and the rings went down. All that was left now was a beaten, broken Danny Fenton.  “You should change back. I’ll take you to Dani,” Danny nodded and followed her.  “Sorry I broke down. I’m just sick of people telling me that I can’t feel. That all ghosts can’t feel. You don’t even bother talking to us, ya know?” “Ghosts lie,” “And so do people! I’ve talked to the ghosts. Listened to them. Heard their stories. I protect people, but I protect them too!” “How do you know those aren’t just acts?” “Cause they make sense. I’d have the same response if it was me. If my parents burned down the place I was in because I got caught being gay,” “I’m confused,” “Ember. I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone. But you need to know that they all have reasons for being the way they are. Skulker’s family was hunted, so now he hunts to prove his strength,” “Maybe we should talk to you more,”  “Maybe you should. No one asks to die,” “But your parents say that ghosts don’t remember their lives. They’re the leading experts,”  “That’s like putting a ten year old in a room of babies. They’re the expert by default in that situation, but an adult would be the expert the moment they walked in,” “Why don’t we know about that,” “Dying is traumatizing. Even half dying is traumatizing. It’s taboo to mention it unless you’re told. No one explains it until they’re ready. And talking about a life before that is almost wrong,” “How did you learn?” “Skulker told me during the Christmas Truce. Ember told me one day when she just wanted to be left alone, but I did too. I guess things end up working out in weird ways,” “The Christmas Truce?” “On Christmas Eve and Christmas, ghosts have a truce. No one is allowed to fight anyone that day. The Ghost Writer broke the truce and Walker got to haul him off in just means,” “We really know nothing about ghosts, do we?” “No, you don’t. They even have a party. I got invited last year. Skulker let me make the star! It took me weeks to get it right,” Danny smiled at the memory. He’d made a scale model of a blue giant that went through it’s life stages.  “So there’s a whole society?” “A government. Systems. Main rules. Taboos. Just cause we’re ghosts, doesn’t mean we don’t have a system,” “I’m sorry,” “What?” Danny nearly froze. “I’m sorry that I made so many assumptions. I never should’ve chased you or any ghost like that,” “Keep them out of Amity Park and send them back to the Zone. Most ghosts forget that living is dangerous, so they just rampage. I keep trying to talk sense into them, but they’re pretty stubborn,”  “What about the dog?” “Dog? You mean Cujo? I was trying to stop him from trashing Axiom. He was trying to get a toy. I’m sorry that recked your life Val,” “My life? Wrecked? When compared to you, my life is a dream. It’s not like I died,” “I guess you’ve got a point,”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading. I just like fics where Val finds out, and this one seemed like an okay place to stick it. Dani is fine. I’ll fill you in on that next chapter, but I should get some sleep.

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter eleven

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in or removed, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so… i’m sorry fo the grammar errors. I also installed recently Grammary, so… hope its worth it.

This chapter contains some sensitive topics about tragedies and sex insinuations, I really didn't want to write it down with details both out of respect. I mean, personally, I didn't want to explain what's "under" in a fanfic, but if you do have doubts or curiosity, ask away in chat, especially if you are starting hormones, there is a lot for you to know about down there because it definitely changes something. Also, this other topic might touch a nerve and I really didn't do it without respect to the victims, so I'm sorry if it feels like that.

Previously

----

Staten Island it’s the third-largest borough in New York, but it is the least populated. The northern part of the island is the most urbanized, with some areas of somewhat decayed housing blocks that didn’t attract attention at all. It was… ok? quiet? She wasn’t sure exactly what to say about that place, but what was another thing she wasn’t sure about? Well...

“Are you not going to tell me what are we doing?” Poppy asked once again, feeling irritated as they both walked through the breeze but warm streets. At first, she thought they were taking the bus but Beck asked something to a random guy and started walking for a really, really long time, what was all this about? Beck looked tense, kind of nervous, and that alone made her feel strange, unnerved. "Are you alright?" Poppy asked again, but this time she sounded worried.

"Yeah, I'm just…" They exhaled in an attempt to draw their nerves away from themself. "I'm pretty nervous. I've never done this before." Beck chuckled.

"Do what?" Poppy frowned, curiosity floating in her mind strongly, to be honest, she had never seen them so tense before, even though they were trying to look calm. Beck smirked and took her by the hand.

"Come on, I have to show you something."

"Is it too far?"

"Are you already tired?" Beck replied, mocking her with that sassy smile of theirs.

"Me? Absolutely no." She said, raising an eyebrow. "I could literally go for miles."

"I'll have to prove that myself." Beck winked and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're a dimwit."

"Yeah" they shrugged. "I'm cute, though.”

“Barely.” She rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile but failing in the process so Beck laughed at it. Suddenly an unexpected drop felt swiftly in her nose, making her look up to the sky where a big, grey cloud was still above their heads. Soon, she felt raindrops in her hair, her clothes, her shoes!

“Oh, shoot. This is not good…” Beck said while they both walked faster, reaching out for cover in a shop awning.

“You think? These Jimmy choo are not even in the market yet!”

“Well, we don’t want them to be ruined, don’t we?."

"Of course not! What kind of dumb ques—"

Poppy didn't get to end the sentence, Beck took her by the wrist and started running full speed and nonstop. "Beck!" She screamed, the rain pouring down her body while that asshole laughed like a devilish kid. "Beck Hughes, let go of me this instant!!"

"We're almost there!" She heard them saying without turning to see her.

"Where are you taking me?!"

Beck slowed down little by little until they both stopped in front of a tiny, old, yellow house with barely two floors. Beck took the keys out of their pockets and opened the door, allowing Poppy to get inside the dark and quiet place.

“So… here we are.” Beck spoked turning on the lights.

The place that received them was the living room, but it was not an ordinary living room, it had neon lights currently exposing a purple color, a keyboard piano, a couple of guitars, and an old-fashioned mended couch with a lot of patches over black leather that actually looked really well together. The walls were exhibiting posters, framed cool landscape black and white photographs, and a Youtube silver plaque. She recognized the place right away.

“Wait… this is the place where you record your music.” She asked. Poppy watched Beck’s videos a lot recently at first the blonde was searching for information, then, to find a flaw to criticize with Chloe, but sooner rather than later Poppy found out… Beck was actually a really good musician, so sometimes when she was completely sure she was alone she’d listen to their songs while doing cardio or homework or whatever she was doing. “I was wondering where you found the location.”

“Yes… but also no. I mean, I do the videos here, but I have an audio booth upstairs. It’s actually a quiet neighborhood so it came in handy.” Beck took off their jacket, reaching out their hand to ask for Poppy’s. They both were wet, but not a lot, her shoes survived perfectly because they entered the house before a loud thunder sounded, followed by a deluge. “Damn, we do really dodge a bullet out there.”

“Yeah.” Poppy said, hugging herself. Without her coat, she felt a little cold. “Do you own this place?”

"No, this is my uncle’s." Beck whispered with reverence and a sad smile on their face. "My dad's little brother. He passed away."

"I— I'm sorry, Beck…" she managed to say, clueless about what exactly would someone do in this kind of situation.

"I didn't remember much about him, but my mom says he used to make these guitars out of plastic bottles as gifts for me to play them. She said I would go to the kitchen and play one for her to hear. She also said the sound was awful and she begged him to stop making them." Beck's smile was soft, turning on the heating, proud even though they were chuckling a little, spreading the same smile to Poppy. " 'I'm telling you, this little pal has talent.' he would say."

"Sounds to me like he made it to annoy your mom instead." Poppy said jokingly.

"Totally, he was a prankster." Beck replied, the emotions coming out from their eyes were difficult to tell. "And was one of the few dudes back at Farmsville that didn't want to settle down. The black sheep in every family… and the reason why my parents didn't want me to be here." Beck clutched their jaw, walking away from there to the kitchen. Poppy followed them in silence, feeling like it was something very private for Beck, seeing that vulnerable side of them again, but not hiding this time. "He was murdered years ago here in New York in a shooting. In Farmsville shootings don’t happen, so… They said it was dangerous going out of the farm to the big cities. That he brought this on himself... Took this out of the wrong way." The anger in Beck's voice was palpable in the air.

"Seriously? How can they be so selfish?" Poppy asked, how can someone be so fucking self-centered and dumbass to take a tragedy and blame it on one family member? She thought these things happened exclusively around that bunch of tight-ass people inside her parents’ social circle, but not inside a family farm.

"Back at home is different from here. Is a small town where everyone knows each other. They love routine and hard work and the good customs and shit… So when anyone goes against it… well— it's not funny."

Something clicked inside Poppy's mind.

"But then… How are you here?" Beck smiled but it didn't reach out to their sad eyes.

"Because I almost got killed."

Shock. Poppy couldn't help but feel agitated, her heart pounding loud against her chest and that same protective feeling that almost made her stab Bennett crawled its way towards her own core.

"What?" Poppy babbled, froze. Beck shrugged, with a weird grin as if they didn't know where to start, they caressed their neck, searching for the better way to put the puzzle together. They reach out for Poppy's hand, and she took it right away intertwining her fingers with Beck's.

"Coffee?" They asked. "It seems we will be stuck in here for a while.”

"It sounds nice." The words abandoned her mouth so fast that she even surprised herself, another red alarm ringed inside her mind, but now was not the time, so she ignored it again. Beck smiled and turned on a little coffee maker, bringing two mugs in silence. They both sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch, Beck’s eyes were attentive at the black drink and the tension was still over their shoulders, she could see it so easily that Poppy wished for someone to take that weight out of Beck, so she took both cups and put them aside, sitting over Beck’s lap and intertwining her fingers with theirs, playing with them. Beck smiled a little and took a deep breath.

"I started to realize something was off inside of me when I was in high school. I mean, ‘till that day I was considered normal. I was the kind of child that played sports, climbed trees, and did hard work gladly. You know, average farm kid." Beck said, but even as they seemed to be calm, Poppy could feel the sweat in their palm, and a little shivering all over their body. "But I grow older and changes came, and puberty and—"

"Hey" Poppy stopped them from talking faster and faster. "You don't have to"

"I want to. " Beck interrupted, begging Poppy with their eyes. "I want you to know my past. I mean… if you want me to tell you, that is."

Poppy could have thought anything at that moment. She could have thought that she made it, that she had accomplished her very goal and knew she was about to have first-hand information to use against Farmsville, that she was spectacular for making it this far. She could have thought that now nobody would take her number one spot from her, or that she loved to have a new puppy to use in any way she wanted. But no.

All in what she could think about was Beck's heart opening up to her, trusting her for real this time. The connection intertwining both of them in a way that made her skin chill. Third alarm, but she muted it again.

"So? What are you waiting for? Go on." Poppy rolled her eyes, Beck had a goofy expression for a couple of seconds until Poppy smiled, squishing slightly their hands for reassurance. Beck's eyes glowed happily in which was the cutest gesture Poppy saw from someone that wasn't a dog in her entire life.

"I managed to handle myself a little for a while, but it definitely didn't last long. I was so afraid, I felt lost, and insecure. I didn’t know what was happening to me, why did I feel that way, trapped in my own skin... I stopped having friends because everyone could see how weird I was and nobody wanted to talk to me, except for this one girl: Bree Matthews."

Beck’s jaw tightened, their eyes wandering all over the place because of the nervousness.

“So, Bree and I started to hang out. Chill some time round. We were close, I mean, really, really close. She was the one who I told about my dysphoria first, and she was totally supportive. She helped me understand what I was going through, sometimes she would borrow her brother’s old clothes to give them to me and helped me pick my very first short haircut. Bree was my safe space in a town where I’d be mistreated just to use a bathroom. I kinda felt for her… so one night into the forest I kissed her. And~ it wasn’t a good idea.”

“What happened?”

“Well~ Daniel and his gang came into the picture and intimidated her, so she sold me as a pervert, a weirdo, among other… awful things. Can’t blame her, Daniel was a wrecked truck whenever he wanted so… yeah. My family found me eight hours after, all beat up from head to toes. I was unconscious and with an actually broken rib.” Beck tried to joke, but it was so bad at timing it actually made it worse for Poppy to hear. “I~ I almost die.” Beck sighed, as if with that they could put all that behind. “Anyway so she apologized to me through a phone call because she wanted to kiss me too but, you know, shit happens; I got better and now I’m in New York doing what I love so… Happy ending, right? It was funny, they didn’t let me use the bathroom but they all thought I was “male enough” to beat the crap out of me ever since.”

Poppy stopped playing with Beck’s hands, making them do the same. They told the end of the story so lightly as if they were talking about a T.V. show they just watched and not some really cruel harassment they went through for a long time. The strawberry blonde was a lot of things, bad things, but the things that beast did to Beck just because of their dysphoria? That was a whole new level that Poppy would never stoop into.

“How can you joke about things like that?”

“Well, I figured I had two ways to address the problem: Being insecure or making the most out of this. That’s why I do music. Yeah, my songs don’t talk about the transgender community directly, but I make sure everybody knows who am I. What I am. I write songs for people out there that feel just the same as I do. Not only transgender people, but the whole LGBTQ+ also needs representation! Folks having their back! And if I can reach at least one soul and show them that no matter how they were born, they can make it… Hell, I could die happily.”

The fire in their eyes, the passion radiating strongly from their body, from their words. It was impossible for Poppy to look away from Beck. Of course, Beck didn’t care about a spot in the T list, or and stupid award. Beck was more into their music, making their voice be heard. That was why they did claim to care less about competition, Beck was climbing their way to the top because of their conviction and resilience. It was curious how the more she learned about Beck, the more she felt drawn to them.

“You are so brave, do you know that?”

“And it only took me a delicate rib and trust issues.” Beck claimed proudly as if it was a bargain.

“Trust issues? Beck, you’re one of the most confident people l know!” They began to laugh, the blonde could feel their laughter below her because of the slight belly-shaking. “It’s irritating.”

“I am really amazing myself.” Poppy rolled her eyes at the flirty smirk Beck flashed towards her. “But I’m not insecure about myself… most of the time. I do have a hard time trusting in people. I mean, Daniel didn’t have a hold on me… Bree, on the other hand…” Beck shrugged. “But I do trust you, Poppy.”

Something inside the blonde felt off, those words accompanied by that good-natured smile made Poppy feel a bit guilty. Like, yeah, she was just trying to archive exactly that for her own benefit, it should feel like a win, right? But no.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, yet.” She said to herself. “For all we know, this is just some casual date.”

Maybe… give up? Maybe actually try and date Beck?

What could possibly go wrong?

“I trust you too, Beck.” She replied without a doubt. So she tossed her golden locks over one shoulder, leaning down to kiss Beck’s lips. She soon felt them kissing her back, sweetly, calmly at first but then it was obvious they both needed more than that. Poppy let go of Beck’s hands to place hers in their Beck, while they grabbed her by the waist. The heat soon took over her body, especially after they responded to it by biting Poppy’s bottom lip, making her moan. Poppy knew right away there was a change in Beck’s behavior, they were more confident, more secure, they actually felt ready and she had to say, that was a very welcome and pleasing development. But they were shaking still.

“What 's wrong? You don’t want to—?”

“No. No, it 's not it. It 's just…” Beck took a deep breath avoiding Poppy's gaze for a second before looking at her pleading while keeping hold on her. “I don’t want you to see me differently when you look at what I have beneath the clothes.” They confessed.

“I won’t. I promise.” She said, caressing the hair in the back of their nape. “This is just you, with all letters.” She smirked, trying to lighten the mood and she succeeded. Beck grinned from ear to ear, relieved, kissing her passionately, hungry and the Poppy did the same, tasting their tongue with hers. The caresses between the two became more intense and she couldn’t stand the fever growing anymore, so she took the edges of their favorite black t-shirt and pulled up, revealing Beck torso for the very first time.

She understood right away what Beck meant. Cutting through their chest there it was a thin, darker line, a scar that was slowly healing, but nevertheless it was there easy to pinpoint. It was strange, she had seen a lot of those mastectomy scars on google but Beck chest looked different somehow, strong, gym crafted, and the scar actually was interesting, sexy even.

“I don’t know what you were so scared of, Hughes. Hell, you’re hot as fuck, I hate you.”

Beck chukled, their confidence coming back.

“Yeah, well… There is not an ugly part on this body afterall.” They grinned.

“I’m going to erase that obnoxious smirk of yours.”

“You will?” Beck grabbed a hold on Poppy’s hair and pulled slightly but demanding backwards, exposing her neck to them to kiss and lick, causing a shaking sigh that turned the heat even higher for both. “Show me then.” They whispered over her skin, their breath brushing bristling her body.

Poppy pushed them down on the couch, kissing them hardly. This was war now, and she would definitely win.

----

Next

[catmaid-john]

Have some soulmate gretchella content courtesy of me (elliott) and em 👀 there was a lot of projecting as far as *ahem* character traits go, hope y’all enjoy!!!!

Summary: Gretchen has grown up with a less than ideal mindset about soulmates. How will they react when they meet their own?

Characters: Gretchen, Pamella, Marion, John, Jessique (mentioned), Vesna (mentioned), Eliza (mentioned)

Pairing(s): queer platonic gretchella

Warnings: subtle(?) homophobia and internalised homophobia, and that may be it but do read with caution as it’s pretty heavy. Let me know if I missed anything!!

Word count: 1,705

~

Gretchen was six when they asked about the red string on their finger.

“Daddy, what’s this?” they asked, holding up their pinky.

John sighed, closing his book he’d been reading in the study. “It’s a sign that you have a soulmate.”

“What’s a soulmate?”

“Someone meant for you. Like Vesna and I. We were soulmates, but didn’t let that define us.”

Gretchen tilted their head to the side. “What’chu mean?”

“Don’t let the world fool you. Everyone says soulmates are the most important part of life. They’re all wrong. You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you. Do you understand?”

Gretchen crossed their arms. “Okay, Daddy. Can we go fly kites today?”

“No, not right now. I have work to do. Maybe later.”

John hadn’t been doing work when Gretchen walked in.

They were ten the first time they saw a pair of soulmates first meet.

They were both boys. The red string that held them together turned white and they hugged.

Could Gretchen’s soulmate be a girl?

“Daddy?” they began as John drove them home from school that day. “I saw two boy soulmates today.”

John’s grip on the steering wheel tightened a bit. “I see.”

“Could my soulmate be a girl?”

“I’m not sure. I should hope not.”

Gretchen furrowed their brows. “How come?”

“Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers. Not to mention they’re prone to… well, frankly, divorce.”

“But you and Mommy divorced.”

John’s grip tightened further, and Gretchen could see the marking on his pinky finger where his string once was.

“Yes, straight soulmates do divorce sometimes, but it’s higher in same sex soulmates.”

“Why? And what's morality?”

“Mortality. What I meant is that same sex soulmates more often die young and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.”

Gretchen was suddenly scared. “What if my soulmate is a girl?”

“Don’t worry about that for now. It doesn’t matter.”

The conversation dissipated from there.

Gretchen was thirteen when they decided they didn’t want a soulmate anymore.

The odds of their soulmate being a girl were far too high. They didn’t want to end up like the dead soulmates their dad was talking about.

They took a pair of scissors and tried cutting their string. The scissors broke and clattered to the ground.

What? This had worked for John when he didn’t want a soulmate anymore. Were they doing it wrong?

They took a knife from the kitchen and sawed it across the string. The knife became ground down and dull.

They tried to untie the string but couldn’t find the knot. This soon became a game of finding the most slippery substance to help them slip out of the string.

Nothing worked. It was hopeless.

There was a chance that Gretchen was doomed to die young and there was nothing they could do about it.

Please let my soulmate be a boy, they thought. I wanna live.

They were seventeen when they stopped caring about what their father thought.

They also started using they/them pronouns alongside their step-sibling, Marion. John had married a woman named Eliza, who he claimed he met at a “gathering” for people who abandoned the soulmate life. Her kids were Marion and Jessique, who Gretchen liked much more than Eliza. Their dad had bad taste.

Gretchen was walking home from school when they felt a tug from their string. They usually felt an occasional pull from it but this was much stronger than that. It just about knocked them off their feet.

Before they could question it further, they were being pulled into the middle of the road. Luckily no one was driving, but Gretchen was still not having any of this today.

“Let me go!” they called uselessly.

It hurt to pull against the string but they really didn’t know what else to do. It was a little while before they suddenly collided with someone and was finally able to stop. Unfortunately the two of them crashed to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger yelped.

Gretchen put a hand to their forehead, which had bumped into the stranger’s. “No, it’s all good. No harm done.”

“I should have paid more attention but my string was pulling me away and I—”

Gretchen finally took a look at the stranger in question. Bright orange hair overtook every feature and it was radiant as the morning sun. Eyes like drops of chocolate, enticingly sweet. She was too perfect.

Gretchen looked down at their string. It was white.

“Hi,” the stranger murmured. “I’m Pamella. I guess we’re—”

Gretchen got up and ran.

They were in tears when they came to terms with what happened.

They stood in the bathroom sobbing in front of the mirror. John’s voice echoed in their head.

Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers.

They shook their head to rid themself of their thoughts. They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Same sex soulmates more often die and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.

No. It was all stigma. It was all lies. Shut up.

You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you.

Shut up!

Gretchen was on the verge of screaming but kept as quiet as possible. They didn’t want to worry their siblings.

They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Even still they couldn’t accept what they have faced.

Gretchen was eighteen when they met their soulmate for a second time.

Perhaps not entirely true, given that they had spotted Pamella at school a few times since their run-in. This, however, was their first proper encounter since Gretchen ran.

“Uh, excuse me!” Pamella’s voice called out, catching Gretchen’s attention. They realised who it was and tried to walk away faster.

Go away, go away, go away—

“Hey!” Pamella caught up with them, standing in front of them with a shy smile. “So… I, uh… wanted to give you time to process everything, but I’ve seen you avoiding me like crazy. I just… wanted to know why? At first I thought maybe you were upset about me knocking you over, but I don’t know. Man, I feel like an asshole.” She chuckled awkwardly.

Gretchen blinked. “Sorry,” they said on instinct. “Uh… it’s not you, it’s me, I gotta go.”

They walked away without another word.

Gretchen was home alone with Marion when they confessed to what had been going on.

“Wow,” Marion murmured. “I mean, obviously I knew you’d met your soulmate, I just thought… well, I don’t know. Why’d you run?”

Gretchen buried their face in their hands. “It’s complicated.”

“C’mon, talk to me, bestie.”

Gretchen sighed and sat up. “My dad scared me as a kid telling me I was gonna die if my soulmate was a girl.”

Marion paused, their expression never changing. “The fuck?”

“He was talking about, like, mortality rates of gay soulmates and divorce and shit, so… ten year old me took it to heart for some reason.”

“Huh. So when you realised your soulmate is a girl… aw, Gretch.”

“I know, it’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. I promise you, it’s not stupid. Your dad is a piece of shit.”

Gretchen snorted. “Yup, sounds right.”

“Don’t let him ruin your experience with your soulmate. I promise you, if you let your parent try to run your life, it’ll just hurt. Trust me.”

Gretchen glanced over at Marion. They couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Mari.”

“You gonna go after your soulmate?”

“I might have to.”

The next day at school, Gretchen was the one to approach Pamella.

“Hi,” they murmured shyly.

“Hey,” Pamella replied with hesitation.

“I, uh… I know I’ve been a dick… but… I wanna… try this whole thing again. You deserve better from your… soulmate.”

Pamella was clearly shocked, and Gretchen gave her time to process what they had said. She took a deep breath and finally spoke.

“Hi. I’m Pamella. He/him pronouns.”

Gretchen blinked. That was unexpected.

“Oh. Uh, Gretchen. They/them pronouns.”

Pamella smiled. “Nice to meet you, Gretchen. I’m sure you’re a bit surprised that I’m… ya know, trans. I’m not out to my parents, so that makes it a bit hard to transition, not to mention I’m scared to get my hair cut.”

“I mean, you don’t need a haircut to be trans, though. Being trans makes you trans. I mean, I’m still feminine and nonbinary as fuck, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Pamella blushed. “Thanks. I’m glad you get it.”

Gretchen grinned. Maybe having a soulmate wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Gretchen and Pam were twenty when they decided to label themselves as platonic soulmates.

They weren’t romantically involved and they were okay with that. Gretchen was aromantic and Pam didn’t care about relationships. He really just wanted to be with Gretchen in a platonic way. They were all he needed.

They had tried to make it work as romantic soulmates, which didn’t last long.

The one thing they continued to do in their platonic relationship was cuddle.

Gretchen laid on top of Pam, who laid on his back and ran his hand up and down their back. Gretchen was having a difficult day and all they needed was cuddles on the couch with a movie on the TV.

Gretchen looked up at Pam, his new haircut still ravishing in their eyes. Gretchen had been tempted to shave their head but decided against it since they liked how they dyed it. Black on one side, their natural brown on the other.

“Pam?” they murmured.

Pam glanced down at them. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re soulmates because we just understand each other so much?”

Pam smiled. “I think we’re soulmates because we complete each other in a way no one else gets.”

Gretchen smiled back. They laid their head back down and closed their eyes, Pam running a hand through their hair.

“I’m glad we crashed into each other.”

Pam chuckled. “Me too, love.”

@nachosforfree

[keanureevesisbae]

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 4

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 3.3k

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Three weeks pass by. Three whole weeks of Henry hoping he bumps into his favorite pair again, but no luck. After that time he saw Olivia and Vanessa on the curb and the four of them went to the park, was also the last time he saw them.

He seriously regrets not asking Olivia for her number, so he could arrange more of those kinds of “dates”.  He already has an excuse: “Kal needs to be around kids more and since Vanessa doesn’t have a dog, it’s a win-win situation, honestly”.

After Vanessa fell face first into the mud, the two of them left, because she was in need of a bath and Kal was too, because he thought it would be funny to roll into the dirt as well.

These weeks passed agonizingly slowly. The fact that he wasn’t working, isn’t helping at all.

It did gave him the time to realize one thing though: he is falling for someone he barely knows. Google searches for Olivia Tran didn’t bring him a lot, except one of the things he already knew: she’s a veterinarian at Animal Clinic Westside. No social media whatsoever, something that he finds pretty rare and unique.

But finally the day he has been looking forward to has arrived. He is sitting in the waiting room of his favorite animal clinic. He hasn’t seen her yet and he sure hopes that she’s even working today and if so, that she is going to help him out. If she isn’t helping him and Kal, then it’s the universe telling him she is not the one for him.

If she does help them, he needs to ask her out, because he doesn’t know if he can’t endure time apart from her again.

While he is waiting with Kal, Henry looks around at the other animals, even the creepy bird who hasn’t stopped staring at him. For a second Henry is afraid that the bird will recognize him, but he shakes off that thought before he can think about it even more.

A door opens and he hears: ‘Kal?’

He noticed how in this clinic (and maybe elsewhere too, he doesn’t know), they call in the patients by the names of the animals, instead of the owners. He is eternally grateful, not wanting to draw attention that he is in fact Henry Cavill.

He looks up and sees his favorite vet standing in a doorway. He can’t help but smile. He notices a bright grin on her face and from that alone, this day can’t be ruined if it’s up to him.

Besides, he needs to ask her out now.

Henry stands up, tugs Kal’s leash and walks over to the doctor. Olivia steps to the side, letting him and Kal go into the room first. he smells great, he thinks to himself. Like lavender, he didn’t notice that before.

‘We should weigh him first,’ she says, placing her clipboard to the side. ‘He does look slimmer already.’

‘I’ve been restraining myself,’ he laughs. ‘It’s just really hard to say no to this face.’

‘Weak,’ she comments, chuckling in the process. Henry knew he missed her, but after that comment left her lips, he didn’t realized how much he missed her. ‘Come on, Kal, get your fat ass on the scale.’

Henry places his hand over his mouth, but a loud laugh leaves his lips anyways, especially when Olivia looks at him with a playful look on her face. She checks the screen and claps her hands when she hears a soft beep, indicating the scale is done measuring Kal’s weight. ‘Good boy, Kal, you lost three whole kilos already.’ She presses a kiss on top of his head and looks up at Henry. ‘You’re not as weak as I expected you to be, mister Cavill.’

Henry smiles, as he’s taking in her appearance. Those two times he saw her, she was already breathtaking, but there is something different about her today. Is she wearing lipstick? He notices her hair isn’t in the usual bun. Her wavy locks frame her face and when she runs her fingers through it, he has to look the other way, because damn, she is beautiful and this isn’t the time to faint.

‘Anyways,’ she says, a blush appearing on her cheeks, probably because Henry kept gawking at her, ‘this big boy needs to get his shots today.’

‘I do have to tell you, he isn’t the greatest with needles,’ Henry warns her.

She nods. ‘Aren’t you projecting your own fears on your dog?’ she jokingly asks him.

He wonders if she’s like this with other clients or if she strictly reserves this for him. He sure hopes it’s the latter, though he feels a bit attacked, because it may be true, that thing she said about projecting his own fears on his dog. ‘No, he really doesn’t like them,’ he says nonetheless.

Olivia prepares two shots for the big canine, who keeps staring at her, but letting out a small whimper. ‘I know, baby,’ she says to Kal in a higher voice, ‘it may be scary, but it’s over before you know it.’

She sits next to him, pats his head, while Henry crouches down near the dog as well. He can’t help but stare at her. She is so pretty and the way she is comforting the dog, he falls even more in love with her.

When she grabs the syringe, Henry swallows hard, while Kal’s entire body shakes with excitement.

Olivia glances at him, before she sticks the needle into Kal’s thigh. He doesn’t even whine, but Henry rubs his own face. ‘Are you okay, Henry?’ she asks, but he doesn’t hear what she says anymore, because he passes out.

≫≫≪≪

Henry wakes up in the corner of a room, his back pressed against the wall and his legs sprawled out in front of him. Kal is no where near him, while Henry swore they were together before he fell asleep.

He had a nice dream, of the beautiful doctor at the animal clinic. He dreamed that they were sitting in the park, her head against his shoulder, as they watched Vanessa and Kal play. It was nice to dream about her like that, just like he did that in those three weeks he didn’t see her.

He tries to remember where he is and when he looks around, he sees he is at the animal clinic. The examination table, his own dog sitting next to doctor Olivia Tran, who walks up to him and crouches down in front of him. ‘You’re up,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘For such a big guy, I never assumed you’d pass out like that, simply because I was giving your dog a shot.’

‘Oh fuck,’ he mumbles, rubbing his face, a sad attempt to cover his flushed cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘No need to, it was kind of funny, especially when I had to drag you around this examination room and had to explain to the assistant that the loud thud she heard, was the owner that collapsed and not the overweight dog,’ she laughs, handing him a paper cup filled with some water. ‘Here, drink this.’

He takes a tiny sip, still embarrassed of what happened to him. God, did he really just pass out in the examination room because his dog was getting a shot? ‘This is really painful,’ he chuckles, hoping it helps him not to feel the shame he is feeling right now, but it’s not working at all.

She places a slender hand on his calve, causing him to hold his breath because of the sudden touch. Him passing out like that, does have his perks come to think of it. ‘Listen, it happens to the best of us. The first time I had to help deliver a lamb, I threw up and passed out in my own vomit, in front of the entire class, so honestly: it’s okay.’

Olivia stands up again and holds out a hand. He carefully places his in hers and she pulls him up, though he mostly pushes himself up, because he is afraid he’ll drag her down. Not that he would compla—

No, he can’t think like that, not when his jeans is already this tight. Later tonight he can think about the possibilities that came with her pulling him up.

‘Thanks, Olivia,’ he says.

‘Are you feeling okay? You want something sweet to eat, before you hit the road again?’

That is so thoughtful of her. ‘Maybe some sugar would be of help,’ he says.

‘Perks of having a six year old,’ Olivia says, rummaging through her purse, ‘I’m always prepared for emergencies.’ She hands him over two candy bars. ‘You can have those, Vanessa doesn’t like them anyways.’

‘How is Vanessa doing, by the way?’

Henry might not know Olivia very well, but what he does know, is that something happened.

‘Is everything okay?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, it’s just that her teacher continues to pester me about how Vanessa should change her work ethic, which I think is too much to ask of a six year old and… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with this. You probably don’t even care.’

‘No, I do care,’ he quickly says. Way too quickly.

Olivia sighs deeply. ‘I’m just worried about my girl sometimes. Comes with becoming a parent I guess.’

He wishes he could agree. ‘Listen, it might be extremely inappropriate, but I have to ask.’ He can hear the wise words his common sense is screaming. Abort mission. Don’t do it, Cavill. For the love of God, don’t ask the gorgeous doctor out on a date. ‘Would you like to go out with me? Like… Tonight? For dinner?’

Olivia crosses her arms in front of her chest. Why isn’t she saying anything? ‘As in a date or as a thank you for saving your dog?’

She is not making it easy for him and he has to give her props for that. That’ll teach him from asking cute women out, who just smiled at him and were nice to his dog. ‘A date,’ he says, all of the sudden not too sure about this action anymore. ‘I know it might be weird, because of what you do for a living and how we met, but I… I’m really interested in you.’

‘In me as a person or what’s in my pants?’

Well both, but he can’t say that, without looking like an absolute creep. ‘In you as a person, what kind of man do you think I am?’

She chuckles. ‘A man who is afraid of needles and can’t say no to his dog,’ she tells him. ‘I’ll go out with you tonight. Can you remember my number or do you want to put it in your phone?’

≫≫≪≪

It took Henry about three hours to go through his entire closet, just to find the perfect outfit for tonight. He didn’t want to look like such a try hard, but he also didn’t want to look like a slob. He eventually opts for a simple black sweater with some fitted jeans and his Chelsea boots. It’s casual, yet it has a fancy streak to it. He grabs the grey blazer from the hanger and while he checks the pockets, he hears Kal whimper, who lays flat on his bed. ‘We’re going out tonight, bud,’ he tells the large canine. ‘You are going to keep Vanessa and her babysitter company, while I’m going out on a date with Olivia.’

He still can’t believe this is happening. He asked the doctor out on a date and the most bizarre thing of it all, was that she said yes.

Olivia Tran said yes to him.

He would lie if he said that he wasn’t nervous. In all honesty, he is about to die from his nerves.

He checks the clock and realizes he should leave his place now. He clicks his tongue, causing Kal to follow Henry downstairs. He puts on Kal’s leash and when he closed off his place, the two of them get in the car. He hums along with the song on the radio, as he drives to her house.

In the past he went on tons of dates. He likes dates, getting to know someone and finding out whether or not they are compatible. But there is something different about this date. He wants to get to know more about Olivia, but he is afraid that once she gets to know him, she’s not interested in him anymore.

He parks his car in front of her house and he takes a deep breath, trying to procrastinate the moment that he has to walk up to the door. Kal whines, as if he knows where they are and he sees that as a moment to get out of the car. The two of them walk up to the door and he rings the doorbell.

‘Mommy,’ Vanessa says from the other side of the door, ‘Henry is here.’

‘Do not open the door!’

‘But mom…’

‘Sweetheart, what if it’s not Henry, but a pervert?’ Olivia asks.

‘Oh my God, Olivia, the person on the other side of the door can hear you!’ he hears a different female voice scream and he can’t help but chuckle. He wondered what kind of household Olivia would have and somehow this situation seems fitting.  

‘Mom, what’s a pervert?’ Vanessa asks.

‘A disgusting human being,’ Olivia explains.

‘Is Henry a pervert? I thought he was Superman?’

‘Olivia, I mean it,’ the other woman says, ‘people on the other side of the door can hear you two.’

The door finally opens and he sees both Vanessa and Olivia standing in the doorway. ‘Hi Henry,’ his already favorite duo say in unison.

‘Hi there,’ he says with a smile. It’s six in the evening and Vanessa is already in her pajama. From the looks of it, it’s light pink with bears on it.

Kal pushes past him, to give the little girl a lick on her cheek, causing her to giggle.

As endearing as that sight may be, he can’t help but look at Olivia, who wears a grey plaid pants paired with a black shirt that hugs her upper body. The outfit shows off her godly proportions. He even sees a hint of tattoos on her arms, but she grabs a coat and it covers them up before he can see them properly.

But if he saw it correctly and she does have tattoos… That’s almost unfair. She is already beautiful, but add tattoos in the mix and that gives him enough to dream about tonight.

Another woman appears in the doorway and she hums in approval. ‘It’s such a shame that I wasn’t on call when your dog started to throw up,’ she says with a smile. She extends her hand and says: ‘Hi, I’m Belle.’

He saw her earlier today. She is another vet and when he was paying for the appointment, she bumped her hip against Olivia’s and they shared a look, one that best friends share. Guess Belle is the certified baby sitter. He quickly shakes her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Henry.’

‘God, you were right, Olivia,’ Belle says, ‘he is even more handsome in real life.’

Henry detects a fire red blush on Olivia’s cheeks, but she looks down and slips on a pair of boots that have a heel, something he hasn’t seen her wear before. He wants to take in her entire appearances, glancing her over more than once, but he restrains himself, since he doesn’t want to look overly eager.

‘That must be a sign that we need to go,’ Olivia says, before she pinches her friend in her side. She leans down, to give Vanessa a kiss. ‘Be nice to auntie Belle and Kal, okay?’

‘Okay, mommy,’ Vanessa says. ‘Can Kal sleep in my room tonight?’

‘He can,’ Olivia says.

The little girl smiles and looks up at Henry. ‘Is that okay with you too, mister Henry?’ she asks. ‘Kal is your dog.’

‘He can sleep in your room,’ Henry says, touched by the fact that she actually thought she should ask him about this. Olivia is raising such a lovely and polite girl. He truly admires her.

While Olivia rummages through her purse, Belle crouches down and whispers something in Vanessa’s ear.

‘Okay, I’m ready to go,’ Olivia says with a smile.

‘Enjoy your night,’ Vanessa says to the both of them, as Olivia steps out of the doorway. ‘And you two shouldn’t have too much fun.’

Henry nearly chokes on his own spit. ‘Belle, I swear to—’ Olivia wants to say something, but swallows the words before she can express her true feelings. ‘I love you, Vanessa,’ Olivia says to her daughter.

‘I love you too,’ she says to her mother. ‘Will you give me a kiss when you get back?’

‘Of course, angel.’

Vanessa smiles. ‘Bye, mister Henry,’ she says to him.

‘Bye sunshine,’ he says to the young girl, who starts to beam with happiness when she hears her new nickname. He doesn’t know where “sunshine” came from, it just slipped out.

Olivia and Henry walk to his car, but he can’t help but notice how she keeps looking up to him. He opens the door for her and he watches her get in. He waves to the two—three, if you include Kal—in the doorway, before he gets in himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia says, the second the door closes.

‘No need to,’ Henry laughs, starting his car. ‘It was funny.’

She snorts, while she waves to Belle, Kal and her daughter as he drives off. ‘Well, leave it to Belle to embarrass me.’

‘She a close friend?’

Olivia nods. ‘Very close friend. When I found out I was pregnant with Vanessa, she was there for me when no one else was. She forced me to live in her house for a while, even after Vanessa was born.’

Henry frowns. ‘I thought it was just your ex who wasn’t there for you.’

She sighs. ‘Well, my parents and two brothers weren’t too keen on me having a kid out of wedlock. My mom kicked me out seven years ago and since that moment, no one has tried to contact me. I haven’t seen them ever since.’

This is un-fucking-believable. He knows for sure that, had this happened within his family, his brothers would be over the moon to be an uncle of yet another kid and his parents would love another addition to the family.

And her family just kicks her out?

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he says and he means it from the bottom of his heart. ‘Were you close with your family?’

She shrugs. ‘Growing up I was. Not really with my mom, but with my father and brothers I was super close. I thought that they would love it, a little bean added to the family. Guess I was wrong. But you know, I have Belle, so that’s enough for me right now.’

Right now. That means the door is open for someone else, right? Or is he trying to read something that isn’t there?

‘By the way,’ she says, ‘how did you come up with “sunshine”?’

Why does Henry feels like he just got caught? ‘Just slipped, I guess. I’m so—’

‘Don’t you dare apologize, Cavill,’ she interrupts him. ‘I love the nickname and did you see Vanessa’s face?’

He does actually. He recalls the way her face lit up with happiness and pride.

Olivia looks to the side and when he stops for the traffic lights, he meets her gaze. She smiles. ‘I’m really happy we’re on this date,’ she says. ‘And maybe I’m a bit rusty in the whole dating department and is what I’m about to say way too blunt, but I need to tell you that you look really handsome tonight.’

Maybe that is too blunt, but Henry doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. His hands get a bit clammy. ‘Thank you, Olivia. Allow me to be just as blunt.’

‘Surprise me.’

‘You look stunning and I’m really happy that you agreed on going out with me.’

A/N: Don’t worry, the next chapter will cover their date 😉

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @flhorah​ // @sausagefest1996​ // @laufeysodinson​ // @xxxkatxo​ // @memoriesat30​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @crimsonrae​ // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed​ // @summersong69​ // @lyrafraiser​ // @peakygroupie​ // @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ // @mary-ann84​ // @thereisa8ella​ //@crazyandanonymous4u // @xuxszx​ // @emmaofgreengabbles​ // @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ // @onlyhenrys

[nagitolovebug]

How did komahina co-parent at first? How was hajimes reaction to the twins? Did bebi like getting siblings

komahina's co-parenting at first was...definitely an Ordeal. not even because of bebi, but bc komahina is a mess. originally hajime was very insecure about his role in bebi's life, as he had very clearly asserted himself as a separate person from izuru and that he was going to live as hajime and not someone else- so wouldn't that make bebi Not his kid? sure, they're his genetically, but in theory.... that was the dilemma he dealt with. he'd already grown attached to them when he was caring for them while nagito was still in a coma and worries now that nagito has woken up, his job is done, and that nagito won't want him around bebi anymore. in turn, nagito is worried that bc hajime is asserting himself as separate from izuru that he doesn't see bebi as his kid and will not be interested in raising them, that bebi will lose their father and nagito will lose his once-husband (lurking somewhere in hajime's subconscious...) turned best friend. they live together right off the bat, sleeping in the same bed (bebi likes to be held by the 2 of them to fall asleep...but even when bebi sleeps in their own bed they didn't think to get separate bedrooms or anything...) and end up becoming very.....affectionate with one another despite their claims that they're purely platonic. they "platonically" hold hands, cuddle, kiss, kiss, and more...intimate things in the cover of night ;) nagito's convinced hajime is just "using him for stress relief" and he's only truly staying bc he'd feel guilty leaving bebi. hajime thinks they're together. this miscommunication is not truly cleared up until hajime proposes. other than that, they both love bebi very very much and spend all their time with bebi, doting on them, playing with them, caring for them.

as for hajime's reaction to the twins- that in itself was also an Ordeal! when nagito found out he was pregnant again, bebi was very sick and in the hospital, which was very hard on nagito as he blamed himself. and he had resigned himself to leaving bebi and hajime, thinking they'd be safer without him in their lives. hajime was an adult who was fully informed of the danger of nagito's luck and had izuru's luck to protect him ! but bebi couldn't consent to that. he did not want to risk hurting his child in any capacity. so he resigned himself to leaving...but the news of pregnancy only devastated him further. to think he'd ruin not only bebi and hajime's lives but the life of another baby (not knowing it was twins lol)....it was too much for him. the plan was to leave the island, suffer through the pregnancy by himself, and come back after the birth to drop their new baby off before disappearing forever.

trans male pregnancy under the cut

bc nagito's carrying twins, the toll on his body during this pregnancy is far worse than it was during despair. he becomes very weak and sickly, especially with the added stress and despair of trying to leave his 'best friend' and kid, his kid being in the hospital,,, he hasn't been taking care of himself. the night bebi returns from the hospital (fully recovered! ...but having finally fully lost their vision in their right eye), hajime catches nagito trying to leave. he'd collapsed on his way out, having gotten incredibly dizzy. he'd left nothing but a note on the nightstand reading, "Be back soon." hajime wakes up to an empty bed and almost (almost) panics, steadies his breaths to the small snores of a sleeping baby in a nearby crib. he finds nagito half unconscious on the beach slumped on a duffel bag. "nagito??? nagito???? nagito!!! oh, thank god" "h...inata-kun?" "yea, it's me, come on, let's get you-" and nagitos eyes clear up and he shoves hajime away. "nagito-?" "stay away from me!" "nagito, you're not in your right mind, let's go back to the cabin-" "...how did you find me." "well, I found your note, which scared me shitless- I had no idea where you were or what had happened to you and frankly, I'm pretty pissed about that, but that can wait until I know you're safe-" "I'm so sorry, hinata-kun, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry, hinata-kun, hinata-kun, hinata-kun-" "jeez, I said you can call me hajime... it's alright, relax, i'm not really mad. I was just worried." "you don't understand, you have to get away from me now-" "what are you even doing out here. what's with the bag" "hinata-kun." "....where were you going" "I hadn't decided yet" "why" "I-" "just bc you're in remission, you think you can just do whatever you want? what if something happened to you? goddamn it, you're not bullet proof, nagito! I know you're working on it, I know you're trying, but fuck you're so goddamn selfish! people care about you! I care about you! why can't you just understand that!" "i won't let myself hurt you!" "you're hurting me now!" "this will ruin your life, i will ruin your life-" "im your fucking....best friend, just tell me what's wrong, i can help you-" "nobody can help me, it's too late for me..." "goddamn it, nagito, please-!" and nagitos voice breaks when he whispers. "...i'm pregnant" ".......what" and nagito breaks into a quiet sob "I'm pregnant, hajime, and no one else on this island would dare defile themselves with me the way you have..." "are you serious?" "please don't make me say it again" and maybe if nagito weren't lost in a spiral of self deprecation and if his eyes weren't swimming with tears, he would've seen the nervous smile that broke out on hajime's face, the joy in his voice. "nagito, that's-!" "horrible? disgusting? i know I'm an abomination, hajime, maybe if my pathetic body functioned the way it was meant to-" "don't say that. don't you ever say that" "please just leave..." "you...you were pregnant with our kid and you were gonna leave??? what if you relapsed? what if you needed me?" hajime grabbed his face and forced nagito to look at him. "why are you doing this?" nagito laughed breathlessly, hysterically. "don't worry, hinata-kun, i would have brought them back! i simply didnt want to force you through the despair of having someone as putrid as me being pregnant, knowing that you've procreated with the lowest scum of the earth....surely it would ruin you. besides, i could never take your child from their father. nor would i subject them to my luck...will you let me go now, knowing your child will be alright" "they're your kid too" "for the sake of their sanity I'd rather keep that to myself" hajime steeled his expression, then grabbed Nagito's wrist. "we're going back to the cabin. we'll talk more in the morning." "Hinata-kun, let go of me." "nagito, let's go." "hinata, let go" "I'm not leaving you out here" nagito starts tearing up again and scratching frantically at his own skin. "please" "we're leaving." and hajime picks nagito up (he was

probably still too dizzy to walk anyway). but nagito starts screaming and thrashing and crying and weakly hitting hajime. "LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LET ME GO, IM GONNA HURT YOU, IM GONNA KILL YOU, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE-" and hajime starts silently crying too but he just holds on tighter and keeps walking. i think they get to the cabin and hajime sets him down on the bed and nagito starts punching hajimes chest (not hard) but hajime just grabs his wrists and holds them tight as nagito struggles and cries softly. "i ruined your life..me and this broken body of mine." "i...love you. you're not broken. I'm not leaving and neither are you." "i hate you..." "you're the best thing that ever happened to me." "I'll kill you..." "you won't." "why won't you just leave.." "why won't you stay." "..." "lets go to bed. we'll see mikan in the morning. get some rest." nagito is still scratching at his skin when hajime pulls him against his chest and forces nagito to lay down with him. "i love you" "im scared..." "i know" "im so sorry.." "i know. it's ok" "it's not" "as long as you're still with me, it is." "you're too kind to me.." "i love you." "how many times are you going to say that." "as many times as it takes for you to believe it." and the conversation pitters off as nagito silently sobs into hajime's chest until he passes out while Hajime rubs small circles into his back and presses kisses to his head. nagito wakes up with his eyes swollen face still tucked into Hajime's chest and he knows hajime's awake bc he can feel his chest vibrating with light hums and soft strokes to his hair. nagito looks up and licks his lips, eyes watering again when he sees hajime's patient gaze, his eyes crinkling in a worried smile, extenuating the eyebags and evident exhaustion. "hinata-kun, i'm so s-" "shhh. none of that. we're seeing mikan in a bit, i already called her. i'm sorry for not noticing what was going on. it must have been so hard dealing with this alone.." "you shouldn't have to deal with it.." "i want to. i love you. we're in this together. for as long as you'll have me. it's hard, it's really hard sometimes, because i hate seeing you like this..it makes me feel so helpless it reminds me of-- the. program. but it's worth it. for you, it's always worth it." "hinata..." "keep resting. don't strain yourself too much." "i love you...i love you..i love you ..." "i know." going to see mikan and mikan warns them that Yes nagito is in fact pregnant and the fact that he's just come off of chemo and is still in remission is gonna make the pregnancy tough on him physically and that he's gonna get about as sick as he was before but promises it's temporary and that she guarantees he'll see the baby to full term ("link that's medically incorrect" idc link does what he wants Hajime has a dude put in his head via lobotomy science is a liar sometimes) and hajime holds nagito's hand the entire time and presses a kiss to his cheek when he cries a little when mikan says the baby will be healthy and ok and survive and nagito turns to him and gives him a watery smile before laughing and crying joyously a little more and thats when hajime knows they'll be ok. they do talk more abt this whole thing, nagito's motives, bebi,,,,but that's like a 1k fic and this post is alr long enough 😅maybe i'll polish it and make it a fic. long story short, hajime's personally extremely happy that nagito's pregnant, but his worry over nagito's health as a whole, physical and mental kinda trumped that but past that- it's nothing but excitement! (they did not know they were having twins...so excitement and a surprise!) as for bebi, they were very happy to be getting a sibling! they love mimicking everyone they see by talking to their papa's tummy, touching it, generally babbling to komahina how they're gonna share their toys with the baby, will the baby play with them, can they share a room? they always want more love in their life !

[agusvedder]

I DON’T CARE if this doesn’t get any notes. I need to vent.

My name is Agustina, I’m 27 years old. I’m a nonbinary, queer, latinx person, parent of a 4 year old, non-verbal authistic child. I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I’m 9 thousand kilometers away from the woman I love.

I’m not a victim. I am a minority. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I started watching Supernatural in 2015, you know, being a stay-at-home parent, who dropped her career and her job to live the first years of their child, there wasn’t much I could do in my free time but to watch a show. I caught a few episodes of season 11 on tv and then I decided to start from zero. I always acknowledged how problematic it was in terms of representation, but always saw small threads of light filtering in the message it sent, recognizing how its writers were trying to shed a little light, creating a jenga tower of storylines and new characters, only to be thrown away by poor, useless deaths and the erasure of said characters.

Since my first run on season 1 I related to Dean. I saw myself on him. (I will never be as brave and cool as him tho, never ever, but his personality traits, some of his family issues, his self worth issues, his loneliness, his unaddressed childhood trauma, his growth in a circle of violence, his reticence to address his feelings until he explodes?... Yeah. There are days where my girlfriend makes fun of me saying “Ok Dean”). I kept looking up to Dean in his geekiness, in his way he always put his life on the line to protect the people he loves and put them always first… even in the supernatural side of the storyline, he still was profoundly human and abnegated to the people in his life. Also because I’m deeply in love with Castiel but that’s another subject. Thanks to this show, I’ve found people in my own country who now I recognize as my family beyond SPN, who helped me accept myself the way I am, who are always there for me. My found family, my chosen family. Because family don’t end in blood, because family cares about you, not only for what you can do for them, because that’s what all of us have in common, and why this show resonated as strongly as it did for us. That’s why we found each other and ourselves in the process, in a circle of love, support, non-judgement and willingness to find a family in ourselves when our own blood relatives ignored us, abused us, refused to recognize us. We’ve found love and family. I’ve found the woman with whom I wanna spend the rest of my life with because of this show.

That’s the power of this story. I know my small circle is not the only one who lived this, who continues to live it.

I can talk about this forever, but there’s something I wanna talk about specifically here. When the ending aired.. what I felt was… like a bucket of cold water was thrown over my head. You know when your parents come home, or call you and give you the devastating news that someone you love died? that exact feeling. The adrenaline, the heartbreak, the feeling of loss. 

The whole season 15 and 15 years of storyline were completely overturned. The misogyny the writers tried so hard to erase, it was there again, in a faceless woman who was supposed to represent the person a lead chose to spend the rest of his life with, reduced to a lilac dress, a blurry face and a uterus. We never seen acknowledged the existence of Eileen Leahy, Sam Winchester’s romantic interest since season 11, his perfect partner whose disability wasn’t an obstacle for her to be a badass hunter. (BUT COVID!! <- No. Eileen Leahy appeared in two episodes this season without Shoshannah being on set: Last Holiday and Despair. If they wanted to include her, they would have. They didn’t because they don’t give a FUCK). Sam Winchester is an academic, a witch, a leader, a powerful hunter, a kind human being, and the ending that was given to him was living an unfulfilled life, dying at a ridiculous young age, having a son only to replace his dead brother? It was sad. Sammy deserved better. He always did.

My beloved Dean Winchester, who I love so deeply, who taught me a lot about myself, about life, love, family, about *ejem* VICIOUS CIRCLES and the power of breaking free from them, of learning to embrace one’s self, our real tastes, our real identity, to come out of a shadow of being reduced to someone’s caretaker instead of having an identity of our own, to spend life loving family the healthy amount.. well, he was killed in a ridiculous way, on a milk run of a hunt.  After being eager and ready to kill himself so many times. After all he’s been through, after saying he’s good with who he is, after considering retirement, after standing up to his dad, saying he already has a family, ready to cut the “I’m Okay” bullshit, address his feelings, his trauma, don’t letting those define him. He deserved better. He always wanted a family, he always wanted to break free from the version of himself he was created to be, “daddy’s blunt little instrument” (For fuck’s sake, he even said it in the same show 10’ before dying, man. If we don’t keep living, the sacrifice the people who died for us did, was for nothing). Are you telling me this man really would refuse his brother to call an ambulance? Refused his brother to get the first aid kit even knowing it was more serious than his brother thought? He was ready to live. He CHOSE life, and at the end his choice was stripped away from him. He clearly was a bisexual man and they never explored it.

Cas. The misfit. The fish outside of the water. Ambiguous gender and sexuality. Finally makes a homosexual declaration of love after all he’s been through. After being brainwashed, used, suicidal, isolated. After telling Sam and Dean he loved them more than once, that they meant everything for him. After confessing he’s been in love with Dean since he pulled him out of hell…. Was erased from the story. Erased, literally. Two emotionless mentions aren’t enough for a 12 year old family member who pulled both brothers out of hell, who died for them more than once, who until 2 seasons ago he didn’t even feel like he belonged there ‘cause he was never told he was loved. No one ever told him “I love you” back. Not Jack, not Sam, not Dean, not Mary. No one. Ever. And still, he died for love. And with his death, he was erased from the finale, being that the first finale Castiel wasn’t in since his appearance on the show. He deserved better. 

All roads lead to Rome and you know what we got at the end of that road? a bottomless pit of NOTHING. The building up towards a different end isn’t just in s15. It’s been there for years and years. And if you watch the show, you see it at plain sight.

 

Sam Winchester hurried to die to reunite with his brother in heaven EVEN WHEN HE SPENT 30 MORE YEARS WITH A WIFE AND A KID he only wanted to die to go back to his brother? it’s insane, it’s ridiculous. That’s not what the show has been about for seasons now. SEASONS. The road was paved towards a healthy brotherly bond, each brother living their future the way they wanted, finally breaking free from the curse John dropped on Dean that Sam’s destiny was in his hands. No no. What was that? Did it ever happen? Was it a fever dream? They really destroyed everything in 38 minutes of the finale? 

Stupid. 

Representation is important, stories are important. They change lives. You know how it changed mine? After I saw Jonathan Van Ness coming out as non-binary, I started to realize how I never called myself "a woman, a girl" or anything like that, how my "female presenting" aesthetic changes drastically depending on how I feel when I wake up  how I always called myself a "person", no gender involved. I realized I was a non-binary person even after becoming a parent. Thanks to Jonathan Van Ness. Thanks to seeing a person like her being unapologetically herself. 

Representation matters. 

It matters. 

It helped my mom understand me when I was 13 and had a girlfriend. It helped my dad educate himself about trans identities. It helped my sister understand about her demisexuality. It helps break circles of ignorance and stereotypes. It helps people process what these characters wanna tell, and realize they're human beings above it all. We suffer, we laugh, we grieve. We love. We exist. 

Supernatural missed a chance to be a historical show in terms of representation. And it breaks my heart.  I cant believe they decided to erase Dean's sexuality, to erase Castiel after saying loud and proud he's in love with a man, to erase Eileen whose disability only was a disadvantage when they KILLED HER in the most ableistic way in s11, to never show Charlie and her girlfriend again, that they decided to make God bisexual AND a villain, thay they decided to turn the only regular non-binary character of color into the villain too (Billie).

I'm still grieving.

This is why "a stupid show" is so important for me, and for lot of people like me. Cause representation can change lives. Stories can change lives. It certainly changed mine, and I'm not the only one. 

Don't let anyone tell you you're just a butthurt fan because you're suffering this ending. Every one of us have a story and this is mine. All of us are valid, our feelings are valid. And we'll get through this eventually

[lovelylogans]

so idk if requests are still open for wyliwf but i’m a sucker for dee in aus and it seems like he gets a bit of redemption before the most recent oneshot. If you feel up to it, i’d love to read something on that

debutante

part of the wyliwf verse.

chapter one | next chapter

notes: this ask was sent right after odds are! look, i know i’m overlooking several of the rules of the debutante ball, but honestly, so did gilmore girls, so. source material, here.  i hope this can serve as a distraction for some of you today—please go out and vote if you are able and if you haven’t already! also happy birthday logan!!!

A debutante or deb (from French: débutante, “female beginner”) is a young woman of aristocratic or upper-class family background who has reached maturity and, as a new adult, comes out into society at a formal “debut” or possibly debutante ball. Originally, the term meant the woman was old enough to be married, and part of the purpose of her coming out was to display her to eligible bachelors and their families with a view to marriage within a select circle.

or: logan wants to dismantle the cis-heteronormative patriarchy with his bare hands and teeth if necessary, roman delights in dresses, virgil fucking hates tuxedos, patton’s really proud of his son, and dee thinks those sanders’ might not be so terrible after all.

⁂

“i need a dress.”

patton blinks, glancing up from the kitchen table where he’s organizing his notes for midterms for his business degree. bright side, last set of midterms patton would ever have to take! dark side, midterms. “just, like, generally, or…?”

the slight attempt at a joke dies when he catches the look on logan’s face—clenched jaw, eyes flashing—and he sets down his papers.

“i’m coming out,” logan continues.

“kiddo, you did that when you were about eight,” patton points out. “remember? i said i loved you and i was proud of you and i’m so glad that you trusted me enough to share that moment with you and thank you for telling me, and we went and got ice cream at lucy’s, and then you tried to use the whole sentimental thing to get me to ask out virgil because you were supposed to have a positive gay role model in your life, as if us being separately gay wasn’t enough in this town whose main tourist attraction is its rich history, from the times of our founding fathers to the times of pride.”

patton’s quoting the most recent town brochure, here.

“no, dad,” logan says, and arches his eyebrows significantly. “i’m coming out.”

the double-meaning clicks in his head.

“no,” patton says, hushed—he isn’t sure if it’s in awe or horror. “like—like, debutante coming out? or, um, wait, like—like—?”

“the male equivalent is a beautillion, and no, i mean like debutante coming out,” logan says. 

patton pauses, waiting, but logan says nothing, until patton says, “kiddo, either your attempts at trying to push this information into my brain via telepathy aren’t working or my brain’s too fried from midterms to catch the implications of what you’re saying, i’m gonna need more details than that.”

logan drops into the other seat at the kitchen table, huffing out a slow breath. 

“you remember dee.”

“your former rival turned weird allies that are still sometimes rivals, yes,” patton says. 

“who came over to our house once.”

“for the gsa poster-making thing?” patton says.

“right,” logan says, and arches his brows, waiting for patton to catch on.

“when… he mentioned he was also trans?” patton elaborates.

“right,” logan says. “i think dee’s parents are trying to out him, because they informed him of their intentions to sign him up for the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball.”

a cold feeling crawls uncomfortably in his stomach.

presenting him to society. a debutante ball. undeniably, harshly female. one of the main benefits of the timing of patton’s coming out had been so he wouldn’t have been a debutante—the very concept of doing that had given him this exact same cold, crawling feeling.

“dee gave me about five separate explanations as to why, of course, so i don’t particularly know why they’re choosing to out him now,” logan says briskly, “but i have a plan as to how that’s not going to happen.”

“you’re… going to be a debutante,” patton says slowly.

“well,” logan says, and fishes out a piece of paper from his backpack. “hopefully, not just me.”

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY, the title screams in huge letters, then subtitled with Become a debutante or an escort today! Why should women be the only ones who have to go through this? Be a better feminist and put on a dress, if you’re a boy, or a tux, if you’re a girl, and if you fall outside of the gender binary, the choice of debutante or escort is up to you. Contact Logan Sanders for more details. there’s two copies—one blank, and one with an already modest list of names. which is probably to be expected, debutante balls were a big deal at chilton, except the usual names that would be listed under escorts are listed under debutantes, and vice versa.

“dermot, tristan, brad, henry, roger,” patton reads off, slow, and then he looks up at logan. “and madeline, lem, lisa, summer, and ivy.”

“well, it’s hardly fair that girls have to go through all this primping and glamming up just to be seen as presentable to society,” logan says briskly. “boys should come out into society, too.”

“which is your cover story,” patton says slowly, putting it together. that cold, uncomfortable feeling is turning into a warm glow that’s turning up the corners of his mouth.

“right,” logan says. “if a group of boys will show up in pretty white dresses, all very serious about their intentions of being presented to society, with their escorts of girls in tuxes, then—”

“then everyone will think dee is part of the ploy.”

“exactly,” logan says. “his secret is kept under wraps and no one has to know.”

 patton leans abruptly over the table to wrap logan up in a hug.

“hey,” logan complains, but patton just squeezes a little tighter.

“you are,” he says, choked up, “such an amazing friend, kiddo.”

it sounds like something he and christopher might have done as a prank back in the day—christopher in the dress, patton in the tux—but this—this—

patton lets go of him, grinning hugely. “i am so proud of you.”

“so you’re okay with it?”

“okay with it?!” patton laughs. “you’re protecting your friend from getting outed in a way that would be very embarrassing and schooling high society about how weird it is that they still present their daughters like they’re cattle for purchase! of course i’m okay with it!”

“so, dress?” logan asks, and honestly, patton’s just about ready to grab his wallet and haul logan to the finest dress store he can find, before logan continues, “if grandma still has it, we could probably steal the one she was intending to use for you from the cellar.”

that cold feeling is back. “ah.”

logan blinks. “what?”

patton sits back down. “i forgot about your grandparents.”

“what about—?”

patton chews at his lip. “mom’s a part of the daughters of the american revolution.”

“why does that matter?” logan says, and patton sighs.

“oh, you know by now that things work differently in grandma’s world than ours,” patton says. “just—i definitely support your right to do this, but just… know that if a fight comes out of this, i will not regret it or back down, okay? i’m always on your team.”

“well, i know that,” logan says, like it’s obvious, which, fair, it probably is, or at least patton hopes so, it’s his job as a dad to be on his kid’s side. “i’ll bring it up at dinner on friday, we’ll see how it goes over then. they’re less likely to yell at me.”

“it’ll just be us and grandma, your grandpa’s in… i think copenhagen?” patton says, considering, and waves a hand. “some historical city across an ocean, anyway, and virgil’s working.”

virgil is almost always working on friday nights. it’s only partly because he owns the diner, but it’s also because, well. friday night dinners. patton doesn’t blame him for avoiding them—even with the buffer of a couple months, it’s not exactly an easy relationship between him and patton’s parents.

“well, that’ll be something,” logan says briskly, then stands. “i’m going to go put one of these sheets on sideshire high’s bulletin board.”

“good call, a ton of kids here would want to crush heteronormativity and an excuse to wear a pretty dress slash tux,” patton says. “i’m betting you’re gonna ask roman?”

logan looks like he’s trying not to flush, and he adjusts his chilton jacket. “he’s the one letting me in. he’s still there for cheer practice.”

“ahhh,” patton says, only a little teasing. “well, let me know what your plans for the afternoon are, it’ll probably be virgil’s for dinner tonight, ‘cause,” and he lifts up a sheaf of his papers for emphasis.

“isn’t it always?” logan points out, and, with that, he departs.

“my little baby, off to destroy people!” patton calls teasingly after him, grinning, so proud he feels like he’s about to burst.

“i’m destroying the cis-heteronormative patriarchy!” logan calls, and then there’s the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.

patton’s going to take him on a trip to bookstore and he’s buying him everything he wants.

⁂

“granmè, i’m home!” dee calls, dropping his backpack at the door and hanging his bowler hat on the coat rack.

“hello, mister slange.”

“nanny,” dee acknowledges. he’d address her by her first name, if he knew it. he admires that about her; it’s something they share.

nanny soledad used to be his nanny, back when he’d needed such things; she’s from the dominican republic, which his parents thought was “close enough” to being haitian that it would be enough to help him adjust. which is accurate enough geographically, but not culturally. honestly, he’s surprised his parents even bothered to look as far as geographically. 

but now he is too old for such things, and his grandmother’s memory problems are growing more and more apparent by the day, so nanny had made the transition from the ancestral slange manor to the slange family townhome, where his grandmother evelyn lives.

the townhome is a bit run-down, in comparison with the manor; no multiple wings, no murals on the ceilings, no precisely selected statues in the alcoves. instead, the townhome is a conglomeration of furniture collected by the family over the years; all of it high-quality, expensive, but almost none of it matching, with persian rugs thrown down over almost every hardwood surface, armchairs cluttering the spare corners, paintings hanging dilapidated with no rhyme or reason to their collection. it feels a bit squashed and claustrophobic, sometimes, with its dark woods and narrow hallways and secluded rooms, in comparison to the aggressively, purposefully airy nature of the manor with its open floor plan and silver accents and crisp, neutral colors.

the townhome is closer to chilton, so dee had reasoned to his parents that there was no reason to keep using too much gas to have him make the commute home every night. his parents, frankly just happy to have him out of their hair, had acquiesced swiftly.

well. they tended to like him out of their lives, until they needed him for something. until he needed to act like a doll. dee pushes those thoughts away; he’s thought about it quite enough today.

so dee and his snakes and his clothes were stationed in one guest bedroom, nanny and martha in the others, and dee would return to the ancestral home on weekends and long breaks. it would stay that way for as long as he and nanny could get away with it.

especially with the latest developments. dee suppresses a shudder at the way he’d handled himself earlier in the day, and instead turns his attention to nanny.

“where is she?”

“your grandmother’s in the greenhouse,” nanny says, then, seeing the look on his face, “not gardening, you know i would be supervising if she were.”

“the azaleas are in bloom,” dee acknowledges. “she does like the azaleas.”

“that she does,” nanny says, and falls into step beside him. “i’ve had martha gather some cuttings sent up to her room. bertie is out running errands, but he should be back in time for supper. ingrid will be in later for dinner and should be sticking to the menu, unless you have other requests. it’s lobster linguine tonight.”

“all fine,” dee says, and winces to himself at how distracted he sounds. he needs to stop thinking about it. he needs to focus on the now. the present. thinking about his parents’ ultimatum looming over his head would do no good right now.

“now, she’s taken her medicine for the afternoon and requested some tea. would you like some as well, perhaps a snack?”

“whatever she’s requested will suffice,” dee says. “thank you, nanny.”

nanny nods, and departs for the kitchen. dee continues through the house, to the backdoor, and into the greenhouse.

greenhouse is a bit of an exaggeration. it’s really more of a solarium that’s been overcrowded with pots and planters, in addition to the gardens outside. there’s floor-to-ceiling windows, and the room is overwhelmed with wicker furniture. it’s calming, in here; to say that there’s a lot of earth tones would be an understatement, and the light filters in gold and tangibly warm. 

it’s the most open-air part of the house, but less like the manor; if the manor was like some renaissance painter’s imagination of heaven, all pearly white clouds and soft pastels, this was an impressionist painting’s portrait of a landscape—plants and woods and life, verdant and vibrant and vivid. 

the greenhouse is also the warmest room in the house, which he’s sure is part of why it’s his grandmother’s favorite. dee’s already moving to shed his capelet and gloves; if he doesn’t, he’ll get disgustingly sweaty.

his grandmother is sitting in her favored rocking chair, seemingly not having heard him open the door. her reading glasses are perched on her nose, about to slip off, and she’s deeply absorbed in her book.

“hello, granmè,” he says in french.

that makes her look up, and she smiles at him, reaching out her hand.

“hello, my sweet,” she says warmly, and he reaches out and squeezes her hand carefully—he has an irrational fear that one day, if he forgets his strength, if he squeezes too hard, he’ll snap the delicate little bones in her frail hand easier than blinking. she switches to french. “did you have fun at school?”

he scowls, settling in the rocking chair beside hers, separate by an end table that’s teeming with books. “it’s school, grand-mère.”

“that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun,” she says. “did you learn anything interesting, at least?”

that logan sanders is just as unsurprisingly terrible at comfort that one would expect?

instead, he says, “we’re supposed to start reading sula for homework today.”

she brightens, as he knew she would—his grandmother adores all things toni morrison—and they begin talking about books, and other works by toni morrison, and their favorite parts of said books, which eats up the better part of the fifteen minutes it takes nanny to deliver the tea tray to the greenhouse.

“thank you, nanny,” evelyn says, still in french. nanny nods—she’s fluent in spanish and portuguese and english, not quite in french, but she knows enough to get by in a conversation—and withdraws from the room without a word.

dee swiftly takes the teapot before his grandmother can attempt to pour it herself—her plus a heavy pot of near-boiling water was a hospital visit waiting to happen—and switches to english, saying, “would you mind plating some of the battenburg for me, granmè?”

“as long as you have a crumpet,” she says. “you’re a growing boy, noodle.”

“yes, yes, fine,” he sighs, pretending to be put-upon at both the pet name and the insistence of somewhat healthy eating. “a crumpet too, then.”

he fixes her cup as she likes it—two sugars, a splash of cream—and trades her teacup and saucer for a plate of snacks before he works on making his own tea and she arranges her own plate. he notices that she has reached for none of the savory options, instead opting entirely for sweets.

dee hides his smirk in his tea. 

they continue chit-chatting about all kinds of things as they work their way slowly through tea, a holdover from his english grandfather. even though grand-mère’s french, she’s too fond of teacakes and snacking in general to really do away with it, even nearly two decades after his passing. they talk about the azaleas (yes, they look exceptional this year) running the household (bertie was going to visit his grandchildren next week, yes he’d make sure bertie would pass on her hellos, yes he’ll manage fine without him, it’s not like nanny and martha and ingrid won’t be here) and his academics (yes, he thinks the semester’s going well.)

they talk about everything except the thing that’s weighing most heavily on his mind. 

she might not know. she might not even remember.

dee pushes that thought away. once they’ve finished their tea, he excuses himself to do his homework, leaving her to her book and her admiration of the lilies, and nanny smoothly institutes herself in his chair, with the guise of a magazine to make it seem like she wasn’t supervising his grandmother.

dee picks up his capelet, gloves, and backpack on his way up to his room. back at the manor, he has a whole wing, but here he just has his room. it suffices.

he sits on the bed, briefly, in sight of the full-length, gilt-edged mirror, to sweep the capelet back around his shoulders and ensure that it’s sitting on him properly; he could probably get away with taking off his binder, as he’s home and they aren’t expecting visitors, except he very much does not want to do that right now. he pulls on his gloves, covering his vitiligo-ridden left hand first; his dermatologist swears his particular case is segmental, which typically doesn’t expand with time, but it feels like it has been.

but then again, it is just his left side affected. so. perhaps the woman who’d been to school for twelve years and was a specialist in his particular condition was right.

dee toes off his loafers, debating crossing the room and entering his walk-in closet to store them properly on the shoe rack, but decides against it—the singular item of clutter makes his room seem a little more lived-in.

it’s not that he doesn’t like his room here; they hired decorators to redo it back when his grandmother moved in and he started spending more time here, years ago, so the walls are a subtle shade of gold, with an accent wall plastered with an art-deco black-and-gold theme was behind his bed. his bed is massive and plush. everywhere he looks, things are black, gold, and white, in that order of frequency.

it’s just not very… well. lived-in.

his room at the manor house is worse, though. just about the only thing he likes there is the aesthetic of the gold. the chandelier and tufted wall and personal tv and absurdist decor that screamed “this is too expensive for you to even look at!” he could do without.

he might have to look at it all the more, soon. he’s dreading it.

“homework,” he reminds himself, “homework.”

he makes a beeline for his desk, where his snakes are settled in their vivarium, all lazily sunning themselves under the heat lamp, tangled together in a loose pile.

“layabouts, the lot of you,” dee informs them. luke, leia, and han do not seem to care.

dee settles at his desk, getting out his agenda, his books, and his notebooks. he gets out his favorite pen and sits, ready to get started on his to-do list for the day.

and that’s where his brain stops focusing on school, and starts focusing on what happened at school.

there are several locations in chilton that seem like they were designed specifically for crying.

the most popular ones are the almost-always abandoned bathrooms near the journalism lab were a good bet for most, with the stress of deadlines; and, considering they tended to share with the chemistry and biology labs, that was tripled, and therefore the most commonly-used choice. it wasn’t uncommon for med-school-aiming seniors to duck out around finals week and return after a carefully scheduled five-minute crying break, red-rimmed around the eyes. most were polite enough not to mention it to their faces.

then there was the kiln room; considering it was mostly empty, all bare walls and concrete, excepting for the periods of time where there were ceramics classes or art club, of course, it went mostly empty, and tended to be the discerning choice for arts-inclined students.

and then there was the option that he had opted for today; steal into the senior’s lounge, near the rear exit of the school, and hunker up into the most hidden corner, giving himself until the bell for the next class bell rings to have his breakdown where no one, not nanny or ingrid or bertie or martha or god forbid granmè would be able to hear him, the urge he’s been holding in since he descended from a lie-in yesterday morning to see his parents both sitting at the table. at granmè’s house. to speak to him.

which, really, was never a good sign in the first place, but even for his parents it was a particularly fucking terrible—

the exit door opens.

shit. shit.

dee hastily uses the ends of his capelet to wipe at his eyes and then rummages in his backpack, yanking out the first book he lays hands on, hoping against hope that he can pass it off as skipping class, he can manage that, his reputation wouldn’t even take a hit for that, whereas if someone like louise fucking grant caught him crying—

“are you skipping class?”

dee makes a show of glancing up, nonchalant, at the person who’s spoken.

“are you?” dee contests. logan sanders shakes his head, his hands braced on his backpack straps.

“no,” he says, then, “the bus popped a tire on the way to school.”

“another count against the bus,” dee murmurs, and he turns his attention back to the book, feigning a loss of interest.

logan has not walked away. in fact, he’s walking closer. dee clears his throat, hoping that he won’t get close enough to see his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. he’d specifically planned this particular crying jag so no one would see his puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“are you skipping class?” logan repeats. dee stifles a curse. damn journalist.

“so what if i am?” dee says, and he might have pulled off his airy tone, if his voice hadn’t cracked on the last word. dee coughs, to cover it, but now logan is walking closer.

“were you… crying?” logan says uncertainly.

“no,” dee lies. and honestly, getting caught might be worth it for the expressions that wars across logan’s face—pained awkwardness overwhelms it, but there’s concern, and discomfort, and a sense of do i have to, and honestly, if dee wasn’t in such a shitty mood it would be pretty funny.

“may i sit?”

“will you listen if i say no?”

“probably not,” logan admits. “even if you weren’t crying, which i’m pretty sure you were—”

“—i wasn’t—” 

“—your attendance is as good as mine, i’d still want to know why you were skipping class.”

dee makes a show of sighing, but shoves his backpack a little further away and scoots further into the corner. logan nods, settling his backpack beside dee’s, and sits close to dee. not quite side-by-side, but just far enough away that it’s clear he’s offering dee the choice to lean closer. it’s strangely thoughtful. he remembers, distantly, logan at his birthday party; he’d ducked hugs a lot of the time, only accepting it when he couldn’t substitute a handshake. he wonders if logan doesn’t like physical contact, and tucks away the idea of investigating that for potential use later.

logan pauses, before he says, almost kindly, “the book’s giving you away. you’re reading the scarlet letter. we read that last quarter. i highly doubt you’d be rereading it. you made your dislike known enough as we were reading it, not that i blame you for finding it dull and archaic. it is dull and archaic.”

dee bites back a curse as he makes a show of glancing at the book. he knew he should have cleaned out his backpack after midterms, but no, he’d been too busy—

“i like the scarlet letter,” dee lies, and logan looks at him, arching an eyebrow.

“try again.”

“what?” dee says. “i could.”

“you literally overrode class one day to complain, at length, about how stupid the plot is, how overblown and over-long the prose is, and that hawthorne desperately needed an editor. which i agree with, by the way.”

“well,” dee says. “i could still like it.”

“please,” logan scoffs.

he turns the book in his hands and reduces a shudder. god, what a terrible book. he’ll toss it as soon as he gets home.

“well, i like sleep,” dee says lightly, “and one should always have sleep-inducing material on hand. it’s remarkably effective. i like it for that reason, how about that?” 

logan smiles, with a little hum of acknowledgement. a i don’t believe you but i think your excuse is funny enough that i won’t press you on it hum. dee’s heard it many times.

they sit in silence for a couple minutes. long enough that dee thinks that he’s going to get away with it—if they’re quiet until second period, then dee can steal away and have an excuse ready by lunch, if need be.

except logan clears his throat, and dee braces himself.

“if you’d like to… talk,” he says stiffly, and he coughs again. “i am—here. clearly. not just physically, as i am now, but as a means of support. i suppose.”

dee rolls his eyes. “how convincing,” he says, and ignored how clogged-up his voice sounds, all of a sudden.

“yes, well,” logan says. “of the many things my father’s taught me, one thing he apparently hasn’t been able to pass down is being particularly good at navigating these… emotional kinds of conversations is not one of them.”

dee would laugh at the look on logan’s face when he says emotional, if his brain wasn’t stuck on my father. 

“your dad,” dee says, a strange tone in his voice, before he can stop himself.

logan’s dad, who was raised in this environment, in this world, and, somehow, had managed to be openly, proudly trans.

logan’s dad, who had been trans, without his parents attempting to publicly interfere with the way he presented himself.

must be nice.

“yes,” logan says cautiously. “what about my dad?”

dee takes a deep breath, and, immediately, two concepts begin to war in his mind.

don’t tell him, one side screams. the whole reason you’re out here is because you don’t want people to see weakness!

he has access to a unique perspective that, to your knowledge, is only shared by yourself and that other person, he argues with himself. and the largest part of this that would be kept secret, he already knows. and you have blackmail in hand if he were to suddenly confess with this additional quest for information.

dee lets out his breath. he says, “does your dad talk about the way it was for him? back then.”

logan stiffens, ever so slightly, in surprise.

“not often,” he says, the cautiousness still lingering in his tone. “he’s only ever really told me a little; bits and pieces. not details, you understand, but…”

logan pauses, collecting his thoughts. dee almost snaps at him to hurry up; usually, logan’s a decent enough public speaker, but the whole dramatic pause thing he did sometimes was really quite annoying.

“i know that it wasn’t easy, for him,” logan says. “that in part, the reaction helped fuel his desire to run away, in addition to my existence and the further stigma that’s associated with that. there are likely old issues of the jefferson that could provide the nastier details; i’ve given him my word i wouldn’t seek them out. i don’t particularly want to. in addition to the writing skills of the jefferson being terrible, i am not particularly inclined to read transphobia and terrible rumors about anyone, much less my father.”

another pause. then, “he had a bonfire for all his dresses and skirts.”

dee turns to him, startled. logan’s dad? that soft little puffball?

“i know,” logan says, seemingly agreeing with how out-of-character it seemed. “my other father—christopher—helped. he’s been saving stories of his various teenage rebellions, too. he used to be rather…” a brief hesitation. “a rabble-rouser.”

dee snorts. it sounds very snotty and terrible and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

(also—well, dee had known that logan was technically a hayden, it was just he hadn’t really heard logan outwardly express it, ever. he knows that christopher is located in california, somewhere. he wonders how logan handles that. something to look into.)

“why do you ask?” logan says.

“you know why.” 

“all right, that was poorly phrased,” logan says. “why ask about this now?”

dee hesitates. logan adds, awkwardly, “if you don’t want to answer—”

“it’s… fine,” dee says stiffly. he clears his throat. he looks at his shoes.

logan is one of the smartest people you know, he reminds himself. he wouldn’t tell. he knows you’d immediately move to destroy him if he told.

keeping his eyes on his toes, he says, forcefully light, “my parents have entered me into the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball. apparently, they’ve decided to stop humoring this phase i am going through, as i am now sixteen, it is time to cease such childish rebellion and enter society properly, as a—” dee stops, abruptly.

“as a gender which you are not,” logan finishes for him. his voice is very, very quiet.

dee clears his throat, and redirects his gaze from his shoes to the wall across from them. he’s very conscious of logan’s eyes on him, examining him, staring at his face for any sign of weakness.

“dee,” he begins, haltingly.

“it doesn’t matter,” dee says, except for the fact that it very much does matter. 

“that’s not,” logan begins, then, “i don’t,” and then, a frustrated sigh, before he says, “i’m sorry.”

“don’t,” dee snaps. “i don’t want your pity.”

“the definition of pity is the feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others,” logan snaps back. “as a fellow member of the lgbtq community, of course i feel sorrow and compassion at the information that someone does not have the support of their parents, and that lack of support will cause that someone will be outed publicly without their consent.”

dee doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to stare at the wall. his jaw is clenched so tightly he thinks his teeth might break from the pressure.

“is there anything i can do?” logan says stiffly.

dee keeps his eyes on the wall. “no,” he bites out.

they sit in awkward silence for a few more seconds. it feels like an hour. then:

“what if i stopped it?”

dee scoffs.

“what?” logan says.

“please,” dee says. “it’s the dar debutante ball.”

“we can get you out of it.”

“the bill’s already paid,” dee says. 

“then we’ll stop the ball,” logan says.

“i’m sorry, have you met the ilk of your grandmother and her friends?” dee says pointedly. “you think you’re going to rob them of the chance to trot their precious little darlings around in a circle for all the men to drool over?”

logan’s back straightens. dee, finally, turns to look at him.

it’s like dee can see the lightbulb go off over his head.

“what?” dee says.

“nothing,” logan says, except he’s smiling.

“what,” dee snaps.

“nothing,” logan repeats. “it’s just—i might have an idea.”

“might,” dee repeats.

“might,” logan agrees. he’s clearly about to say more, but the bell rings, and there’s the beginning of shuffling steps that means people will emerge into the hallways. logan scrambles to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, before, belatedly, offering a hand to dee.

dee considers it. he accepts. logan helps haul him to his feet.

“your idea,” dee says, picking up his own backpack.

“you’ll see,” logan says, and dee huffs at him, before beginning to head off to his next class—

“dee?”

dee turns, and logan offers an awkward little facial expression that might be a smile.

“if you want to talk about it—”

“we aren’t friends,” dee says, cutting off whatever platitude that he’s clearly building up to. an idea. probably a lie to try and make dee feel better.

“i know that,” logan says, firmly. “but if you ever do… want to talk about it.”

“i will,” dee says, and tacks on, “if i want to.”

“okay.”

“but i probably won’t.”

“that’s fine.”

dee hesitates. “but if i do—”

“i’m around,” logan says simply. 

“i doubt i will,” dee says, attempting to resume his haughty expression.

“you know where to find me, if you do,” logan says. 

dee rolls his eyes, as if that conversation was very trying and not something that threatens to create an even bigger lump in his throat, and resumes his route to his science class.

“mister slange, dinner!” nanny calls, and dee startles. he clears his throat and puts down his pen, rising to his feet.

“coming, nanny!” he calls down the stairs.

find him. right. like the idea of talking to logan sanders about anything else in his life is even slightly appealing.

no, he tells himself. the idea of getting to know logan sanders? maybe even becoming something other than rivals? not even a little bit nice.

⁂

as soon as virgil comes out of the kitchen, roman has this Look on his face that makes virgil immediately say “no.”

“you don’t even know what i’m asking yet!” roman protests.

“i can tell you’re plotting something just by the look on your face,” virgil says.

“ah, but technically i’m not the one plotting, logan is,” roman says, and, well. that’s outside the norm. roman tends to be the plotter of the things that give roman That Look on his face, the one that reminds virgil only a little painfully of remus.

“okay, why am i involved in the thing that logan’s plotting?”

“patton’s in on it too,” roman points out. “and, uh, my mom.”

virgil pauses, contemplates, and says, “i don’t know if that’s a warning sign or not.”

“well, logan and i can explain when patton and him get here for dinner,” roman says. “in the meantime—”

“please don’t order something that will make your mom kill me for violating your meal plan too terribly, i don’t think i’ve recovered from last friday,” virgil says wearily.

“ugh, fine,” roman says, and orders something that is at least passably healthy, which he could really teach to his boyfriend and—and virgil’s boyfriend.

virgil’s boyfriend, patton. nope, even after two and a half months, it’s still bizarre in the best possible way.

by the time virgil puts roman’s order in, and carries out about three more, he’s carting a tray across the diner as the bell jangles and two familiar faces walk in.

“hey,” patton says, and leans in to give him a brief, welcoming kiss. habit. routine. thrilling. patton runs a thumb along virgil’s stubble, grinning at him.

“hey yourself,” virgil says, and jerks his head. “roman’s in a booth over there, and apparently i have a plot to be brought in on?”

and then patton… puffs up with pride? literally, puffs up. whenever he’s proud of logan, his posture gets better and he puffs his chest out a little and his chin tilts up, like logan achieving something is an achievement for patton, makes him more confident in himself. virgil guesses a lot of logan’s achievements owe at least a little credit to patton’s parenting, though, so it’s a fair trade. logan doesn’t seem to be complaining.

“that you do,” patton says, a little smug.

“okay then,” virgil says. “brainstorm your pitch and i’ll be right over.”

he drops off dinner orders—mrs. torres and a gaggle of other older ladies who coo and giggle and wave to roman, who blows kisses back, because he’s the default adopted son/grandson for any active older woman in town—before he sidles up to the sanders/prince booth.

“right, okay, orders, then plot,” virgil says, flipping to a new page in his notepad and clicking his pen.

patton and logan put in their orders—virgil successfully convinces them both to trade in something unhealthy for either a salad (patton) or a side of vegetables (logan)—which he notes dutifully, before he slides in beside patton in the booth.

“okay,” virgil says, and he nudges patton. “pitch.”

“my idea, actually,” logan pipes up, and virgil obligingly turns his attention to the younger sanders.

“so,” logan says, folding his hands. “i am coming out.”

“um,” virgil says, dropping his gaze pointedly to where roman’s resting his hand on logan’s wrist. “you did that. like, eight years ago.”

“that’s what i said,” patton says, pleased.

“let me rephrase,” logan says, and his nose wrinkles. “i am coming out in the sense of the viennese waltz, i will be deemed of good breeding and marriageable age, must have dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, fluffy white dresses, et cetera.”

“oh, jesus christ,” virgil says. “what friend roped you into being an escort for this thing? because that is not a friend.”

“keep listening,” patton chides, a laugh in his tone.

“well, that’s the thing,” logan says. “i’m not going to be an escort.”

virgil considers this for a moment. “i’m not following.”

“logan’s creating an army to charge upon the daughters of the american revolution so we can destroy the patriarchy,” roman says, bright and perky.

“i’m recruiting like-minded members of the next generation to make a statement about gender equality,” logan corrects. “in other words: i shall be the one with a dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, in a fluffy white dress.”

“uh.”

“me too,” roman says sunnily. “i’m going to be wearing a fluffy white dress, too. plus a ton of other kids in our grade—the idea’s really caught on. ooh, logan, we can recruit some of the dance girls as escorts!”

virgil tries to picture it: a group of boys in dresses, girls in tuxes, gasping, scandalized rich people. the idea brings a smile to his face.

“oh, good idea, we should send put a sign-up sheet in the studio,” logan says.

“wait, you said i was going to be involved,” virgil says, his brain catching up with him. “where do i fit into all that?”

“well,” patton says. “isadora and i decided to set up a kind of etiquette-and-dance crash-course day for all the kids involved, because despite my best efforts i have not purged the viennese waltz or my numerous etiquette lessons from my mind—”

“you, cultured?” virgil teases, and patton smacks virgil’s arm playfully.

“with no help from you, thank you very much,” patton says. “anyway. since isadora and i are teaching the kids, and there will be an influx of fluffy white dresses and tuxes…”

it clicks. “alterations.”

“got it in one,” patton says cheerfully.

virgil’s a pretty decent tailor, for an amateur—he’s done his fair share of hemming dance costumes, or fixing suits, even some emergency repairs for some wedding dresses, over the years. he’s about to say something along the line of are you sure i should do this, i don’t think i’m qualified for something so fancy but then he catches the hopeful look on logan and roman’s faces, and—

“all right, fine,” virgil says, and he stands. “just let me know when and where, yeah?”

logan grins at him, and roman chirps a thank you, and patton giggles, soft, as virgil makes his way back for the kitchen.

fancy debutante tailor. he guesses he can handle that. it’s not really a step outside of the norm, so it’s not like he’s doing anything super out there, like the kids are.

virgil thought too soon.

by the time he re-emerges from the kitchen, ready to wipe down the counters, patton and logan are at the table finishing up the last of their meals, and roman’s at the counter, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes snapping to him. 

“hey,” virgil says. “you need a refill of water? because i’m telling you now, if you’re going to try for dessert, you may as well give up now—”

roman rolls his eyes. “no. it’s about the debutante ball.”

“okay,” virgil says, and tosses his towel over his shoulder. “what about it?”

“it, um,” roman says, and clears his throat. “ugh. apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.”

“oh,” virgil says. 

“and, um, since i don’t really have a dad,” roman begins.

“i could alter a tux for your mom?” virgil suggests. “since everyone’s already doing the whole ‘screw gender’ thing anyway.”

“i—no, no, she’s probably going to do backstage stuff to make sure that the sideshire kids aren’t spooked by the rich people,” roman says. “plus, she’d hate wearing a tux.”

“yeah, fair enough,” virgil says. he thinks the only time he’s really seen her dressed up is when she has to, during a recital or performance or something. “okay. i could help with the tux of… i forget his name, what’s that guy who was your one-on-one instructor during the nutcracker? sergio, right? i could drive you to visit sergio—“

“sergio is in portugal,” roman says, looking an odd mixture of helpless, amused, and frustrated. “y’know. where he’s from?”

“oh,” virgil says. “um, there’s always taylor? you know he’d be super into the whole pomp and circumstance thing.”

“taylor,” roman says. “virgil. you of all people. recommend taylor.”

“i know, okay, i know, but i’m kind of coming up blank here,” virgil says. 

“coming up blank?” roman repeats, the frustrated part becoming more clear.

“i’m trying here,” virgil says. “you could—”

“oh, for god’s sake, dumb-utante, i’m trying to ask you to escort me,” roman snaps. 

virgil’s jaw drops. just a little. 

“oh,” he says.

roman flushes a brilliantly bright red, and looks down at his shoes.

“i—just, whatever, okay, you don’t have to,” he mutters, and scuffs the toe of his shoe over the diner floor. he needs new ones—the white, rubbery part of his converse is overrun with mud and sharpie doodles, the aglets frayed, part of the high-top worn from where roman grabs it to shove his foot into it every morning discolored. 

remus used to wear green converse, sometimes, the most casual in his extensive collection of costume-style clothes. he remembers telling roman this, when roman was pretty little and ms. prince had enlisted virgil to take roman out for back-to-school shopping, and virgil had bought roman his first pair. he’d been little, then. six, he thinks. maybe seven. they’d gotten ice cream after. roman had gotten rum raisin, and virgil ended up having to eat the rest of it when roman pronounced it “ucky” and roman had ended up getting his usual chocolate-cherry. virgil had made roman pinky-promise that he would get a small one, so he wouldn’t spoil his dinner.

but roman prefers high-tops, and remus had always gotten classic chucks. roman loves red, and remus loved green. 

they’re different, remus and roman. like night and day. it still makes virgil feel a little strange whenever he thinks about how much longer he’s known roman than he’d known remus—really, it had topped out a few years ago, much longer if virgil was just considering how long he and remus had been friends. so much of his relationship with roman was built on the basis of being the last of remus’ friends still in sideshire, other than ms. prince, and so he was one of the only ones who could tell roman about his dad. do what his dad would have done.

remus probably would have bought roman his first pair of chucks when roman was a baby, those little tiny shoes that can sit comfortably in the palm of virgil’s hand with plenty of space to spare.

but remus is dead, and so buying roman his first pair of signature red shoes had fallen to virgil.

basically everything remus would have loved to do with his son had fallen to virgil, really, if ms. prince hadn’t taken care of it first.

apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.

“no,” virgil says, strangely choked up. “that’s—that’s a good idea. cool. i can, um. i can do that.”

“really?” roman asked, eyes snapping up from his shoes. he smiles like remus when he’s plotting, that much is true, but when he smiles when he’s just happy—all virgil can see is roman.

“yeah, sure,” virgil says, and then he coughs into his elbow to clear whatever’s lodged in his throat. “just, uh. just keep me updated on, y’know. details.”

roman’s grin grows a bit more delighted, a bit more remus-like. “are you crying?”

“what? no,” virgil scoffs.

“because you sound like you’re about to start crying.”

“i was chopping onions,” virgil says lamely. “this has nothing to do with you.”

“oh, i better check my calendar again, i didn’t realize it was opposite day,” roman says gleefully.

“you’re the most obnoxious teenager i’ve ever met,” virgil says, and roman laughs, even as he’s backing away, slowly, toward the door. virgil rolls his eyes, and moves to wipe down the counters.

“and you have to wear a tux!” roman calls, and virgil’s head snaps up.

“wait, what, no way—“

“shave off the five o’clock shadow, too, i won’t be looking scruffy by comparison!” roman calls, opening the door. virgil scowls, rubbing a hand along his face—yes, he goes stubbly sometimes, especially during winters or when he’s busy, but he doesn’t look bad with facial hair, he just looks a bit off today because he woke up late—and the reality hits him. a tux. dressing fancy. being involved in a high society ceremony.

“the tux is bad enough!”

“you’re forgetting the tails, the cumberbun, plus white gloves!“ roman says, ticking it off on his fingers.

“i take it back!” virgil calls. “i’m not doing this anymore!”

“too late, i already signed you up!” roman shouts, and disappears from the diner before virgil can yell at him anymore.

a tux. tails. white gloves.

a cumberbun.

dammit, of course roman would manage to net him into some kind of makeover.

⁂

it’s been a shitty day so far. 

something kept interrupting his sleep last night, so when he finally managed to get to sleep, he slept through his alarm. granmè was already having a bad memory day, repeatedly calling out for her dead husband and not recognizing nanny, which means she probably won’t recognize him, so he had to keep out of their way, and as he was walking out the door he saw bertie holding up something ensconced in a garment bag, lips pursed in disapproval, whose length could only mean the arrival of a fluffy white dress, a nice reminder of the thing that dee was dreading.

and it isn’t even eight yet.

“move,” dee snarls to the particularly amorous couple blocking the path to his locker—really, people, it was seven forty-five in the morning, did they always have to start the day attempting to tie their tongues together?—and they shuffle aside, to a vacant stretch of wall, presumably to resume their excessive pda.

dee rolls his eyes. typical.

except—

“slange,” one of the makeout participants says. dee ignores him, placing the books he’d had to bring home for homework in and pulling out the books he’d need for his morning classes.

“hey, slange, i’m talking to you,” he repeats. 

dee rolls his eyes with all the sarcasm he can muster, and directs his gaze to them; summer, absently wiping some stray lipgloss off with her finger, and tristan, leaning over.

“what,” dee says, in the crispest tone he possibly can.

“didn’t take you for a troublemaker,” tristan says, grinning still; dee notes, sourly, that summer could probably spare some energy to wipe off the sticky lip gloss on tristan’s chin, too. 

“excuse me.”

“oh, right, right,” tristan says, and rolls his eyes. “fighting the patriarchy, excuse me. hey, if that excuse is enough to make it look good on your college resume, you wouldn’t happen to know how to—”

“you already know all the people in our grade who write papers for a fee, dugray,” dee says, already exhausted and snippy and—he hates to even admit it to himself—confused. “take it up with henry, if you must. and wipe off your face before you go to class, you have holographic glossier smeared everywhere. it’ll give you away to julia, she doesn’t wear lipgloss.”

summer gapes at him, and immediately begins to screech something along the lines of “what is that supposed to mean, i knew you didn’t block her like i told you to!” but dee’s already tuning it out, slamming the locker door shut and making his way to homeroom. frankly, summer should have dumped tristan the second he told her that she wasn’t allowed to talk to other boys. the pair of them were toxic together—half the material he had on tristan were things that he wouldn’t want summer to know.

the other half would, if it made its way to the right hands, get him sent off to military school.

dee’s saving most of the rest of that for when he gets really annoyed with tristan.

he might be there in ten minutes if he didn’t get an answer—what did tristan mean, trouble-making? and tristan dugray, fighting the patriarchy. please. tristan’s as emblematic of a toxic, rich, straight white boy that there could be. tristan adores all the trappings of the patriarchy; it better allows him to pursue whatever girl he wanted into being his girl of the week, despite the fact that they weren’t particularly wanting to be his girl of the week, whenever he and summer were on a break (and, most of the time, when they weren’t.)

except that isn’t even the only time.

henry, dermot, lem—even shy little brad, who usually breaks out into cold sweats at the sight of him since the whole theater incident in sixth grade, seem to be attempting to make eye contact with him as he walks down the hall, like they were in with him, or something. like they were suddenly friends.

dee stews, furious, at the very idea they could know something about him that he doesn’t know—until he sees lisa approaching logan sanders, who seems to be loading up his backpack.

dee frowns. logan wouldn’t like lisa—well, obviously, he’s gay, but also, lisa subscribes to her parents’ politics, including the epithets of “fake news,” and he’s pretty sure that alone would spring logan into a furious tirade like little else could.

dee pauses.

fight the patriarchy, tristan had said. trouble making.

“what if i stopped it?”

and then he moves immediately toward the locker.

“—long as you don’t say why, then yes, of course,” logan says.

“duh!” lisa chirps. “hilarious, lo-lo, seriously.”

logan’s face twists up as politely as he can manage at the sound of a cutesy nickname, but he can’t really say anything, since lisa’s already flouncing off to be discriminatory and heartless on her parents’ orders.

presumably.

“what,” dee says, “was that.”

“i know,” logan says, turning back to his locker. “lo-lo. what am i, a puppy?”

“not that,” dee says. “you know she’s—”

“a terrible person who stands against everything i am, yes,” logan says mildly. “but she’s wealthy and has a fair amount of—” a near-sneaky glance at a notecard in his hand— “clout, amongst the puffs.”

“the puffs?” dee repeats, his voice already sounding strange.

“you know, the secret sorority,” he says nonchalantly. “one of them, at least, and certainly the most desired to join—”

“i know who the puffs are,” dee says, in a tone that clearly denotes do you think i’m stupid, i’ve gone to this school for longer than you have.

“ah,” logan says. “right. well, i would have gone through francie jarvis, who is less diametrically opposed to—” he makes a sweeping gesture up and down his body, “but she was absent yesterday, so. lisa was the obvious in.”

“why do you need an in with the puffs?” dee says. 

logan glances up and down the hall—god, way to show off you’re discussing something sensitive—before he pulls a leaflet out of his backpack, handing it to dee.

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY!

dee skims it, and feels his eyebrows rise higher and higher, even as his throat gets disturbingly closed up.

“i noticed that a lot of the puffs are due for their debutante ball,” logan explains, even as dee stares at the—the excuse, the excuse that logan’s pulling for this elaborate ruse, that, if it works—

i won’t be outed.

dee swallows, hard. he folds the leaflet back up, and clears his throat.

“the puffs are a decent enough start,” he says, voice perhaps a bit thicker than normal. “as they’re the most socially prized secret society at chilton, it was a good place to begin—people will want to emulate them, especially those who are attempting to get puffed. mostly freshmen, but there are a few sophomores who are sixteen that’ll join. but you need to pivot your focus—the old crows and the skull and dagger would probably gain more participants per club capita.”

“old crows?” logan says uncertainly.

“the secret society for a select few seniors,” dee says. “who have likely already had a coming out, but it’s not uncommon to do multiple. skull and dagger would probably love an excuse to cause chaos, but that’s sorted, so long as you bother tristan some more. and if you’re going to come at it from the fight patriarchy angle, you’re going to need to get the clairosophic society involved.”

“the…?”

“another secret sorority,” dee says. “do you only know the puffs?”

logan abruptly looks sheepish, and dee sighs, put-upon.

“well,” he says. “clearly, you need my help pulling this off. of all the secret societies at this school, only ten are worth mentioning—”

“only ten?!”

“—so we can get people through those,” dee says, “and yes, ten, i thought you were a journalist, aren’t you supposed to know how to research these sorts of things?”

“well,” logan says. “i’ve already gotten a group of kids from sideshire, but clearly, i’ll need your help on the social side at chilton.”

a beat, and then, uncertain, “if you’re okay with this.”

dee stares at him for a long few seconds.

“if this works,” dee says carefully, trying to directly telepathically communicate i am okay with you attempting to cover for me like this, please count me in, “you’re going to have a hell of a college essay on your hands.”

a grin breaks out on logan’s face.

“as if i don’t have three drafts written already,” he says, and dee allows himself to grin back at him.

“now,” he says. “the clairs,” and logan readies a notebook, and, if dee were at all prone to clichés, he might say something like, this is the start to a beautiful partnership.

but he isn’t. obviously.

⁂

logan has his game face on.

patton’s seen this face countless times before; before he walks into mayor porter’s office to demand answers beyond pr statements, before they entered charleston’s office his first day at chilton, when coming face-to-face taylor after his latest piece that critiqued the way he handles town government.

he’s seen it while they were driving to the exact same place, too; before holiday parties, before birthday dinners, before the first-ever friday night dinner. but he hasn’t pulled up to the sanders’ mansion looking like that in months.

patton puts the car in park, removes the keys, and wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers for what must be the dozenth time that night.

“i’m on your side,” patton reminds him. 

“i know,” logan says and opens the car door, ready to storm up to the door and… well. tell emily that he was going to join the debutante ball.

which she’d probably be thrilled with, if he was the one escorting a girl in a white dress.

it would almost be a little funny to think about, if he wasn’t so nervous—emily expecting patton to go through a debutante ball in a fluffy dress, only to be derailed by the fact that he wasn’t a girl and, you know, the teen pregnancy; emily then expecting logan to escort a lovely young lady on his arm only to be turned around by logan doing it in a fluffy dress.

patton wipes his hands off on his pants again before he rings the doorbell. 

he has never seen the woman who answers the door before.

which isn’t surprising; new maids crop up at his parents’ house like weeds. he’s really hoping that therapy would help make a dent in that habit of his mother’s, but no dice yet.

“hi,” patton says, as kindly as possible—he always tries to be as kind as possible to the maids, just to make up for whatever future tiny offense that they might get fired for. one time he got grounded for two weeks for helping esperanza polish silver and practice his spanish. poor esperanza, he’d liked her.

plus, ever since the whole “being a homeless housekeeper” thing, his sympathy had really only escalated for them—he feels a level of solidarity, even if he’s not a housekeeper anymore.

“hello,” the maid says; she has an accent, patton thinks probably german. she’s blonde, and patton can see only half her face from the way she’s practically hiding behind the door.

“you’re new?” patton asks, and she nods.

“okay, well, hi,” patton says, offering a hand to shake. “i’m patton—”

she shakes his hand hurriedly, before pulling back further into the house.

“—and that’s my son, logan. what’s your name?”

“liesl.”

“hi, liesl,” he says warmly. “i’m emily and richard’s son, she’s expecting us for dinner?”

“oh! please, come in,” she says, flustered, opening the door further. 

“i, uh,” she says, “can i, um. get you a drink?”

“you know what, that’s okay!” patton says brightly. “we can handle it.”

a pause, before patton says in an undertone, “if you’d like to hide in the kitchen before my mother gets down here, please go for it.”

a look of relief breaks out on her face. “really?”

patton nods.

“thank you,” she exhales, and scuttles off to relative safety.

logan waits until she rounds the corner, before he says, “she won’t last another day.”

patton sighs, moving to hang his coat on the rack. he would tell logan that’s not a very nice thing to say, if he wasn’t right about it. “i know, poor thing.”

as they continued into the living room, patton could hear his mother coming down the stairs; less than a few seconds later, she rounded the corner, landline phone firmly affixed to her ear.

“—don’t forget that the dar meeting’s on tuesday, it’s at three o’clock and all the women are extremely punctual…”

emily makes eye contact with patton to roll her eyes, as if to curse the entire customer service industry; patton shrugs at her, just a little, before he lightly bumps logan’s shoulder and murmurs “soda?”

logan nods, drifting off to investigate the latest influx of tiny figurines that definitely weren’t there last week, and patton goes to the drinks cart to prep their drinks for the evening.

her mother’s talking about heddy cubbington—ah, so she’s talking to a caterer, then—and patton leans into her line of vision just enough to wiggle a bottle of gin at her, mouthing “martini?”

okay, he might try and make it a smidge stronger than usual. honestly, if she’s a bit off her game from more gin than usual, then maybe she won’t freak out as badly as patton is kind of expecting her to!

but regardless, his mother nods, even as she’s telling the caterer about her very precise tasting methods that they’ll have to follow to a t, and patton reacquaints himself with the process of preparing a martini exactly as his mother likes it—there was a stint of about a month or so when the hotel’s bar staff was incredibly short, way back in the day, so he picked up a few cocktail tricks here and there. 

he wonders if he could still manage to do a lidless shaker flip without spilling anything.

before he can try, though—and probably hear his mother’s outcry about trying his absolute hardest to stain her rug—his mother hangs up on the phone with a fervor, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“honestly, sometimes it’s like the only person with any sense,” she huffs. 

patton hums, carefully straining the martini into one of the coupes. he would do a martini glass, but those tend to spill more, the coupes hold more liquid, and she prefers the material of the coupes anyway—less likely to have fingerprint smudges, which also means one less thing to use to potentially snap at poor liesl. “troubles with the dar, mom?”

(okay, so maybe he’s busting out his old tricks to put his mother in a good mood—there’s almost nothing his mother likes more than gossiping and snipping at the members of the dar that aren’t pulling their weight, and once she’s expelled a bit of energy ranting like that, it usually meant less energy could be spent ranting at him.)

she sighs, settling on her usual spot on the couch. “constance betterton is running this event into the ground—” patton presses the martini into her hand, and she looks startled, momentarily, before thanks him briefly and continues on her tirade, including the perils of unsold tables and constance’s absolute inability to plan a function. 

patton hands over logan’s soda and directs him to the couch before he can crack open any books of interest, because logan will probably spend most of the dinner ignoring them if that happens, and since richard is on a business trip again that means it will be just him and his mom, and with how nervous he is over logan’s upcoming proposal he absolutely cannot do that, and then he goes and makes himself a plain club soda because him drinking sounds like a not-great idea right now.

by the time that particular train of conversation runs out of steam, it’s enough to carry them to the dining room. 

“so, logan,” emily says, as liesl attempts to set a land speed record for serving salads in her quest to get back to the kitchen, “is there anything new in your life?”

patton’s pretty sure that it would be impossible to pick up on who’s more nervous, him or liesl.

“there is, actually,” logan says, somehow entirely unfazed. “dee slange—you remember, you took me out to lunch with him and his grandmother evelyn—”

“oh, yes,” emily says, “wonderful woman, incredibly talented gardener. she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat.”

“—we’re arranging a bit of an extracurricular project,” logan continues. 

“oh?” emily says, sounding interested. she picks up her fork and begins to eat her salad. “you two are getting along, then?”

“we’ve come to an understanding,” logan says coolly, and even as nervous as patton is, he can’t but grin a bit at his son. we’ve come to an understanding. really, logan, it wouldn’t hurt to say that you’re friends now.

“wonderful,” emily says briskly. “good that you’ve put that petty rivalry behind you.”

patton bites his tongue rather than start on a rant about the seriousness of physical assault.

“quite,” logan says. 

“so, what’s this project?” she asks, with a slight gesture of her fork. “you two are interested in journalism, from what i hear, is it something like that?”

logan sets his fork down. “actually, grandma, it has to do with you, tangentially. mrs. slange is a member of the daughters of the american revolution. like you.”

“a research project, then?” she says. “richard will probably have some books for—”

“not really,” logan says. “we’re both arranging for greater participation in the debutante ball. i’m coming out.”

patton holds his breath. here we go.

emily chuckles. “the correct term for the young gentlemen is escorting, logan. are you both escorting young ladies, then? anyone i know?”

“oh, i used the correct term,” logan says mildly. “i’m coming up with a partner later, but i was actually going to ask if you ever bought a dress for dad to use before he came out.”

emily lowers her fork.

patton’s pretty sure that even if he was about to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to.

“i’m going to be a debutante,” he says, very slowly, as if explaining something he thought to be obvious.

“you’re not serious,” she says disbelievingly.

“i am,” logan says. “we have approximately twenty-five participants so far, and we’re recruiting more. so. do you have a dress or not?”

“that’s absurd,” emily says. “i mean—my grandson, gallivanting about in a dress, how will that look?!”

“you were going to let dad do it,” logan points out, and before patton can say hey, nice point! emily swivels to face patton, piercing him through with a glare. “did you put him up to this?!”

before patton can squeak out anything, logan putting down his fork with a clang louder than necessary, and she turns to face her grandson.

“i was simply asking if you had a dress,” logan says. his voice is very, very even. the game face has reappeared. “i can ask again, if you’d like. do you have a dress suitable for this occasion, or should i shop for my own?”

emily and logan stare each other down. patton’s eyes dart between them both.

his mother has a variety of nicknames: the cobra, from her antiquing friends, because she’d squeeze and squeeze at you until you complied. wicked witch of the west, by some of her shopping friends, over the levels she’d go to over something as simple as a pair of shoes. 

christopher had joked once that “people considered what patton’s mother would do in a given situation, dialed it back, and they’d have what mussolini would do, then they’d dial it back, and they’d have what stalin would do, and then they’d dial that back and then it starts approaching what a sane person would do.”

she’d once forced an ex-president out of a hotel room because theirs had been bigger than theirs. a president. of the whole united states.

patton’s gearing himself up to provide as much supportive parent backup to logan that he possibly can, and also cursing himself for taking the time to hang up his coat, because if he hadn’t and just kept it with him they could make a quicker escape, and palming the car keys in his pocket. he puts together comebacks for my friends will be at this event and undignified and what will people say?!

and then patton takes a closer look at his mother’s face. it’s not her version of the game face, patton notices.

and then patton puts together what that expression is, with no small amount of surprise.

she’s calculating.

she’s calculating, patton realizes with no small amount of shock, if it’s worth it to go up against logan.

because logan is definitely wearing his game face, coupled with a defiant, angry look that, with another shock, it reminds him of him. it reminds him of him when he was a bit younger than logan is now—and, he realizes, his mother must be recalling those hellion days too.

at last, his mother sighs, wipes her mouth a napkin, and stands. “i might have something suitable.”

patton’s left sitting there, gaping. his mother. his mother backed down. his mother. did not fight with logan when it was clear what he was doing would interfere with her social status. 

his mother!

“well?!” emily snaps. “do you want to see it or not?!”

he and logan exchange a look before they scramble out of their seats, heading after her as quick as they can.

they’re going down to the basement, which holds a conglomeration of things and also patton’s second-most-frequently-used sneak-out route. the wine cellar’s down here, along with his parents’ collections of luggage, and matching white wardrobes filled with all kind of things, and gifts from granny trix that his mother has refused to display over the years, and art and furniture deemed out-of-fashion but were still held fondly enough to be stored in the house—it was, by far, the most disorganized segment of the sanders’ mansion.

of course, there were still clear paths to each segment of the basement, so it wasn’t as disorganized as, say, patton’s garage, but still. disorganized by his parents’ standards.

so patton follows logan who follows emily, past life-sized dog statues, past a stack of steamer trunks and matching carry-on luggage, past framed paintings of some of patton’s old family members, past the rows of old wines stored for an occasion fancy enough for them, past candlesticks and antique tables, past crates and cardboard boxes filled with, patton’s sure, more of the same, until they get back to yet another white wardrobe.

“it’s in here somewhere,” his mother says, already flipping her way through rows and rows of hanging garment bags, before she makes an “aha!” sound and plucks free a garment bag that looks identical to all the rest, before sparing it a fond glance.

“we got it in london,” she says fondly, “never actually worn, of course, but goodness, the plans i had for the seamstresses…” and patton feels a squirming sensation in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in a very long time; the same one he’d get every time he was dragged into a department store, the same one he’d get every time he knew he had to wear whatever was laid out on the bed for whatever party or get-together his mother was having, the same one he’d get when his mother’s friends, over for tea, would croon, my goodness, how pretty you are! 

patton clears his throat before his mother can start reminiscing on the times of dresses and skirts past, and says, “maybe show logan the dress, mom?”

“oh,” she says, seemingly successfully jolted out of whatever fashion-induced daydreaming session she’d fallen into, “yes” and unzips the garment bag, to reveal—

well, patton doesn’t know what he’d expected, really. all he can see is a lot of white, puffy tulle. 

“can i try it on?” logan says. “just to see it.”

emily hesitates, clutching the delicate fabric, before she hands him the garment bag with no small amount of reluctance.

“we’ll be upstairs when you want to give us a little fashion show,” patton says, carefully catching his mother’s elbow before she can rethink any of this. “let us know if you need help zipping it up or anything?”

logan nods, and begins the process of carefully unearthing the dress as patton steers his mother back up the stairs.

“he’ll need help getting into the dress,” emily protests.

“if he needs help, he’ll ask,” patton counters, firmly. “he’s sixteen, he’s helped roman with a lot of elaborate costumes like that before. he’ll manage. let’s give him a bit of privacy.”

patton glances back in enough time to see logan shooting him a grateful look, and patton shoots him a thumbs-up—he’d always hated it whenever his mother barged into a dressing room to “help,” so he’d always tried his best to let logan have his privacy when it came to this kind of thing.

also, okay, maybe the weirdness of having his pre-selected debutante dress he’d never worn or even really known about coming back to haunt him in some way is getting to him, just a little bit. 

“how did this idea get into his head?” she asks suspiciously, as soon as they’ve cleared the last of the steps and relocate to the living room; patton crosses to sit on the couch, and maybe walks a little slower than usual to get an answer straight in his head.

“i don’t… exactly know, why this, i mean,” patton says slowly—which is a little true, he doesn’t know exactly why logan chose this course of action over anything else—and fiddles with his suit jacket. “um, but i know it’s important to him. and dee,” he tacks on unnecessarily. “so, i’m all for it. a thousand percent.”

she surveys him, before she says, “you know more than you’re letting on, though.”

“not my story to tell,” patton says, and it surprises him, how firm his tone is. “but i am really behind logan doing this.”

she sighs, as if he’s a child all over again. “you would be behind logan doing anything. will you keep that attitude if he decided to drop out of school tomorrow?”

“okay, first of all, that sounds more like me,” patton points out. “in fact, that was me. logan is at least channeling any trouble-making tendencies toward something productive.”

“productive,” she says. “the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball—”

“—is an outdated, sexist ‘tradition,’” patton says, using finger quotes, “that will, at worst, turn out to be a college entry essay for logan, and at best be a nice, eye-opening event to some of your friends, who, if i recall, were not particularly enthusiastic about that whole upholding,” time for finger quotes again, “‘the promise of equality for all, and we share an obligation to help our nation fulfill that founding promise.’”

emily’s eyes widen, and oh boy, patton sure said a lot more than he meant to there, so he braces himself for what might be a fight, but luck happens to be on patton’s side tonight.

“dad?” logan calls.

“yeah, kiddo?”

“i need help with the buttons,” logan says, voice distinctly closer than before; like he’s hiding around the corner.

“okay, well,” patton says, about to get to his feet to go and help, but then logan turns the corner.

the dress, patton sees, is… surprisingly simple, for his mother’s taste. there’s delicate, appliqué straps, with a modest scoop neckline. the bodice is delicately embroidered, and the skirt is unadorned tulle. 

the dress is simple, he realizes, a little startled, because even before his mother was shopping for it, he had made his distaste for elaborate dresses and gowns clear. she must have picked this out for him in an attempt to garner his good graces with this dress; this was what she must have thought his tastes would have looked like.

he still would have hated it.

it twists up his stomach a bit more, thinking about what would have been, what his mother probably thinks should have been, but patton plasters a smile on his face, rising to his feet, pushing that out of his mind and trying to focus on how logan looks in the dress, not on the fight that would have happened if patton had seen this dress, if he’d had to wear it, before he’d come out.

it’s a little bit short on logan, but that’s to be expected—patton had been a pretty short teenager, and logan’s taller than patton is even now, after a half-foot testosterone-induced growth spurt. the skirt would have swept along the ground if patton was wearing it, if he’s calculating right; as it is, it hits logan somewhere above the ankles, giving it a “fifties flare skirt” kind of vibe. the bodice isn’t really thought out for someone with as flat a chest as logan’s, either, but at least it follows the path of his torso—no need to try and lengthen that.

“very handsome,” he says, before he rounds to logan’s back to examine—ah, yes, as he expected, the buttons up the back are all delicate and tiny and fiddly, and almost impossible for logan to fasten on his own, because he’d never had practice with things like this before. “yeah, okay, let’s see how you fit into it—gosh, i must have been almost a foot shorter than you are now when mom ordered this dress. we’ll definitely have to alter it—”

“do you have a tailor in mind?” emily says.

“virgil’ll do it,” patton says absently, as he’s a little surprised at how easily his fingers remember to maneuver the little pearly buttons—muscle memory, he guesses—and glances up to see his mother arching her eyebrows disbelievingly.

“i know he sews,” she says, voice clearly tinged with doubt, clearly about to say but.

“uh-huh,” patton says, turning his attention back to the buttons. “he’s really good at it, too. he’s done some emergency fixes on wedding dresses and stuff, so he knows how to work with gowns.”

there’s a soft hmph.

“he’s going to be altering dresses and tuxes for the sideshire kids involved in this,” patton continues, then, “all right, hon, that’s the last one. is it too tight, too loose…?”

“fine, i think,” logan says. “tight, but i think i can manage for now.”

patton flips a strap of the dress that’s gotten all twisted around, before sidestepping the skirt—they’ll need to get a crinoline so that it puffs out properly, patton can tell—and observing the entire look, how it seems now that logan’s fully dressed.

it’s a bit odd, definitely. logan’s only ever really worn dresses when he was roped into it as a kid, mostly while playing dress-up with roman—logan’s always been pretty attached to jeans or slacks to pair with his ties or bowties—so seeing logan in a dress is an unusual enough occurrence that it strikes patton’s brain as something completely new.

the dress, as delicate-looking as it is, combines with logan in a strange contrast that works; he looks nice in white, and all the delicate details seem to change what they emphasize—the scoop neck makes his collarbone look graceful, demure, but the thin straps emphasize the broadness of logan’s shoulders, the muscle there. the dress is all soft, sweet femininity, a look that logan doesn’t rock very often, because all the rest of it is logan—who usually favors a straight-forward, business-like, traditionally masculine look. 

he looks good.

“give us a twirl, kiddo,” patton says, mostly teasing, but logan obliges, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to spin himself around, the skirt flaring and settling. patton applauds.

and then he smiles, because logan is kind of smiling, but also kind of trying to hide that he’s smiling, because it’s probably the first time in about ten years that logan’s spun around in a long skirt, and hey, skirts of any kind might mess with patton’s gender dysphoria, but he also remembers how satisfying it is to spin around in a really long skirt.

logan plucks lightly at the skirt to make sure it’s all hanging straight, before he glances over and says, and patton only knows it’s tinged with slight nervousness because of how well he knows him, “what do you think, grandma?”

patton turns to look at his mother for the first time since he’d started fastening logan’s buttons.

emily’s staring at the pair of them. and staring. and staring. patton’s about to prod logan to maybe ask again, before—

“heels,” she says.

“what?” logan says, glancing up from the skirt.

“that dress will never work if you don’t wear heels,” she says, a glint in her eyes.

logan says, “heels are scientifically proven to cause foot, ankle, knee, and back problems. also, they are a tool of the patriarchy, designed to slow a woman down.”

“oh, it’ll be required,” she says. “as well as elbow-length kidskin gloves, pantyhose, a crinoline—”

“that’s ridiculous,” logan huffs.

“uh-huh,” patton says absently, recalling his own experiences with heels. “that’s a debutante ball, kiddo.”

“and if you’re going to do the thing, you may as well do it properly,” emily says decisively, standing up. “i might have a pair of heels that will fit you, just so we can see the amount of height you’ll need—”

and she’s off, heading straight for her closet. in retrospect, patton thinks, he probably should have expected his mom being more on board when it came to clothes.

“help,” logan says, looking at patton pleadingly.

“hey,” patton says, holding up his hands with half a laugh, “this was your idea.”

logan looks like he’s sincerely regretting it.

⁂

virgil’s putting away the last of the dishes he’d washed (patton would probably get on him, later, for doing chores that patton was going to do later, and how you don’t have to do that, honey!! but he was bored, he did some dishes, sue him, also patton always gives him this smile whenever he does things like this, so it is for slightly selfish reasons) when he hears patton’s car pull into the driveway, and the motor cuts off.

virgil smiles to himself, and makes sure that he’s put everything away properly, before he meanders over to the couch and tries to make it seem like he hasn’t been cleaning patton’s kitchen. he’s obviously going to get found out as soon as patton notices his sink is empty, but.

he can hear logan’s voice floating through the door, “—glad she took it okay, but dad, you had to stop at that store right then—?”

“i probably should have warned you,” patton, a laugh in his voice, “but honestly, well. you are gonna have to wear the gloves and crinoline at least, and since you’ve never—”

the door opens, logan carrying a garment bag, patton carrying a shopping bag, “—walked in a pair before, it’s probably smart that you—virgil, hi, honey!”

virgil rises automatically to his feet as patton’s face brightens, and patton rocks up on his toes to give him a greeting kiss. 

“i thought you were working?” patton says.

virgil shrugs, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “things were slow enough, i figured i could let jean close. hey, l, is that the dress?”

“it is,” logan says.

“so that went okay?” virgil says, and logan scowls, ever so slightly. 

“virgil’ll need to see you in the heels you’re intending to wear to get the hemming right,” patton says. “won’t you, virgil?”

“yeah, i’ll have to use it to see if the skirt needs more length—and heels, huh?” virgil says, glancing at logan.

logan scowls even deeper. “grandma seems to be under the influence that if i’m going to be a debutante, i’m going to have to do it properly. therefore, heels.”

“and elbow length kidskin gloves, and a crinoline,” patton says, ticking them off on his fingers. “i have a list.”

“should probably wait until you get the petticoat to tailor the dress,” virgil says. “could i see it, though? you don’t have to put it on or anything. i brought a—”

“oh!” patton says, catching sigh of the torso-only mannequin sitting in the corner of the room.

“i’ll just keep it here for logan’s dress,” virgil says. “i figured a headless one would be less… creepy.”

“it’s appreciated,” logan says, before he hands over the garment bag, and virgil unzips it, starting to unbunch the skirt and wrestle it onto the mannequin.

“i hate heels,” logan grumbles. “have you seen the studies on what wearing these things on a regular basis will do to your spine?”

“uh-huh,” patton says. 

“not to mention your feet,” logan says, scowling at the shoebox like it’s morally offended him.

“also,” logan continues, “heels are an invention of the patriarchy! they were originally meant to help men secure their feet in stirrups, and then it became a symbol of nobility and class, so they’re inherently classist, too!”

“oh, absolutely agreed,” patton says. 

“i can’t believe grandma insisted on heels,” logan says. “flats would be fine.”

“yeah, i probably should have guessed she wouldn’t let that part go, given the lessons,” patton says.

logan glances up, frowning. “lessons?”

virgil glances away from where he’s fluffing out the skirt of the dress, too, to see patton with a strange look on his face; half nostalgia, half regret. it’s a look he usually gets when he’s talking about growing up in the sanders house.

“oh, yeah,” patton says, reminiscent. “as soon as i was deemed old enough, we had walking practice lessons, me and your grandma.”

“…what,” virgil says. because. what?

patton laughs, just a little. “yeah, every day for half an hour a day, one summer! she’d make sure i had proper posture in heels. i had to balance a book on my head, too, to make it even more cliché.”

logan looks, perhaps, a little cowed. virgil, on the other hand, is just—

sometimes, it knocks him totally off-guard, whenever patton talks about the various absurd things he had to do, pre-transition, as the sole scion of a rich family. etiquette lessons and country clubs and going to the opera and flower arranging and walking lessons. patton remembers a lot of it, clearly—of course he does, for so long it had been deemed that patton would be a house spouse who raised kids for a similarly wealthy scion of an esteemed family—but it always throws virgil off, just a little.

he briefly pictures patton—long-haired, in the admittedly few pictures patton has shown virgil of himself at that age—chin tilted carefully up, but not too far up, one of the too-big grimoires from richard’s library wobbling on his head, eyes fixed on one of the portraits emily has dotting the house, walking loops around the living room as emily critiqued his posture and stance with a hawkish eye, the click-click-click of heels on hardwood the only thing to break up her commentary.

“i mean,” patton says, breaking that particular mental image. “you know. at least you’ve only gotta wear heels for this one thing. women are expected to wear heels all the time. and since you’re selling this to a lot of chilton students as experiencing what women experience for a day…”

“…i will shut up about the heels,” logan mumbles.

patton ruffles his hair, and, seemingly detecting the mood that’s dropped over logan and virgil—thinking about what it would be like, to be raised like that—and says, in a gentle tone, brushing logan’s hair back into place, “heels really aren’t so bad, once you get used to them. it does just take a bit of practice, i promise.”

logan sighs, and looks at the box a smidge less distastefully than before. “i suppose i’ll have to try it to see.”

“that’s the spirit,” patton says brightly, and virgil shakes himself and refocuses on fastening the buttons of the dress, before stepping out from behind it to get the full effect.

“it’s a bit short on you, huh?” virgil comments, already digging around in his breast pocket for the notepad he usually uses to take orders.

“i think it’ll look very audrey hepburn once we get the crinoline,” patton offers. “the flare skirt thing, y’know.”

virgil nods, jotting this down; as he is, he asks, absently, “logan, was it tight, loose, itchy, anything like that?”

“tight,” logan says immediately, “and a bit itchy.”

virgil’s brow furrows thoughtfully as he considers what to do about that—brick davis had already stopped by the diner to tell him their nickname they were going to use while they were considering other names to eventually adopt and show off their dress, and they had some sensory issues and had already told him that they loved the shape of the dress, but they already knew that if they could feel the itchy gemstones it would be enough to make them have sensory overload, so he was already brainstorming fixes for that—but he jots it down all the same, before reaching out to pinch at the skirt and lift it, then let it go, just to get a sense of how it moved.

“i mentioned earlier that it makes sense, since i was probably a foot shorter than he was when mom ordered that dress,” patton says. “but if there’s a way to just loosen it a bit, maybe, and make the flare skirt thing look more intentional?”

“that’ll all be in the,” he gestures, “crinoline, petticoat, whichever you get. a crinoline would probably be the better choice, if you really want the fifties vibe—logan, you’re cool with the fifties vibe?”

“fine by me,” logan’s voice floats from the couch, then, “how is this supposed to work?”

both patton and virgil glanced over in enough time to see logan holding up a high heel—white, of course, and very sensible-looking and, if virgil had to guess, three inches tall, maybe four, at the highest. 

patton blinks. “putting them on already?”

logan shrugs, and says, intentionally casual, “if they take practice, why not start now?”

patton pauses, before he clears his throat and crosses the room, and says, “yeah, okay. do you need help?”

virgil crosses the room, too, if only to get a look at the dress from a full-view angle, and he hears a ka-CLUNK as logan staggers to his feet. he turns in enough time to see logan pinwheeling his arms wildly, and patton reaching out to balance him.

“whoa, easy,” patton says. “let’s not walk yet—”

“not that i didn’t before, but i now, truly, know that i never would have been cut out to do pointe with roman,” logan announces, arms stilling, but still held out for balance.

patton laughs. “there’s a bit of a difference there—he’s been on tip-toe since he was learning to walk, honey.”

“you wouldn’t let patton set you down on wet grass until you were three,” virgil points out, which is true—he and patton had laughed a lot back then as logan had avoided bare feet on grass at all costs, doing some interesting baby gymnastics in his attempts to avoid it.

“i hardly see what that has to do with my balancing capabilities,” logan mutters, a little embarrassed, the way a teenager always is whenever someone brings up baby stories.

“okay, speaking of tip-toe,” patton says, “you’re putting all your weight on your toes, you gotta let the heel touch the ground.”

virgil leans a little to see—and indeed, logan is balancing on his tiptoes, as high as he can, the white heel hovering off the ground. logan, slowly, lowers and lowers until the heel thumps as it hits the ground.

“good,” patton says, hand still on logan’s shoulder. “let’s just get used to how that feels, yeah?”

logan frowns. “the weight distribution is different than i expected. i thought it would all be in the toes, not in the—” he cuts himself off.

“heels?” patton finishes for him. “that’s all okay, just—i’ll let you know how to walk. but you’re kinda getting the feel for it? is it okay if i let you go now?”

logan nods his assent, so patton takes a step back—not far enough that he wouldn’t be able to lunge for logan if logan fell—and logan wobbles, just a little, but he manages to regain his balance quickly enough.

“they hurt,” logan says, frowning.

“toe-pinching like it’s too small, hurt, or—?”

“i think it’s my feet aren’t used to it hurt,” logan admits.

“that’s perfectly normal,” patton says. “your grandma used to tell me to throw on shoes super early so that my feet would get all nice and numb.”

“that’s sick,” logan says. “the patriarchy is evil.”

“amen, brother,” virgil says dryly. 

logan preoccupies himself with shifting his bodyweight this way and that, trying to grow accustomed to it, so virgil goes over to inspect the dress a bit more—this dress, honestly, will probably be the most adjustment-intensive, so it’s probably good that it’s logan’s dress—half-listening to patton and logan discuss how logan should distribute his weight and any adjustments he might need to make to his posture and on and on.

considering patton was incredibly short, back then, it’s honestly probably a miracle that this dress even slightly fits logan well enough—and honestly, the fifties skirt effect would probably save virgil a lot of work, rather than spend any time on figuring out how exactly the lengthen the skirt to brush the floor. it’s not like virgil can really start any work right now, considering he really does need to have logan in the heels and crinoline to really get a feel for how the dress looks, but he can gather a few ideas on supplies he might need, fixes he could use for any potential problems.

it looks like his days are going to be filled with those kinds of questions for a while. brick davis wasn’t the only sideshire high student asking virgil to help with their dress; a large chunk of roman’s class had followed his lead, since, to virgil’s everlasting amusement while comparing him and remus, roman was a popular kid that people wanted to emulate, and roman’s friendship slash tutorship of all the students of isadora prince’s dance studio meant that there would also be an influx of tuxes—which, fortunately, were probably going to be way less labor-intensive than any of the dresses.

virgil’s busy jotting down things he might need to bring over or buy, not just for logan’s dress, but for all the dresses and tuxes of the sideshire kids, when patton says, “all right. walking time, do you think?”

“walking time,” logan agrees, with the grim, matter-of-fact determination of someone about to start to climb everest. 

“okay. now, remember, let’s start with half-steps, slowly, we can work your way up to your usual walk slash pace,” patton says, and virgil glances up in enough time to see logan cautiously put a foot forward.

he wobbles, and patton lunges forward, catching his hands—”i gotcha, i gotcha,” patton says, a bit of a laugh in his voice, as logan sways his way back to a balanced stance. a stray thought tickles the back of virgil’s brain, but he can’t quite identify what it is before patton starts talking again.

“don’t walk heel-toe, i’m sorry, i should have mentioned that—try putting weight on your toes first.”

“okay,” logan says, and renews his grip on patton’s hands, before carefully stepping forward once again. the thought pings at virgil again, and his brow furrows, ever so slightly, trying to identify what it might be.

“that’s it,” patton says, encouragingly. “just like that! you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

and that’s when the thought clicks into place—it’s déjà vu.

virgil’s brain flashes—logan, all of sixteen, not quite secure on his feet, but nevertheless trying to walk forward, patton moving backward with him, their hands clasped together.

it reminds virgil of logan learning how to walk.

and the mental image blooms into his mind, crystal clear, like it was yesterday; logan, all of ten months old, wearing his tiny overalls and his tiny t-shirt and his tiny little tennis shoes, mouth open and showing off all of his newly-grown baby teeth, tongue sticking out as he’d take one toddling step forward, two, patton kneeling on the black-and-white diner tile and saying in the exact same, near-laughing tone, that’s it, honey, that’s it! papa’s gotcha! c’mon, lo-lo, you got this! the sight of logan walking new enough that it was enough to stop twenty-three year old virgil in his tracks, watching eagle-eyed as patton shuffled backwards on his knees, eyes wide, encouraging and watchful, and so thrilled as logan babbled a stream of nonsense at him, stamping his way forward, hands wrapped around patton’s fingers.

and a laugh breaks through the memory, and suddenly he’s back in the present; virgil, all of thirty-nine, watching a nearly-full-grown logan, in his officious suit jacket and tie, struggling to take a few steps forward in his new high heels, brow furrowed still, but no childish urge to stick out his tongue; patton, taller, healthier, happier, overall, voice deeper but the tone’s still the same—absolutely thrilled at the concept of logan learning how to do anything, another milestone for logan to succeed in, another instance to celebrate. 

virgil remembers, too, logan’s soft, chubby little baby hands, wrapped around virgil’s fingers, staggering toward him, the way virgil’s voice would get softer and how quickly it became second-nature to catch logan if he fell. logan’s shrieking laughs, logan’s babbling in his ear, logan’s cries going quiet when virgil shushed and rocked him.  the sweet, babyish sigh logan would let out whenever he fell asleep against virgil’s chest; his head resting against virgil’s shoulder, his weight and warmth in virgil’s arms. 

logan’s far too big for that now.

virgil’s heart pangs—when did they all get so old?—but especially at the sight of logan, almost an adult, taller than patton, nearly as tall as virgil, and almost as old as patton had been that day he’d crashed into the diner for the first time. 

and now here he was; in high school, and preparing to be presented to society as an adult. granted, as somewhat of a prank. but the idea’s still there; logan is almost an adult. soon, logan would be making his way in the world.

soon, he wouldn’t need them to hold his hands. 

“you got this!” patton cheers, as logan slowly, gradually, walks a lap of half-steps around the room without wobbling too much, without the fear of falling down. “you’re gonna be a heels-walking professional by the time of the debutante ball!”

virgil swallows, and echoes patton, voice perhaps a bit thicker than usual, “yeah, kid, you definitely got this.”

logan glances up from the ground to flash a quick smile in virgil’s direction, and virgil takes a deep breath before he crosses the room to take a look at how logan’s handling it; sure, patton had had walking-in-heels lessons, but virgil had definitely worn heels more recently than patton had.

and logan still needs them to hold his hands, for now. just a little while longer.