#I will not be able to do anything else today
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rebootgrimm · 1 day ago
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So Trump Won, Now What?
I get it, we’re all worried. I am too. Above all else on this list, keep yourself safe. Don’t do anything stupid, especially without a plan.
Find Ways to Cope
With the election results, it’s understandable to be afraid. Do whatever you need to (within reasonable amounts. please do not overdose) to comfort yourself.
Take off of school / work if possible to rest. If you don’t have money saved up to be able to take a day off, that’s completely understandable. If you can’t take a day off school for whatever reason (like me. I’m writing this while being driven to school) then that’s okay as well.
Eat comfort foods. You can take a cheat day if you’re on a diet today, you deserve it.
Do things that help you calm down. Some things can include: drawing, crafts, listening to music (punk playlist I helped create here if that might help), knitting, etc. Whatever it is, do it. 
Cry. It’s understandable to want to cry after this. I felt like crying too.
Prepare For the Worst
I hate to say it, but it’s likely that shits going to hit the fan once Trump hits office. Here’s some ideas on what to do.
Preserve any media that MAGA might try and get rid of. For me that’s going to be writing things online down into a notebook and preserving punk songs (likely onto a cassette tape just so I have it tangibly), for Janet next door that might be pirating. Buying any books that might get destroyed is a good idea as well, so that way it still exists, despite censorship.
Stock up on physical items that may end up being destroyed / not being sold anymore. Books are a good idea to have since book censorship has existed as long as dictatorship has. Another idea is over the counter birth control since it likely won’t be allowed to be sold anymore. If anyone has any more ideas, put them in the reblogs / comments.
Stock up on money. I have a secret stash that has about $200 in physical dollars hidden in it, and that’s just counting dollars. 
Build Community
This goes hand-in-hand with prepare for the worst, but I felt like it deserved its own section.
Make a garden. It may be a bit late to do that right now due to it being winter in the U.S., but you can always prepare for one. Food prices will likely go up, so it’s good to have plans for free food.
I’m not sure what to title this bullet point, but with prices for everything likely going to go up, it’s great if there’s people who can provide things like clothes or anything else one might need.
Even without any of the other two things, having community in general is good. Even if that’s just a group of friends who you sit with at the lunch table and talk with, it’s still a community. If you aren’t able to make one in real life for whatever reason, then make one online.
If anyone has anything at all to add on then please put it in the reblogs (preferred) or comments. I’m not usually one to ask for reblogs, but I’d argue that this is really important and needs to be shared. Remember that your existence is resistance and that it’s always okay to punch a Nazi.
@our-trans-punk-experience
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crazyvik97rpg · 1 day ago
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William was the best, as always - it made Sebastian feel a lot better that he promised to stay longer today, and that they could even facetime later, so Sebastian could see their kitties. He would even come visit him again tomorrow! Sebastian was very happy about that- he honestly dreaded the hospital already, he just wanted to go home. Well, sadly he wouldn’t be able to until the end of the week…
„That sounds great…yea, let’s facetime“, he hummed and smiled softly at him, squeezed his hand right back, „And I know you say I can text you anytime but…you need your sleep too, love. I can’t just keep pestering you. Even if I want to“, he smirked a little, admiring him.
William then asked him how much he should tell - the soft lips on his cheek felt so wonderful, it made Sebastian forget the difficult aftermath of surgery immediately, heh. Even better would be snuggling in his arms - impossible right now, sadly.
„Well, as for our friends…ah…“, Sebastian sighed, really not too fond thinking about it, „…No. I can’t just keep lying to them any longer. They’re our friends. We trusted them with our secret, so…we can’t just keep this from them, what if they find out through someone else? Personally, if that was me I would feel betrayed…“, Sebastian pondered out loud a little, „Tell them all they want to know. That I had surgery for skin cancer, that I got the diagnosis like a month ago. …All that. And…that I didn’t want to say anything because…I still had to deal with it all myself, mentally. I just wanted to…have normalcy just a little bit longer is all…“
He was sure that was the smarter thing to do either way.
„Anyway…so then…you come visit me again tomorrow? But don’t stress yourself, okay? I won’t run away either way…“, he grinned a little, „…But…I already know I will be bored to death. I brought some books and stuff with me but…feels weird. Will feel even weirder once I‘m back home“, he sighed and pouted a little. He honestly hoped Doctor Cole would check on him soon, so he could be moved back to his hospital room. There they had at least a nice view out the window.
For I have sinned...
The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 
William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 
“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 
William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.
“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”
“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…
***
Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?
So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.
After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.
The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 
He was in for a bit surprise.
@crazyvik97
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bontentrio · 3 days ago
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ATEEZ and ALMOST BREAKING UP
ot8 x gn reader
summary: you’re in a relationship and one of you (or both) want to break up.
tw: angst (insecurities, arguments, reader flinches sometimes but it’s not violence) but with happy endings because i am weak + fluff + slight nsfw in mingi’s + alcohol in jongho’s.
a/n: i got carried away with yeosang’s and jongho’s my apologies 🙏 rqs are open btw! (also i promise i’m working on ateez stuck in the friendzone part 2 but i have this scheduled for today)
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HONGJOONG
you stared at hongjoong in bewilderment. he was sitting down in front of you, with tears in his eyes that threatened to spill if he blinked. he looked so… fragile. as if one single word or touch from you could break him. yet you sat there, with confusion painted all over your face.
“i’m sorry, what?” you asked.
“i think we need to break up” he whispered, as a tear rolled down his cheek and looked away. so you didn’t hear wrong.
“i don’t agree” you said, taking his hand in yours. “what brought you this thought?” you asked, making him look down. you waited a few moments, not wanting to pressure him into talking. then, hongjoong lifted your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it.
“i’m always busy, we haven’t seen each other in a while and i take too long to reply to your texts” he explained. “you deserve someone who is always there for you”
“but don’t i get a say in this? i knew what i was getting into when we started seeing each other” you started saying as you scooted closer to him, in order to lift up his face to look at you. once your eyes interlocked, you cradled his face and continued: “yeah it sucks not being able to see you as much as i wished to, but also it’s not like i’m unhappy. i cherish the small moments we spend together, it makes me eager for the next one”
“but-“ he started saying, but you interrupted him with a kiss. at first, hongjoong sat still, surprised by your sudden actions, but then he kissed you right back. “no buts joong, we are not breaking up. i love you and i still want this. i still want you” you whispered against his lips, reassuringly.
he nodded in response, believing you.
SEONGHWA
“can we talk for a moment?” you asked seonghwa, who immediately felt his blood run cold at the question. he dropped his phone and studied your face: you looked sad, tired even.
realization struck him as quick as alighting: you’ve been avoiding his kisses for at least two days now, and he’s been brushing it off thinking you were just in a weird mood. i mean, yes it bothered him, but he also loved you too much to not give you space if you needed it. he always wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. but maybe he was wrong about that?
“is something wrong, my love?” he asked with a shaky voice as he took your hand in his. he chose to ignore the way you slightly flinched at his touch, or else his heart would break even more.
“i think-“ you started saying, looking down at your intertwined hands. his hold was gentle, as he always has been. kind, gentle, beautiful, all things you were not. “i think we should take a break”.
you looked up to him, and immediately regretted it: tears formed in his eyes, threatening to spill, while his lips were parted, probably trying to think of what to say. the scene completely broke you, and further proved your point about your insecurities.
“did i do something wrong?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak louder without breaking. your eyebrows furrowed, how could he think that when he’s been nothing but perfect in every way? “if i did i’m sorry y/n, i’ll change, but please don’t leave me”
you hugged him tightly, hiding his face on your neck as he sobbed. you didn’t realize you started crying too. “i’m sorry baby, you didn’t do anything wrong” you started saying after a while, pulling him back and cradling his face “it’s me, it’s all me and it has always been me. i’m the problem and i’m always holding you back, i’m sorry hwa”
“holding me back? what do you mean? baby you’re my motivation” seonghwa said, wiping away your tear with his thumbs. “but-“ you started saying, only to be interrupted by him:
“no, don’t ever say that again. you’re my star, y/n”.
YUNHO
normally, you would find yunho’s angry face hot, but now that it’s directed at you? not so much. not when he’s staring at you like you’re a waste of time and space, which only made your anger bubble up more.
“don’t just sit and stare at me! can you please give me a response? it’s not hard yunho” you exclaimed, earning a big eye roll from him “it’s a simple yes or no question: were you flirting with them?”
“god y/n you can be so annoying! no i wasn’t flirting, but now i wish i was so i could have a valid excuse to not see you again!” yunho yelled, standing up abruptly from his seat, making you take a step back unconsciously. this action didn’t go unnoticed by him, quickly realizing that surprise took over your face for a moment, before turning back to anger.
“if you don’t want to see me again then let’s just break up. i’m setting you free yunho” you said in anger, contrasting the way your eyes started watering.
you turned around in order to leave, not wanting him to see you cry, but he grabbed your hand, stopping you. when you turned around, you saw that his hard expression had softened, anger slowly dissipating.
“wait, don’t leave” he started saying “i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking straight when i said what i said. i love you, i didn’t flirt with them and i don’t want you to leave”
yunho’s eyes silently begged you to forgive him, as he brought you closer to him slowly, testing the waters. when he realized you weren’t going to move away, he wrapped his arms around you. “i’m truly sorry baby, please don’t leave. i love you”.
you cried softly on his chest, as he thought of ways to make you forgive him completely. he refused to let you go.
YEOSANG
“i think this should end, y/n” he said suddenly, making you turn around in your spot at the kitchen. you looked at him confused, tea cups still on your hand.
“you mean the habit of us having tea together before bed?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. yeosang stood up from the coach, and approached you slowly as you took notice of his sad face. “you know what i mean” he whispered once he reached you.
you shook your head “no, actually i don’t. is this about the argument earlier? i forgave you already, it’s all good yeo i promise” you replied quickly, setting the tea cups aside and proceeding to hold his arms. yeosang stared at you, it seems like he was about to cry as well, becoming all too real.
it’s rare for you to argue honestly, often choosing to just talk things out calmly. but earlier that day, ‘talking’ seemed impossible, as constant yelling filled the room. yeosang had promised, once again, to take you out on a date to celebrate your anniversary (two weeks and a half ago), but due to his idol duties he cancelled again. you have had enough, so things escalated rather quickly, making him leave your shared home with a loud shut of the door.
thing is, hours later yeosang showed up with a small bouquet of flowers and asked for forgiveness. he also explained to you how overwhelmed he felt at the moment with all the upcoming comeback preparations. you understood him obviously, and decided it would be better to just move the date until after promotions.
so everything was fine, all forgiven. what brought this now? “baby we barely see each other, except late at night like right now” he started saying, biting his lip so he could stop the tears from spilling out “you deserve someone better”.
“yeosang you are the ‘better’ you’re refereing to! i don’t want anyone else” you answered, hugging him. “i just want you, all of you, even with your weird and long schedules. i still want to feel your kiss on my cheek every time you leave and i still want to have tea with you late at night”
yeosang kissed you, pouring his whole soul and love in it as he held you impossibly closer than before. after a while, he reluctantly broke it, face still close to yours.
“i’m sorry, i love you” he whispered.
SAN
“no” he said, shaking his head as he looked at you with an unreadable expression “no, we’re not breaking up”
“but-“ you started to argue, kind of getting annoyed at the way he dismissed your previous statement. it’s been a week since fans started suspecting of your relationship, after a sasaeng had caught you at a restaurant celebrating your first anniversary. the media was going wild, even going as far as searching up your socials and sending malicious messages, all telling you to break up with san and that you’re harming his idol image.
“i said no, baby” he said, kissing your cheek and taking your hand, leading you to the bedroom “let’s go to bed”
“san! i’m about to ruin your career, i can’t just brush it off like it’s nothing! we need to break up, or at least take a break until everything calms down” you exclaimed, taking your hand back. san stared at you, face still unreadable but with some traces of hurt evident in his eyes. he took your hands again.
“you’re not going to ruin my career, love” he started saying, holding your hands tighter as if he was scared of letting go “kq’s management is handling it, they assured me everything will be fine because the angle of the photo didn’t show my face, and the couple behind us hid my body as well, so it’s not noticeable that it’s me”
you thought for a moment. truth is, you love san way too much to bring him harm, as small as possible it may be. he knew this, but his reasoning made sense. for all the media knows, the guy in the picture could be a lookalike.
“please” he said, barely above a whisper. you nodded, kissing his lips reassuringly. it’s going to be okay.
MINGI
the room felt heated, despite the different pieces of clothing that have been mindlessly discarded all over the place. mingi’s mouth never left yours, tongue entering your mouth as if it was it’s second home. his hands were everywhere: massaging your chest, holding your waist, playing with your ass, caressing your thighs. you felt him everywhere, all at once.
“we should really break things off” he said, in between kisses. you nodded, letting out a small moan when his lips found your neck. “definitely” you managed to say.
you and mingi have been arguing a lot recently, sometimes over silly small things like laundry or house chores, and other times the argument would revolve around hin forgetting important dates or your stubbornness to remember that he is an idol and is, of course, busy.
mingi’s hands went back to your ass, slapping it lightly and making you jump. he proceeded to hold your thighs, pulling you up to his height as he pressed you against the wall. he kissed you again, desperately and deeply.
“min-“ you started saying, or attempted to say since his lips made it near impossible. he bit your lip in response. “mingi”
he hummed against your lips. “this is not what breaking up means” you managed to say, pulling the back of his hair lightly but enough to make hin groan. “i know, but what if it is for us? i know you’ll miss this, miss me. now hold tight” he answered, unbucking his belt as you held on him tightly to not fall while he maneuvered with his pants.
once he was done, and pressed you harder against the wall, your trail of thought immediately disappeared. if it was a good or bad decision, or something that would become cyclical, that would be a problem for the future.
WOOYOUNG
“we should break up” you said, as a matter of fact. you stood in front of him, arms crossed as a serious expression adorned your face. wooyoung, in contrast, was sitting on your shared bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media. he didn’t even bother to look up.
“and why do you think that, baby?” he asked, still not looking at you, which caused your eye to twitch slightly. “exactly because of things like this wooyoung! i’m trying to break up with you and you don’t even care!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air dramatically.
wooyoung blocked his phone and set it aside, sitting up straight in the process. his eyes found yours, probably trying to decipher how you were feeling. “are there any other reasons?”
“you don’t have time for me-“ you replied. “i still see you every night unless i’m on tour, and even in that circumstance i call every day” he interrupted. “okay, but you also never help me around the house” you argued. “baby, i literally cook half of your meals”.
“but-“ you started saying, only to be interrupted once again by wooyoung: “see? no reasons, no break up” he said, patting your head and returning to his phone.
“you’re impossible” you said, sitting beside him with your arms still crossed against your chest. wooyoung kissed your cheek “i know, but you love me nonetheless. plus i know this was an attempt to prank me as revenge for last time”
your eyes widened in surprise.
“HOW?!”
JONGHO
you might have taken a few too many drinks at tonight’s night out with your friends, so they had to call your boyfriend jongho to come and pick you up. thankfully, he answered quickly and said he would be there in 10.
“noooo you called jongho?” you asked, tipsily as you grabbed your friend’s hand that was holding your phone. “he has to wake up early tomorrow! he shouldn’t be driving around, he has to rest!”
“someone has to get you home, babe! plus he seemed fine, i promise” your friend answered in between giggles watching you pout.
once you spot jongho, your whole face lit up involuntarily, as if it was a reflex. once he reached your table, he hugged you from behind, pecking your cheek. “thanks for calling me and taking care of her” he told your friends. you clumsily bid your goodbyes to your friends and turned to jongho, ready to go.
“you shouldn’t have come, jongs” you started saying as he buckled up your belt in the passenger seat. “you have a long day tomorrow”
“it’s no problem baby, i couldn’t sleep anyways” he said, jogging back to the driver’s seat. you looked at him, thoughtful expression on your face for a few moments. “what?” he asked, chuckling as he drove the car out of the parking lot.
“you weren’t able to sleep because i was out? or because you weren’t feeling tired?” you asked, curiously. for someone who was terribly drunk, you sure got philosophical. add that to the long list of things jongho finds endearing about you.
“little bit of both i guess” he answered, stopping at a red light. you stayed quiet, strangely so, which caused jongho to turn his face to you to check if you fell asleep. but you weren’t. instead, you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “baby? what’s wrong?” he said, slightly panicking, not caring that the light turned green. since it was late at night, his car was the only one there at the moment.
“i’m a burden to you” you concluded, tears rolling down your cheeks “i’m holding you back and you should leave me”. huh?!?!
“baby, what are you talking about?” he asked in confusion, before frantically holding your face and wiping your tears away with kisses. “you always appear to save the day jongs, and i do nothing in return” you whispered, looking deeply into his eyes.
“you do more than you realize, y/n” he said, kissing you once more. “but you’re drunk, and i know nothing i’ll say will stick in this state. so let’s talk about it tomorrow, yes?”
“promise?” you asked, in a tiny voice. “i promise” he reassured.
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perfectlyoongi · 3 days ago
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SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who has all your limits written on his phone. from the first day Jungkook met you, only your existence occupied his mind. since that day, Jungkook realized that you weren’t as ordinary as everyone else, there was something different about you, something magical that made him curious and anxious. Jungkook wanted to know you. Jungkook wanted to be the only one able to know you. and the first step was to know all your limits. whether it's something simple to memorize or something he has to look before acting, all your limits were organized on Jungkook’s phone. if you asked him, Jungkook would say he just wanted to treat you with the respect you deserved, but you knew something else shone in Jungkook’s eyes when he answered you in that smiling way – you thought that was quite adorable. “if i do something that you are not comfortable with and forgot to say, please let me know right away. i don’t want you to create false comfort just to please me. be honest with me, that’s the only thing i ask of you.”
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who makes sure your happiness always comes first. at the beginning of your relationship, he took every precaution to please you: Jungkook always asked if he could touch you, if he could cover your entire skin with his print and leave his mark on your body; Jungkook always asked if you needed something, anything he could offer to brighten your day or improve your life; Jungkook always asked before acting to show you that your relationship was something much deeper. “in your message you said you needed a minute to calm down, obviously i was worried. do you need anything? i’m getting in the car now. if you want me to buy something for you, send me a text and i’ll be at your house before dark.”
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who always takes you on a trip on the weekends. life was complicated, especially when everyone expects something from you, so it was more than natural for you to be completely exhausted when the weekend arrived. as such, and always thinking about you, Jungkook had a getaway ready for you when friday came to an end. he would always appear on your doorstep with a small and simple bouquet of flowers that wouldn’t need you attention for the next days. without telling you where you were going, just suggesting suitable clothes, Jungkook led you by the hand to his car and took you for two days of pure relaxation and tranquility. for two days, Jungkook would make sure that all that was on your mind was his name. “i suggest you get a warmer coat this time. and also a beanie. i bought you a new outfit for dinner tomorrow, you don’t have to worry about that.”
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who understands when you can’t meet with him, but he expects compensation. each one had their own life beyond that relationship, that was more than obvious; as such, whenever a commitment came up, or you simply weren’t up to the task of satisfying Jungkook’s company, he wouldn’t contact you for the rest of the day. it wasn’t because he was mad at you or because he didn’t like being turned down – no. Jungkook just didn’t say anything so as not to disturb your peace. something you always admired about your relationship with Jungkook was the respect he always showed you – there were no tantrums or crying or sarcasm. just simple respect. every time you said no to him, Jungkook would just move away a little and wait for you to say you were going to his house to return his respect. “i didn’t have a good day. and i know you’re working late today, so... as soon as possible, yea? i need you when you’re ready.”
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who likes it when you paint your lips and leave marks of your kisses on his body. lying on the bed, hugging the pillow you used to sleep on, Jungkook stared at you for endless eternities. at that moment, when reality returned to greet you and all the secrets were hidden among the clothes that were scattered on the floor, Jungkook was admiring your beauty in silence. always smiling, always with his eyes shining, Jungkook kept seeing the way you used your lipstick carefully as he waited for you to get back into bed with him. the nights were eternal when Jungkook spent them with you. under the light of the stars, only illuminated by the dreams of poets, you and Jungkook shared an instant that stretched into infinity. and this story was told by you. carefully. one kiss at a time. one smile at a time. one promise at a time. there, in those moments, when you offered him a fragment of your essence that would remain marked for the rest of the night, Jungkook truly believed that paradise existed – and it was just a kiss away.
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who teases you all night long. Jungkook’s hands had no control when you were close to him – even when other eyes fell on you. Jungkook liked to show you off, especially at parties. you were divine, composed of the brightest stardust in this universe. you were fascinating, your existence originating in the celestial gardens of our cosmos. you were everything, but most of all, you were Jungkook’s. and no one could steal that. as such, you were already used to feeling Jungkook’s soft hand running around your back, resting gently on the bottom of your hips. you were already used to receiving those small, quick kisses that Jungkook gave you near your ear, gently brushing your neck. you were already used to Jungkook making you sit on his lap, holding you by the waist, leaning against his chest. you were already used to this possessive side of Jungkook. and you didn’t mind one bit. “don’t think i didn’t see the way you spoke to that guy, all happy and all. one more drink and we’re going home. there’s something we need to get straight.”
SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who does everything to be seen with you. although Jungkook was the one who spoiled in your relationship, he was the one who felt the luckiest. meeting you was like winning the lottery – Jungkook’s life changed drastically overnight. suddenly, like someone exchanging two words, Jungkook had someone to share his lonely days with. suddenly, like someone forming a smile, Jungkook had someone who listened to him and validated all his feelings. suddenly, like someone falls in love, Jungkook had a purpose in this monotonous life. it was just you. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s attention and all his secrets. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s seductive words and all his looks. you were the one who deserved Jungkook completely, without fear or pretense. you and only you. it was obvious that he wanted to shout to the whole world that it was you who made him discover the true meaning of the word ‘life’. “i know that my actions are not the most delicate. but i want you to know that everything i show you about me only exists because of you. and that’s the side i want to show everyone. i want to show how you turned me into a living being.”
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frindoka · 1 day ago
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it feels so bleak. please don’t disappear. don’t die. don’t blame yourself for feeling how you do right now, i’ve seen my friends, family, strangers online experiencing the despair and loss of hope. it’s not your fault. its hard not to feel anything else. it’s not your fault. do not blame yourself.
stay alive. take care of others. take care of yourself. give yourself something to do. stay somewhere safe, if you need to. find community, find anything, create something. donate, if you have the money. fight if you have the means. keep holding on if you’re unable to participate in things safely, especially if you’re in a place where it’s worse. say i love you to your friends or your family or your partner(s) or yourself and please please please live. my entire life, and now again with the election, i’ve held on to a shred of hope that the future will be better. repeating it to myself every day even if it didn’t feel true. try to go for that shred. if you can’t, it’s okay. don’t blame yourself. i’m sorry. i wish shit wasn’t fucked, i’m sorry .
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alexseanchai · 23 hours ago
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[image: post and reblog from the same redacted Tumblr user, transcribed below:]
Better not see any middle class white people say bullshit about "logging off for your mental health" again when black and brown people having been living like this since forever
You guys have the luxury to just log off and close your eyes and cover your ears. The rest of us are constantly reminded every single day how much this country and white people hate us
.
.
.
Better not see any cis people say that bullshit when trans people have been living like this forever. Better not see any abled people say that bullshit when disabled people have been living like this forever. Better not see any goyische people say that bullshit when Jewish people have been living like this forever. I can keep going until we hit a marginalized group the redacted user does not belong to, that just got screwed over in a way the redacted user will only be reminded about if they doomscroll themself into a panic attack or a depressive episode. Which is also obviously the only possible way to help anyone in that or any other marginalized group. The redacted user does not dare look away from anyone else's suffering in order to do anything about anyone's suffering, especially not their own.
Anyway I have laundry to fold and a dishwasher to empty, because the mental health of disabled people (me and my housemates) suffers if it's left to pile up. And then I have embroidery to practice, because for some odd reason I feel like stabbing someone today.
"You can't log off for your mental health!" Sounds like someone needs to log off for their mental health
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pinkyqil · 2 days ago
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LOVING YOU FROM A DISTANCE [Ingrid engen x mapi lèon x reader]
Masterlist
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Summary: You love her, but she's in love with someone else that isn't you and all you can do is love and wacht her from a distance but would you really accept it?.
A/n: this is one out of fives parts of my Ingrid x mapi x reader serie. Updates every Monday, if you have any suggestions/questions that you'll like to see in the serie let me know and as always feedbacks are appreciated and hope you guys enjoyed this one 🫶🏿
Contains: emotionally dependent reader, cunning mapi, angst, a lil bit of yander vibes from r, toxicity.
You recently joined the team a few months ago, Ingrid was apart of your teammates who had hosted a welcome to the team party for you and the other girls.
The moments your eyes meet hers you could feel the butterfly in your stomach. Understand what people meant by love at first sight.
But that any thoughts you were having where crushed. the moments your eyes landed on a brunette woman arms filled with tattoos greeting Ingrid with a kiss on her lips while staring at you.
She couldn't be dating anyone could she?. You thought .but then again, you know nothing about this tall goddess that was standing a few feet's away from you.
Deciding to get out of mapi's view and interact with your new teammates even though you only wanted to speak to Ingrid.
That night, you took it upon yourself to find her socials and followed her along with a few other teammates.
The next day at training, you made sure to be up bright and early for the new training session while hoping you could be able to talk to Ingrid.
Your plan consists of partnering up with esmee from what you gather. She was really close to Ingrid and the rest and could eventually help you get closer to Ingrid.
Every day, you would come in early and would plant in piece of flowers.where you know she'll sit at or slip in chocolate bars into her locker or love note.
But every day it looks like your efforts goes to waste because she'll either trash anything you gave her. Or it would've been mapi who had put it into the dumpster before Ingrid could notice them.
She was starting to annoy you really bad. But today happened to be your lucky day.
It was during a training session and you where placed on Ingrid's while mapi was on the opposing team.
Everyone was having fun and showing out their best skills when all of a sudden you stole the ball from mapi and was about to score, which earned a lot of ou's around your teammates until she had tackled you down hitting your ankles real bad.
Yelling and falling down while holding down your left, Ingrid was the first one to reach asking if you were alright.
"Come on she's alright I didn't even hit her legs that hard". The spenaird said but instead she got a cold glare coming from her girlfriend.
"Ai mapi, I don't think we need any of our teammates injured, so let's keep it down with the aggression". Patri voice yelled out.
Ingrid helped you up along with the medic, you where hopping on your left leg has they tried moving you inside the building.
"I'm very sorry for what mapi did she's normally not like this". She said sat down right next to you
"It not your fault we're all adults and if she wanted to apologize she would've". You told her
"I probably won't be able to play for a while the pains killing my ankle". You told her.
"That kinda of sucks if you need a ride home, please let us know, pretty sure it the least we can do."She told you and you took on that offer.
You knew that it only pissed off mapi way more when she saw Ingrid helping you make way to their designated parking spot. Ingrid sat in the back with you so that you wouldn't feel any lonely.
You didn't know if it was too much when you had laid your head on her shoulders and close your eyes but before you did. The look mapi gave you just made you feel 10 times better already.
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Birds of a Feather
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Pairing: childhood best friend!soap x f!reader
Warnings: bullying, nothing else
Words: 2k
Synopsis: Having moved to a new home, you meet your best friend in kindergarten...
Cbf!soap masterlist (rewrite)
Your life sucked right now. 
It started months ago when your mother told you that you would have to leave your house behind. You didn’t like it, especially when you had to pack away all of your things and say goodbye to your friend, and when you tried to have your parents explain why you just couldn’t understand why you had to leave everything behind for something like a job.
You didn’t want to leave your only friend behind, you didn’t want to go to a new school. 
It wasn’t fair.
You didn’t know how it was going to be, how the other kids your age would act or accept you. If they were like your old classmates you weren’t sure if you’d be able to make friends with any of them, you were worried they wouldn’t want to play with you and you’d just be alone.
It was your first day and you felt nauseous. 
You wanted to beg your mom to let you stay home because you were sure you’d throw up. You didn't want that to happen and you hoped that maybe if you told her that she’d let you stay home for the day. 
You tried to but before you could even start your sentence, your mom gave you a look and that was the end of it. There was only one thing you could do to make yourself feel better, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.
You held your stuffie, a cute brown bunny with floppy ears and beady black eyes, on your way out the door of your new house. It was your prized possession that you slept with every night since you could remember that never left your side. 
“Are you sure you want to bring your bunny with you, sweetheart?” Your mom asked you when she noticed you carrying it. “It might get lost.”
“I don’t want to go without it!” You pleaded.
She didn’t say anything else as she helped you into the car. You practically choked your stuffie on the drive to your new elementary school and crushed your mother’s hand when she walked you inside. 
It was much smaller than your old school and no other kids were roaming in the halls but that didn’t stop the anxiety you felt as you stared at the doors that led into many classrooms.
The principal greeted you both and you found it hard not to hide behind your mother’s legs when she offered to take your hand.
“Oh, no need to be shy!” She gave you a big smile. “Be a brave lass, you’ll be fine.”
You looked from your mom to the principal. You didn’t move, even as she gave you an expectant look. Your feet felt like they were full of lead and the idea of moving forward made you feel like crying. 
Your mother gently pushed you and you had no choice but to take the principal's hand. You barely got to say goodbye before you were being led down the hallways towards your new classroom.
You clutched your bunny tightly and the principal smiled.
“We don’t usually allow students to keep their personal items with them but I’ll make an exception for today.” She explained and you hesitantly nodded. 
The door to the classroom got closer and closer. You gripped the principal’s hand tightly as it really set in that you were going to have to make new friends and that you were going to be the new kid.
The principal opened the door to the classroom and suddenly all eyes were on you. 
You squeezed her hand as you stood in the front of the classroom. The silence from your classmates made the staring worse and you hugged your bunny close to you as you stared back like a deer caught in headlights. 
“Everyone, this is our new student I told you about.” The principal announced with a smile. “She came a long way to come here, so let’s make her feel welcome.”
She let go of your hand with a reassuring pat before she left the classroom. 
The teacher walked up to you with a similar smile and introduced you. All the while your eyes scanned the many new faces that stared at you with a sort of curiosity that animals faced inside a zoo.
A particular boy in the back, you noticed, leaned across the table and stood on his chair to see you over the heads of his classmates. You watched him strain to see you and you instinctively moved to hide behind the teacher’s legs.
“I’ll seat you next to John for now,” the teacher said. “We’re finishing up an activity and then we’ll go outside.”
The stares didn’t stop as she led you to the back of the class towards the boy who had been standing on his chair. Slowly, however, as she took your bag and set you down next to the boy they went back to whatever they were doing while still sparing a couple glances in your direction.
You sat awkwardly in your chair and hugged your bunny close.
“What’s that?” John asked and you glanced at him to see he was pointing towards your stuffie.
“My bunny.” You held it closer to your chest as he looked at it closer.
“Why do you have it?”
“It makes me feel safe.”
John titled his head curiously before he locked eyes with you. His eyes were a bright blue that you had never seen before which made you stare at him with uncertainty before he grinned.
“I’m Johnny.”
You introduced yourself as well and then suddenly it seemed like he spoke a mile a minute. You had trouble understanding a few of the things he spoke about because of his accent but you began to feel less on edge the more you listened to him. 
Before long, the teacher was calling for everyone to go outside and you followed close behind Johnny as he continued to talk about anything and everything. 
You couldn’t help but feel close to him. He didn’t act like you were some alien and he was happy to invite you to play with him during recess.
However, when you reached the blacktop, someone tugged on your shirt and you turned around to see a group of girls. 
“Hi, I’m Holly.” 
You introduced yourself and watched as the other girls looked at you with that strange curiosity everyone seemed to have behind Holly. She herself stared at you with a gleam in her eye as she smiled.
“Do you want to play with us?” Holly wondered and that was when you noticed that they had dolls with them.
You looked to where the other kids had gone and searched for Johnny. However, he had disappeared and you weren’t sure where to find him.
Besides, in your mind you thought it wouldn’t hurt to make more friends, especially with how friendly Johnny had been.
“Sure!”
You’re not really sure what happened next. One moment you were following Holly and her friends around, playing with your bunny and their dolls, the next you found that she had taken your bunny from you.
You kneeled in the grass and fidgeted with your fingers as you watched them turn away from you. You looked at all of them nervously as they played with your bunny in their game, making it the bad guy which formed a pit in your stomach.
“Can I have my bunny back?” You asked but they seemingly ignored you. “I don’t like this game…”
When they didn’t say anything you frowned and poked Holy on the shoulder.
Holly glanced back at you with a quizzical look with a hint of annoyance that made you nervously play with your hands.
“Can I have my bunny back?” You repeated and she shared a look with her friends.
“We’re not done playing.” 
“But it’s mine.”
Holly stood up and her friends stood up with your bunny in her arms. They began to walk away from you and you quickly went to grab your stuffie from her before she moved it out of the way with a glare.
“You can have it back when we’re done.”
You watched as they moved further away from you in shock. You balled your fists and felt a rush of anxiety and anger through you as you stomped your foot.
“I’m telling the teacher!” You exclaimed and they stopped.
“If you tell the teacher, then you’re a tattle-tale.” Holly spat. “And no one likes a tattle-tale, no one will be your friend.”
Your eyes widened and she led her friends away from you.
You stood there unsure of what to do as it felt like the world crashed around you. You didn’t want to tell the teacher because you wanted your classmates to like you but you couldn't be without your bunny, not when it was the only reason you were able to even make it to school today.
It was the only thing that helped you sleep and the only thing that consistently brought you comfort.
What if she didn’t give it back? What if you’d never see it again?
You didn’t know what to do, so you began to cry.
Tears rolled down your cheeks and down to your chin before they began to stain your shirt. You held onto the hem as you shook, quiet sobs leaving you as you struggled to breathe. You weren���t sure if you’d ever stop crying, even when recess was over, which only made you cry more.
That was when you felt something tap your foot and you noticed a small ball that Johnny was chasing. 
He had a smile on his face as he came up to you before it slowly faded away when he saw that you were crying. He titled his head and came up close to you before he placed a hand on your upper back.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t want to be a tattle-tale.” 
He looked at you with confusion before he shrugged.
“I won’t tell.” 
You looked at him with suspicion and blinked a few tears away to see his face. However, all you saw was sincerity as he waited for you to say something and suddenly you knew that you could trust Johnny with anything.
“They took my bunny and won’t give it back.” You pointed at Holly and her friends as more tears began to fall.
Johnny followed your finger and when his eyes landed on them his face went serious. He stared at them for just a moment before he scowled and grabbed your wrist with a firm hold.
Your eyes widened as he marched forward with you in tow. You didn’t try to pull away from him however as he brought you up to the girl and let go of you before he went up to Holly.
“Johnny, play with us!” She smiled before he yanked the bunny out of her hands.
“Ye dinnae take things that aren’t yours, ya daft cow!” 
You gasped, as did the other girls, before Johnny turned around to you with a toothy grin as he held your bunny like a prize he had won. You stared at him as he held it out for you to take with a twinkle in his eyes while Holly began to wail behind him.
“Thank you…” You sniffled as you took it back and hugged it close to you. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread across your face as you stared at him with awe.
“You’re welcome! Me mam told me to always help others-”
“John MacTavish, I can’t believe what I am seeing!”
You and him jumped from the loud yelling that came from the teacher. Immediately all eyes went on her as she raced up to Johnny whose face went beet red.
You’re not really sure what happened after the teacher dragged him away to the principal's office, asking another teacher to bring you, Holly, and her friends along too, but you didn’t really care.
All you knew was that Johnny was going to be your friend for a very long time. 
part 2
A/n: meant to get this out earlier. hopefully will be able to get more of it rewritten. Also! lmk if you want to be put on the taglist for this
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alaskan-wallflower · 3 days ago
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gonna add on but
i’m scared for my brother who lives in washington dc, or at least close to it-he saw guards with machine guns today around the voting centers, and god knows what he will do this time if he loses. not only that but i’m scared for him losing his rights as a gay man. im scared for his boyfriend, who’s become a pretty good friend of mine and will have his rights taken away too. i’m scared for my own rights being taken away because i know that he doesn’t care about people with disabilities, nor members of the lgbtq community nor women. i’m scared of this country becoming a fascist country because he said himself he would be a dictator for one day, but we know dictators aren’t dictators for only one day. let it be known he has also said that we will never have to vote again if he wins.
he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care about you or me or anyone else, even if he says he does, because he sure as hell doesn’t. if he wins he will turn this country into the equivalent of the handmaids tale. not only will he be affecting our country but other countries as well, and not in a good way.
i know i won’t be able to change your mind. but this is more of a vent than anything. i cannot vote this election, but take these notes into consideration. i don’t normally post about politics on here because i don’t wish to engage in that kind of things however i will this one time. i feel sick to my stomach thinking about the possibility of him winning. i know this all sounds dramatic but i cannot fathom what kind of upside down hellhole this country will turn into if he wins.
I’m so scared for Tuesday.
For those who live in other countries and do not know the date of the US election, it’s November 5 aka this Tuesday.
I’m so scared. I was raised watching the news 24/7, it was always on; which now means, I am into politics and have very strong opinions
When it was the 2016 election, I was scared. Just before the election I did a project on her and when she lost I cried. I was six.
In the 2020 election, I was scared. I remember being at home sitting on the floor watching the news and my cousin, she was five, I was explaining the situation, the candidates, and the issues. She told me she really hoped Biden won. When he did I screamed and told her. I cried of relief. I was ten.
Now it’s the 2024 election, I am more scared now than ever. That same cousin is now nine, and she convince my undecided Uncle, on her own, to vote for Kamala. I’m so scared and I can’t understand the severity of the situation now more than ever. I hope that at the end of this week I still can say I feel safe. I will cry no matter which way the election goes either out of relief or out of fear for me, my friends and my family. I am fourteen.
I’m praying at the end of this week my friends, my family, and myself are still safe and have access to healthcare and online resources.
I am so scared for Tuesday.
Vote for me and our generation because we can’t.
Vote Blue.
💙💙💙
Please share this and remind people to register and go out and vote
^Click here to check your ballot, if your registered, where to vote, count down to voting and more
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holdoncallfailed · 1 day ago
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this is maybe not a sustainable mindset and i realize it's a privilege to even be able to think this way at all in the first place but in terms of getting through today my thinking is this….the evangelicals in this fucking country would do anything to make sure that the rest of us are as miserable and fearful and incurious and angry at the world and humanity as they are. i'm going to picture the face of some smug wealthy rightwing dumbfuck from middle america who has never experienced real art or beauty or empathy or love in his entire life, who hates community and culture and who hates learning, who has purposely made his life as small as possible, and i'm going to think about how nothing would make him happier right now than to see how miserable i am this morning. so i am not going to be miserable and i'm going to make my life BIG because it's mine and no one else's!!
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my-castles-crumbling · 1 day ago
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Hey, I know that you've been doing a lot of advice/listening for people who need to rant and stuff lately.
I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted to rant about/get advice on. I love you so much and I'd hate for you to feel like you couldn't express your own thoughts/worries just because you're helping everyone else.
You can respond to this, or even DM me any time. ♥️♥️♥️
Actually, yeah.
Background for those of you reading who don't know: I am a middle school ESL teacher. I work with students who are immigrants. Many of them are not citizens, or their parents are not citizens. (Not all of them, but many).
Now that it's pretty obvious Trump is going to win the election, I have decided to take the day off of school today to collect myself. I need a day to process and I don't think I'll be able to keep it together if I go in today because selfishly, I am disgusted and upset about MY rights.
But tomorrow when I go in to work, how do I talk to a bunch of 11-15 year olds about the fact that their lives and their parents' lives may now be drastically affected by this? I'm a citizen, I'm white, I'm not affected in this way, and I don't know how to be real with them and sympathetic without scaring them.
Obviously, @pickinglilahs, this isn't just directed at you. Anyone reading can answer. But I just am not sure how to address this with them in a way that shows I am here for them, while not starting a detailed discussion that might not be allowed by my school and also not scaring them more.
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blueskittlesart · 2 days ago
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Hello, I finished oot and loved it and so I started majora’s mask today, I’m not that far into it but I’m on the second day and it feels like I’m almost on the third but I don’t know and i feel like I wasted all my time wondering around getting myself acquainted with clock town and I am following a guide and it’s fun but I’m a little anxious about playing it since I’m bad at time management and hate being under a time limit, do you have any tips? And also if you fail to do something within 3 days in game, does your progress save or do you have to start all over again from scratch?
Also sorry for sending some of these, I know your not a guide and it may be a little weird, since your a art blog, sorry
hey! so first of all the point of the first 3-day cycle in majora's mask is that you can't really get anything done. you sort of need to "waste" that first cycle wandering around waiting for certain things to happen, so don't worry if you don't feel productive just yet!
in terms of being worried about the time limit, i understand it being anxiety-inducing but honestly in practice it's actually significantly MORE time than you need. also, after the first cycle you should be able to get a song (iirc it's from the scarecrow in the observatory? but i could be wrong) that will allow you to either slow down or speed up time, and slowing the timer every time you reset makes the rest of the game much easier! usually when I do that i end up with extra time at the end of my cycles.
as for what happens if you miss the time limit, yeah it's going to reset your progress. assume that basically anything you do in terms of dungeons or quests is going to be reset at the end of 3 days. Most of the dungeons are fairly easy to complete within the 3-day timer, but i recommend setting aside one full cycle for each dungeon and not trying to do anything else during that cycle, just in case. you also don't have to wait until the end of the 3 days to reset, you can play the song of time at any time, so if you mess up and feel like you'd rather just start over from the beginning of the cycle don't be afraid to do that! you also don't lose most of your inventory when you reset; you keep your masks and most other items, and you can keep your rupees if you use the bank.
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reneesghostinthelivingroom · 17 hours ago
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Wednesday Adams having a mute gn!sibling who she has a soft spot for and is protective of?
Black Hearts
|| Wednesday Addams x mute!genderneutral!sibling
|| Warnings; reader is mute, sign language marked similarly to dialogue, Wednesday soft for reader and hinted at Enid, short drabble, reader referred to with they/them
|| Summary; when reader joins Wednesday and Enid for classes, reader helps Enid out on an assignment.
Requests open!
Started; November 6th
Finished; November 6th
~~~
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One thing about you, you were mute. You couldn't talk. No matter what you or your family tried, you just couldn't. Which lead Wednesday to be extra protective of you in any school the two of you attended. Human or Nevermore. It didn't matter. She even specifically requested for the two of you to get roomed together. Of course, that ended up happening. And now the two of you shared a room with Enid Sinclair. Who was probably the most talkative girl you and Wednesday knew. At first it was really annoying, but now you both were a little more used to it.
It was a rainy morning at Nevermore today. You didn't have a class first period, so you slept in as much as you could before finally dragging yourself out of bed. Getting ready for the day. You got into uniform and had a snack from your stash. Before meeting up with your sister and Enid after their first class was over. As you joined them, you walked beside Wednesday. The two of you simply listened as Enid rambled on about social media whatnots. Frankly, you didn't care for that. Social media wasn't yours or Wednesday's style; but it was certainly Enid's. Wednesday shared a glance with you and you subtly signed something about how Enid didn't seem like she was going to be quiet anytime soon. That got a little smirk out of Wednesday, who nodded in agreement. Wednesday had made herself fluent in sign language when it became apparent that you wouldn't be able to talk. She was your translator. At least, while you were at Nevermore. Your family had taken the time to learn it too. Though even some of the teachers had started picking it up so they could better help you. Especially those who didn't also have Wednesday in their class the same time as you.
When you signed, despite trying to be subtle, Enid caught it and leaned forwards so she could see your hands better. She then looked to you in confusion, then Wednesday. Enid wasn't fluent in sign by any means. But she did try. It just took her a little longer to understand.
"What did they say? I think I caught something about quiet but I really have no idea what the rest was. What was it?" Enid asked, her rambling never stopping even for questions. Wednesday sighed and shared a glance with you. Deciding not to answer and change the subject entirely.
"Did you do the assignment for our next class?" Normally, Wednesday couldn't care less about small talk. But it seemed to be the easiest way to distract Enid from things she didn't need to know about. Plus, Wednesday wasn't sure if Enid would have gotten annoyed with the comment you'd made about her or not. Likely not, if anything it may have just dampened her mood. Something Wednesday didn't want either, though she wouldn't have admitted it even if you begged her to. She would rather do anything else.
"Assignment..?" Suddenly, Enid looked horrified. Wednesday raised an eyebrow. Knowing exactly why. Enid hadn't done it. You looked at Enid and smirked as you realized the same thing as your sister. You and Wednesday had worked on the assignment together, so you both had it completed. Enid had been on her phone during that time.
"For someone who keeps a blog about the school, you certainly do not seem to know much of what goes on in it." Wednesday commented, finding the whole thing amusing. Even you were grinning.
"It's a gossip blog, not an assignment blog!" Enid replied, panic in her eyes," there should really be an assignment blog, though. Some of us need it." She murmured the last bit," can I copy off one of you? Please? Please? Please!" She clasped her hands together in begging, Wednesday simply sighed while you rolled your eyes.
'Fine. You really should have done the work,' You signed. Then reached into your bag.
Enid titled her head," uhh, something about fine and work?"
"The agreed to help you." Wednesday explained briefly. Enid's eyes lit up as she engulfed you in a hug, making your whole body tense up as you looked to Wednesday. Wednesday grabbed Enid by her shirt collar and pulled her off you, but not with a lot of force. If anything she was pretty gentle about it. You felt relief wash over you as Enid was made to let go, she pouted but respected it. You handed your notes to her and she made the roughest, scrambled version of the assignment out there as the three of you walked to class. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do.
As for class, it was pretty boring. Enid managed to get the assignment done and handed in while you ended up falling asleep half way through the lesson. Wednesday stayed awake for the both of you. Though she would never admit it, she didn't want you falling behind. She cared about you. Somewhere in that black heart of hers.
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lovelylogans · 2 days ago
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debutante
previous chapter / chapter five
part of the wyliwf verse.
warnings: mentions of transphobia, food mentions, alcohol, kissing, mentions of child abuse, but nothing actually happens (virgil suspects something and dee mentions parenting attitudes that aren’t healthy) also a mention of harassing women, but it’s more of an abstract than any actual harassment. please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!
pairings: logince, moxiety
words: 21,961
notes: fifth verse, same as the first: i hope this can serve as a distraction for some of you today—please go out and vote if you are in the united states!! i'm actually posting this as i'm in line for my ballot so i can vote before work! there are so many important issues on your local ballot (several states have potentially life-saving but certainly life-altering provisions on ballot this year for a lot of folks!) in addition to national-level stuff! and, in regards to why this took so long to get here,
janus looks at the jar skeptically, his arms folded across his chest.
“this. this is your favorite food?”
logan tries not to take the slight too personally, but he offers the spoonful of loganberry jam to him again.
“yes, it is,” logan says. “i said nothing when you said your favorite food.”
“because my favorite food is normal,” janus grumbles, but he takes the spoonful anyways. “but seriously. just straight up jam?”
“crofter’s loganberry jam,” logan corrects. “followed by the rest of the jams that crofter’s offers.”
janus sighs, but ingests the jam, presumably in the name of getting to know each other better.
with the introduction of a name, logan had thought to propose getting to know each other better; so now logan knows janus’ favorite color (yellow) his favorite book (the art of war) and his favorite food (he’d said mille feuille, then admitted it was really pretzel m&m’s, which perhaps was a more conventional choice than a specific type of jam.)
logan watches him, hawk-eyed.
“so?” he says when janus swallows.
“i mean,” janus says. “it’s a good jam, i guess?”
logan sighs, but accepts that janus’ education when it comes to jam is a work in progress. that’s fine. in the meantime, logan will prepare a jam sandwich as a midnight snack. he dearly anticipates the day when he is no longer a teenager and therefore no longer so hungry all the time.
janus waits a long time to change into his pajamas.
logan gets up, presumably to go to the bathroom, and comes downstairs with an overly large hoodie without preamble, or even mentioning it at all, really.
janus refuses to smile, but he does change into the pajama set his parents bought him, with a big hoodie advertising a sideshire save-the-bridge fundraiser.
“why are you making me watch this,” logan groans.
“because it’s a cultural touchstone, hush,” janus says dismissively, staring at the screen but really staring at logan out of the corner of his eyes, trying his very hardest not to start cackling.
“this sex scene has been going on for three minutes!”
“cultural. touchstone.”
“you’re doing this to make me suffer,” logan accuses.
“obviously,” janus says. “that’s the whole point of making someone watch the room for the first time.”
“i should have just lied when you asked if i understood that reference,” logan mumbles under his breath, pointedly avoiding looking at the screen.
janus, in deciding to go full obnoxious, croons, “yooou are my rose, you are my rose, you are my rooo-ooooo-ooooose—”
logan pulls a pillow over his face and declares, muffled, “i hate you.”
“save it,” janus says dismissively. “we haven’t even gotten to the flower shop scene yet.”
“the what?” logan says, peeking tentatively from behind the pillow.
or the other terrible subplots, janus thinks gleefully. he’s not a huge fan of the room, himself, it’s not like he’s proudly in the cult following for it, but being able to show it to logan for the first time is something he absolutely cannot miss out on.
“but it makes no sense,” logan practically howls at the screen as the credits roll, janus laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
“christ, isn’t your boyfriend a dancer?” janus complains, shuffling his feet out of the way.
“my boyfriend is the dancer,” logan says, scowling. “my boyfriend.”
“either way, he needs to bring you in for extra waltzing lessons,” janus says. “poppy is going to kill you if you step on her toes even once.”
logan goes a little pale at that.
“why this,” janus groans, tempted to do what logan did and put a pillow over his face.
“you picked a movie, now i get to pick a movie,” logan says smugly, and janus considers throwing the pillow at the screen. the only reason he doesn’t is because he somewhat respects ken burns, even if logan picked his most boring documentary ever.
“this is ridiculous,” logan says.
“it’s meant to be a traditional sleepover activity,” janus says dismissively, counting each curl of the spiral, tapping the paper with his pen. “the internet says so.”
“yes, famously lauded for accuracy, the internet,” logan says. janus ignores him and starts crossing off options, counting under his breath as he goes.
“okay,” janus says, straightening the paper with a great deal of fanfare. “you’ll graduate from princeton—”
“surprising.”
“—i know, quite, i’d had you pinned as an east coast man—after majoring in chemistry, that’s a bit of a departure, isn’t it? but after you graduate, you’ll marry bowman—”
“bowman?!” logan says, aghast. “bowman wasn’t one of the options!”
“i editorialized,” janus says dismissively, “and you’ll have a hundred and two beautiful children—”
“where did you get that number?!”
janus ignores him. “—but you’ll settle in los angeles and live in a cozy little shack—”
“well, i’ve done that before,” logan says fairly, and janus tries his hardest to hide his wince as he continues.
“—and, funnily enough, you’ll be an astronomer. the end.”
“this game is ridiculous,” logan says, snatching back the notepad, before he hesitates and looks at janus.
“all right, fine,” he sighs, and readies the pen. “mansion, house, apartment, shack, those are listed. marriage options?”
“jeff bezos, bill gates, and elon musk,” janus says briskly.
“those are all terrible options,” logan says, disgusted. 
“those are all terribly rich options,” janus corrects. “if this is going to be my imaginary m.a.s.h. life, i will live lavishly due to the money my husband will provide. i don’t have morals, i’d gladly be a sugar baby.”
“you don’t get to pick all your spouses,” logan says. “you married me off to bowman.”
“i’d argue elon musk is worse than bowman,” janus points out. 
“narrowly,” logan says under his breath.
tristan, janus reflects, has to go, of course. 
if not for his being racist toward janus—which is, admittedly, a more self-preservational factor that has put janus into plotting more actively than he has in the aftermath of almost everything else tristan has done. this includes that tristan cheats poorly, lies without even being clever about it, peacocks about with absolutely no sense of swagger or charm, is generally obnoxious, and somehow manages to both virgin-shame and slut-shame girls at their school without imploding from the hypocrisy of it all—
wait. he’s getting distracted.
if not simply for everything else tristan has ever done, then certainly for the note that’s been smuggled into his pocket.
the question, of course, was which plot to pick: to go out with a bang, or to pick a piece of blackmail so heinous that he’d shipped off to military school, with absolutely no time to lose…
“—and that’s how you say where can i find a newspaper in french, creole, and portuguese,” janus says. “i mean, your next problem would be if you could read it or not, but.”
“i wish i knew another language,” logan says thoughtfully. “the closest i have is latin, and that’s not exactly something i can use to converse with people.”
they’re both lying on their backs, staring up at the artificial ceiling of the pillow fort. 
“i mean,” logan amends. “i know some conversational spanish, but. certainly not fluent.”
“spanish?” janus asks sleepily.
“roman,” logan explains, and janus makes an ah noise. then, “portuguese?”
“childhood nanny,” janus says. “she’s from the dominican republic, not haiti, but. she did teach me some things about haitian culture.”
“i met her, didn’t i?” logan says. “at your grandmother’s.”
“yes, you did,” janus says.
“creole from haiti,” logan guesses, and janus mm-hms.
“and you mentioned your grandmother was french,” logan completes.
“yeah,” janus says, and even logan can pick up the edge in his voice. logan props himself up on an elbow, furrowing his eyebrows.
janus looks at him, arching his own eyebrows, and repeats, “haitian.”
logan flushes, a little bit, remembering the (very little) amount of haitian history they’d covered in their mutual world history class, and the (slightly more, but still not exactly a wealth of information) studying he’d done in his free time.
“right,” logan says quietly. 
“i’ve got ideas,” janus says darkly, staring up at the blanket ceiling. “my adopted ancestors’ vast fortune? it’s going to go straight into a trans, black haitian’s pockets. they’re probably rolling in their graves.”
logan is quiet, for a couple moments, before he says, “good.”
janus’s grin unfurls as he stares up at the blanket, daydreaming about how best to squander that fortune.
they’re lying in the pillow fort, mostly quiet, logan on the edge of sleep. but then, tinny and muffled, as if from a phone speaker:
your touch, pullin' fire out of me your touch, like the wind crashing on the sea...
“i am going to kill you,” logan declares, even if he does start laughing when janus does.
patton staggers down the stairs, stifling a yawn with his hand, and he has to stifle a smile at the sight of a blanket fort in his living room, just big enough for two teenage boys.
he edges around it carefully, heading directly for his first stop every morning: the coffee maker.
by the time the coffee maker starts making those slightly alarming sputtering noises that always makes patton think he should probably get it looked at, the boys emerge from the fort, bleary-eyed and honed in on the scent of fresh coffee.
“mugs in there,” patton mumbles to dee, who grabs three at random and pushes them toward patton so patton can pour, the coffee steaming and diffusing its delectable scent all throughout patton’s tiny kitchen.
there’s a stretch of silence only broken by the sound of sugar shaken into coffee, the pouring of milk, the clattering of a spoon against ceramic, and sipping.
by the time patton’s three-quarters of the way through his mug, he feels much more like a human.
“hope you boys slept well,” patton says, his voice not quite at its usual level of perkiness—he’ll need another mug of coffee for that. “do you have any preferences for breakfast? dee, you’re the guest, you can pick—we could go to virgil’s, that’s got diner breakfast—”
a strange expression flashes over dee’s face. patton takes note of it but doesn’t mention it.
“—remy, he runs the café in town, he does some good breakfast sandwiches… or fran’s, she’s got danishes and little pies and things. she runs the bakery near town center, you might have seen it.”
“fran’s,” dee says decisively.
patton nods, drains his mug, and reaches for a travel thermos. “i’ll go ahead and get going for fran’s, then, it can get a bit busy on weekend mornings. logan, could you fish out a menu and show it to dee? either of you can text me with your orders.”
both boys make sounds of affirmation, mostly preoccupied with consuming as much coffee as possible.
patton can’t really talk; he’s busy trying starting to drink the coffee from his thermos while simultaneously hunting for his house keys.
is the taste of cinnamon rolls in these small-town bakeries the entire appeal of living in a small town with an entire store for christmas lights? janus can now slightly better understand the appeal of living in a small town, if so.
squidgy without being mushy, just enough cinnamon to keep it from being sickly sweet, just enough icing to keep the whole thing moist, paired with the unexpectedly spectacular coffee from remy’s café…
janus eats three in addition to the rest of the pastry selection patton had generously gotten for them, and is only slightly regretful when a food coma signals its impending arrival.
but, as all things do, his visit to bizzare-o-town comes to an end—he’s put on his clothes and returned the hoodie logan had lent him, he’s tucked patton’s phone number into a small, almost-hidden pocket in his duffel bag, and he stands on the sanders’ surprisingly roomy front porch with logan, patton waving them both out with his ever-cheerful air.
“where are you going again?”
“newsroom,” logan says, shouldering his own backpack. “at this point, i think rudy’s just coming up with new typos to make sure i come around at least once a week. it’s ridiculous. look at this.”
janus obligingly looks at a newspaper, grimacing at the blatant inconsistencies of the use or lack of an oxford comma scattered across the page.
“we use ap style,” logan says mournfully. “he knows about proper comma placement. i know he knows about proper comma placement.”
“well,” janus says, striving for something polite to say, only ending up with, “best of luck with that.”
logan sighs, tucking away the newspaper. “i will require it.”
he holds out his hand. janus shakes it. (he notices only during the drive home his absolute absence of any hesitation.)
“i’ll see you at school.”
“see you at school,” janus echoes.
it’s probably the absolute lack of tension that is serving to make janus feel strange. since the beginning of the school year, they’d been picking at each other over grades, and he’d been needling logan for so long, it feels odd to leave without some kind of academic repartee. 
and, well. who is he to break from tradition, after all.
the entire reason for this gathering being to forcibly break tradition aside.
so he adds, “i bet my score on our science exam is higher than yours.”
“it will not,” logan says, looking affronted. 
janus snorts, shaking his head and starting down the stairs, heading for his car. “whatever you say.”
“it won’t!”
“four point margin.”
“absolutely not! your score will be less than mine by two at most!”
“i’ll make it mine is six points above yours!” janus calls, sliding into the driver’s seat, and sees logan shaking his head and probably muttering to himself.
janus rolls his eyes, but his lip turns up at the corner a bit more than usual as he drives down a rinky-dink little residential street and is that an old couple walking a cat in a stroller?! who put drugs in this town’s water supply?!
“hey, over here!”
the jolly bell fixed to the top of the door of this (admittedly quite cool) coffeeshop has barely rung before poppy’s attention is called to a corner lit by a big, dramatic brass lamp, where two fat, squashy buttery leather armchairs are framed on either side by bookshelves containing a boggling number of books in seemingly every genre and cool little bits of artsy decor.
poppy waves to lauren, before she points to the bar in a wordless offer. lauren, in answer, holds up her own to-go cup, waving her on to order.
poppy loves coffee.
poppy isn’t allowed to drink coffee. 
well. decaf is fine. but the reason she isn’t allowed to drink caffeine “should be self-evident,” according to her mother. so this cuts down a bit on her café offerings.
the barista—who has the largest cup on offer in one hand, and his phone in the other—barely glances away from his phone to look at her over the frames of his sunglasses.
“what do you want?”
okay, blunt. poppy can appreciate blunt. 
“the honey lavender latte. decaf,” she tacks on.
“size?”
“large.”
“hot or iced?”
“iced.”
“anything else?”
poppy shakes her head, nods when he recites the order back to her, taps her card when asked, and shuffles off to the pickup area to get her coffee, taking a moment to look around.
all of the machinery is sleek, decorated in white and black, down to the framed wall art beneath the menu. the barista is talking on his phone, now, gesticulating grandly with his truly enormous cup of iced—tea, she’s pretty sure?—behind the espresso machine, even as he’s pulling a shot for her drink. it’s frankly an impressive display of multitasking. 
she looks around the room. there are other chilton people here, but not many, and most of them upperclassmen lingering in sideshire before they have to retreat back to the horrors of the workload of their junior and senior years. 
there are a few of sideshire townsfolk, too, most of them chattering in polite undertones, lounging on the couches are the same buttery brown leather of the armchairs. there are also a couple of modern black rocking chairs cushioned in white, also under a couple of those big, brass lamps, all so similar in style; it all looks right out of a period film’s library mashed together with a sleek, black-and-white modernist look. poppy’s burgeoning designer brain can appreciate the adherence to an aesthetic, and this place has it in spades.
the entire place is very… cool.
poppy isn’t very well-versed in how to handle cool. her peers have made this very clear to her.
she scoops up her order when called with a quick “thanks,” and scoots her way over to the other armchair.
“hey!” lauren says, immediately shifting her laptop so poppy can see. “i’m just getting the most likely stuff features onto a flashdrive—what d’you think on this one?”
poppy examines it. it’s a good shot, ana and janey talking, heads leaned in close, fan angled just so to shield what they’re saying from their seat neighbor, but not enough to obscure their faces. ana smirking in perfect profile, janey’s laugh covered in dramatic shadow. 
“that’s good,” poppy says, then, with much more honesty, “well, with a bit of color grading…”
lauren laughs ruefully. “yeah, i know. it’s juuuust cloudy enough to mess with my exposure settings with all the windows in there, let me tell you. i’ll chuck it into the folder of likely contenders and meet up with mel to whittle all the options down on monday. do you wanna help? if you don’t, i can just do it later. i’m procrastinating on an essay for mr. medina.”
mr. medina teaches sophomore and senior honors and ap english. poppy isn’t sure how she’ll handle it next year; he’s a fine enough teacher, sure, but he also doesn’t seem to be the sort to do things when poppy tells him to, like some other teachers at chilton. one compliment to mrs. caldicott, for example, and she’d probably eat out of the palm of poppy’s hand.
“sure, i can help sort photos,” poppy says, wondering if this is some kind of test. she doesn’t know lauren very well—should she just agree with everything she says? will lauren be the sort to get ruffled up if disagreed with, or would she think poppy a suck-up if she didn’t?
and photos, too! so prone to artistic disagreement. so prone to subjectivity! at least design tended to have some very classic rules. poppy knows less with photography; rule of thirds, and that was about it.
“cool, thanks—i don’t have many left, i don’t think, let me get it set up here…”
poppy takes a nervous sip of her beverage as lauren plugs her laptop in to charge, then angles the screen so they can both see it without too much glare. 
the drink is good. very good. just sweet enough with the honey, just floral enough with the lavender, but the drink isn’t too sweet nor too floral nor too bitter from the coffee; all the flavors work in perfect concert with each other. it’s the sort of good that makes poppy very happy she’s taken a risk and gotten a large, and she’s already mentally plotting an excuse to come see logan just so she can swing by this coffeeshop again. 
“okay!” lauren says brightly, enlarges the photo, and poppy can’t help but snort, then wince.
but—it’s, objectively, a bad photo. it’s an insanely blurry shot; it looks like lauren accidentally snapped a photo on its way into her camera bag, focused mostly on the ballet studio’s wooden floors.
“okay, yeah, immediate no,” lauren says, also laughing, which makes poppy’s shoulders relax, just a bit.
she also files the information away; lauren is, at least superficially, okay with laughing at herself. that’s useful intel.
there are very few other immediate nos in there; one where kai, lauren’s boyfriend (poppy thinks? she’s not up on the gossip. she has better ways to spend her time) has stolen lauren’s camera and attempted to take a selfie with it, missing most of his face and instead capturing a surprisingly steady photo of their own shoulder. there’s one where tristan dugray is obviously in the middle of sneezing. (her mother says that poppy ought to have a crush on a boy like tristan, who is objectively handsome, poppy can yield that, but he’s just… such a jackass.) 
a few others pass in that nature; people who turned at the last second, awkward blinking, action stills that aren’t very photogenic, but the one five photos after that are, that kind of thing.
but the rest of them are remarkably well-composed, featuring a mixture of chilton students, not just those who are popular. there’s a mix of dynamics, of expressions, of poses; even as poppy tries to peruse them with a critical eye, as she gathers that lauren does actually want to know her opinion, it’s obvious that lauren has a talent. 
she says as much as they wind down on the end of the photos, lauren detaching the memory card reader from her laptop and packing it away into a teeny tiny little case.
“aw, shucks,” lauren says, grinning, starting to dissemble her camera with swift, practiced motions, detaching the lens and reaching for a microfiber cloth. “i mean, i’ve been taking photos since i was a little kid, i’d hope some sort of talent would have rub off on me by now.”
“so you’ve always wanted to be a photographer?” poppy asks, immediately intrigued. 
lauren hesitates, pausing from polishing the lens.
“...um,” lauren says, and laughs a little bit, awkward, and poppy immediately know she’s overstepped. she doesn’t know how—this is a frequent occurrence—she just knows that she has.
“sorry,” poppy says hastily, knowing that this is typically the smoothest path to resolution.
“no, no, it’s fine,” lauren says, waving her hand. poppy watches the cloth flutter like a flag in the wind. “um—i dunno, it always just gets a bit… you know how chilton is.”
“they do tend to prioritize STEM careers,” poppy agrees hastily. this is a boon for her, considering she intends on going into medicinal research, but she can see how this might be a bit of a struggle for someone more artistically inclined.
“yeah,” lauren says. “um. it’s more… i don’t know what i want to do. actually.”
poppy freezes.
the idea is such anathema to her that it’s boggling her mind. poppy knows her life and who she’s going to grow up to be ever since she had a concept of herself. high school at chilton, college at harvard, then staying at harvard for med school, then making a career in cancer research. that’s it. path plotted.
“like,” lauren says, “at all. i mean, i like photography a lot! i really enjoy mel’s class. but do i like it enough to stake my entire college experience on it? to make a career in that? i really like to bake, too, but i don’t want to be a baker. same with chemistry. same with—everything. i don’t even know which colleges i’ll apply for yet.”
that’s insane. objectively, poppy thinks.
(it’s not.)
even if lauren wasn’t also a chilton student—who famously set their students rigorous exercises and standards for the collegiate application experience—she doesn’t even know where she wants to go?!
“like,” poppy echoes, lost for words. “...at all?”
“like at all,” lauren agrees miserably. “i’m seventeen, anyways! who the hell has their life figured out at seventeen?!”
she does not give poppy an opportunity to answer—probably good, because poppy would have said something like well, i’ve had it figured out since i was four—before she says “no one! no one does! why is society set up like this?!”
“...historical precedent,” poppy decides to say, because that feels safer than offering any emotional input.
“historical precedent is stupid,” lauren grumbles. “all i know i want to do is keep spending time with my boyfriend, take pictures, bake things to bring into class, and probably be editor in chief next year, because i really like the idea of spending more time with mel and molding the paper into the best it can be, not because i know for a fact that i want to be editor in chief someday and i want to put it on my resume.”
wow. poppy and lauren really are different.
“is that too much to ask?!”
“no,” poppy says because, objective wildness of not planning your future since you’ve had a concept of time aside, it isn’t  a lot to ask.
“thank you,” lauren sighs, flopping back into her armchair, then meets poppy’s eyes for the first time since she’s started this little tirade.
“oh, god, i’m sorry,” lauren says. “sorry. it’s just—my parents were getting on me about it right before we got here, they want me to buckle down, like, four years ago, and it’s… sorry. i shouldn’t have put all that on you.”
“no, it’s okay,” poppy says, once again relying on that old faithful of Societal Norms. 
“here i am, freaking out, and here you are, with—” lauren gestures vaguely. “a painstakingly organized agenda and a straightforward trajectory and a—a purpose. a future, a plan. i mean, cancer research, wow!”
it is pretty wow, but poppy thinks it’d be pretty insensitive to bring that up at the moment, as lauren is currently burying her face in her hands.
“i’m all—mess, and you’ve got everything figured out,” lauren finishes. 
“not everything,” flies out of poppy’s mouth before she can even consider a response.
lauren peeks through her fingers, arching an eyebrow.
“i know it sounds—silly,” poppy says, haltingly. “but—you’ve got things figured out that i definitely don’t. i mean—my mom would kill for me to have a boyfriend and do social things like you do.”
“your mom has her priorities a bit skewed.”
“i know that,” poppy tries not to snap, “but that’s—what it is. people like you, you get involved in things, and i can’t even figure out which stupid secret society to join because, even though i have all the family connections, neither of them really like me enough to invite me before now.”
welp. there it is.
poppy knows she’s an acquired taste; the trouble is, she’s never met anyone particularly patient enough to actually acquire it. dee has come close, she guesses, but he’s so hard to read that it’s genuinely difficult to tell, and even then, it’s because they’re “of a like mind,” according to him.
which—considering dee’s reputation within the chilton social stratosphere—is not particularly comforting.
“oh, poppy, that’s not—”
“i’m going to have to suck up to francie jarvis all year if i want to get into the puffs, she all but told me that outright,” poppy snaps. “help her with her homework, secure her a prime spot in the parking lot, organize her locker, scrunch up the plastic strands on her pom-poms to make them fluffy. i’d have to do everything except give her a manicure, if I had any talent with an orange stick.”
“but there’s the—”
“—clairs, i know, but no one’s even approached me about the clairs, even though i have cousins who graduated from both sororities! my family's name and reputation, not to mention my entire future, all depend on me getting into that group—”
“okay, first of all,” lauren says, “the entirety of your family’s name, reputation, and your incredibly bright future do not all depend on which clique you’re in in high school.”
“—my mother was a proud puff,” poppy continues as if she hasn’t spoken, because really, what a ridiculous notion that the world was not pinned on the minutiae of decisions you make in high school, “and my cousin maddie. the connections maddie made with the puffs got her an internship with the supreme court. but my father’s sister was a clair, and so was my cousin ruth. the connections ruth made with the clairs got her an incredible job managing celebrity pr, which sounds like hell to me but she’s thrilled as anything—”
“poppy—poppy!” lauren’s holding up her hands in supplication, and poppy promptly shuts her mouth.
did that guy behind the barista bar screw up and give her full caffeine?! she surreptitiously looks at the sharpie markings on her cup—no, marked off as decaf. hmph.
“okay,” lauren says, speaking in a soft, quiet tone, the way one might talk to an easily startled bunny or something of that nature. which is ridiculous, even if poppy’s shoulder’s relax a little at the sound of it. “first of all: i don’t know about the puffs, but clairs don’t recruit until the last month of your freshman year.”
poppy blinks.
“which wouldn’t be for a minute, for you,” she adds helpfully. “second, you could probably report francie for hazing—”
“it was mostly implied,” poppy mumbles.
“—still,” lauren says. “francie’s…”
poppy waits for lauren to finish that sentence, taking a sip of her drink.
“...francie,” lauren finishes delicately, as if unable to come up with any singular term that would do the work to encapsulate francie. “look. you’re smart, and driven, and you’d succeed in either sorority you wanted, or no sorority, even—”
poppy’s already shaking her head at that notion. 
“—but, hey, part of why i asked you to coffee is to tell you about the clairs,” lauren says, settling back in her armchair. 
“that would be great, thank you,” poppy says politely, trying to pack away their mutual spinouts into the distant past of thirty seconds ago, never to be thought of again. “maddie tells me all about the puffs, but ruth’s pretty quiet about the clairs. what are meetings like?”
“i mean, it’s kind of secret,” lauren says, warmly enough that it’s not entirely discounting the question, “but, i mean—you know how chilton tends to try to keep everything about the secret societies hush-hush and fails at it completely?”
poppy nods. there are ten secret societies worth cracking at chilton, and the puffs have been commonly regarded as number one for the last fifty years. a supreme court justice was once a puff. the ship to keeping secret societies hush-hush had sailed long ago for that reason alone.
“i can tell you the stuff i knew was in the public eye before i got initiated,” lauren says, “which—you probably know, but it’ll probably be good to clear up rumor-rumors from rumors based a little more in fact.”
also accurate. the jefferson has famously implied that the clairosophic society are the closest a modern girl could get to going into the woods and slaughtering chickens and drinking each other’s blood to enact witchcraft, like fabled salem witches of old.
the jefferson has also implied certain things about the puffs and their… well, poppy thinks its not too far of a stretch to mention the comparison to a cultish honeybee hive, complete absolute obeisance to their designated queen—highly likely to be francie for the next few years.
“this is different for every society—and for fraternities and sororities in college—but i can generally tell you that it’s not too different from a lot of club meetings. we have an agenda, we have questions and discussion, we do an occasional activity, we make a plan for what we’ll do between this meeting and the next one.”
vague, but poppy can appreciate mentions of agendas and plans. valuable intel. poppy is notoriously good with agendas and plans—she might be able to finagle this into a boon, regardless of which sorority she joins—
“usually, we talk about things going on at chilton, philanthropy events, any tweaks to the bylaws, social events that we’re all planning, voting for some of the more niche aspects of running a sorority… formal meetings are a lot of bureaucracy.”
poppy can do bureaucracy! poppy is great at bureaucracy!
wait.
“and… informal meetings?” poppy says.
“also a bit secret,” lauren says sheepishly. “more like… friend hangouts. don’t stress about it.”
hilarious. as if poppy has experience with informal hangouts. poppy will absolutely be stressing about it.
“you mentioned philanthropy?” poppy prompts, and lauren brightens.
“yes! we vote on a cause each year, and this year—for the past couple years, actually—we’re focusing our efforts on a children’s research hospital.”
poppy must visibly perk up at this, because lauren grins.
“i thought that might be up your alley.”
“what kind of things do you do?” poppy says, practically vibrating. depending on the puffs’ philanthropic efforts, this could absolutely tilt the scales—establishing connections at a hospital this early! poppy had previously planned on beginning to do volunteer work as soon as she was legally old enough to do some work of import at the hospital, but this was huge, this could advance her plans by years—
“a lot of fundraising—i need to pin down what i’m going to bake for a bake sale in two weeks, actually—helping out with their phone bank, some occasional office administration stuff, supporting their fundraising events. some girls—ana does it, i can give her your number if you have questions—help out in the playroom. ana’s there basically every weekend, she’s there probably the most of anyone. some of the girls on the cross-country and track teams are finagling the rest of them to join in the national 5k.”
poppy nods, absorbing this.
“we partner with a lot of their official events, mostly volunteering to do some of the grunt work. actually, wait, let me find a pamphlet for you from the hospital, i know i’ve got it here somewhere…”
lauren begins rummaging around in her backpack, and poppy takes a moment to drink her coffee and absorb this; a man in a cardigan opens a door that poppy had thought for staff only. the barista looks up, smiling for the first time that she’s seen, and passes the man a prepped to-go cup. the man in the cardigan beams, takes it, and uses his other hand to pull the barista in for a quick kiss.
poppy finds herself staring as the barista leans against the counter; they speak in quiet undertones, cautious not to let any of their words float to the rest of the café—poppy thinks she might be the only one watching, though. the locals don’t seem to care, as if this is a common enough occurrence, and the lingering chilton students are either deep in conversation with each other or scrolling on their phones or laptops with their airpods in.
what a town, where these people can kiss and no one even thinks to comment upon it.
poppy wonders if that’s what life is like outside of the mcmaster household. to be free of a world where every little thing is commented upon.
“here you go,” lauren says cheerfully, passing it over. “even if you don’t join the clairs, i hope you look into this. it’s a really great cause.”
“sure,” poppy says automatically, taking it and tucking it carefully into her bag, then, “do you really not care if i join the clairs or not?”
lauren blinks. “how do you mean?”
“like,” poppy says, gesturing vaguely. “this. this wasn’t some recruitment tactic?”
“oh!” lauren says. “i mean—not formally. i just invited you because…”
“because?” poppy prompts, eyes narrowing.
“because i really do think that we need to stick together,” lauren says. “both in terms of being journalism girls, sure, but also because i think women in general should stick together. i do want you in the clairs, but not because of the fact that you’re a mcmaster or i think you’re going to be really successful some day—which you will—but because i like you.”
poppy blinks. “you like me?”
“sure, i like you!” lauren says. “i think you’re really good at journalism and design. i like that you decided you wanted a feature and went after it. i like that you’re teaming up with logan and dee, even though dee’s kind of out there, because you recognize everyone’s talent, instead of only yours, which i think is way too common in a place like chilton. and i think you’re funny.”
poppy absorbs this for a moment. funny is not a word typically used to describe her. like is not a word typically used to describe her. she sets this aside—the words sure i like you! echoing in her mind nonetheless—and progresses.
“do you think i’d be a good clair?”
“i think you’d be a great member of any sorority,” lauren says. “but, yes—i think you’d be a great clair. you’re driven, you’re smart, you’re so focused on your own goals that i don’t think you’d care that any other clairs’ life path is a little unorthodox.”
“is that common?” poppy says, setting aside the errant thought that unorthodox might have been an invitation to pun. poppy does not pun, but enough people at her synagogue do that it feels near-instinctual to recognize the opportunity and let it float away. “unorthodox life paths, i mean.”
“very,” lauren says honestly. “i mean—my indecision aside. i know that a lot of us don’t fit the chilton mold. girls who are religious outside of christianity, girls who aren’t religious at all, girls who don’t want what society sets out for the path of a “good”—” here she uses air quotes, “chilton girl. like—liv is already setting up to be a professional bridesmaid starting in college, and that’s all she’s ever professed a desire to do, professionally speaking. bella’s thinking about going off the grid entirely and living off the land. soph leads ghost tours on the weekends with the intent of landing a rich eccentric to spouse up with. scarlet doesn’t want to go to college at all, she thinks chilton is scamming her parents.“
yes. those are certainly all off the path of approved post-chilton career paths, which mostly seem to split between “corporate,” “lawyer,” “doctor,” “professor,” or “otherwise professionally or academically outstanding so that we may brag upon our alumni.”
“yeah, you’d be a good clair.”
“oh,” poppy says. “that’s… good. but. i mean. do you think i’d… fit in, as a clair?”
“i think that’s the beauty of the clairs,” lauren says thoughtfully. “none of us fit in. but we manage to fit in with each other. if that makes any sense?”
it does, poppy thinks, stirring her drink with her straw, thinking of hattie, thinking of the barista, thinking of a future where she won’t have to bow to someone’s every whim, but one where she is instead offered mentorship and volunteer opportunities to further her future, without ulterior motive. 
“it really does.”
seline: ALERT.
francie: You know how much I hate it when you start a text message with a vague message instead of getting right to the point.
seline: right, sorry. 
francie: And learn punctuation.
seline: anyway i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café 
francie: Poppy McMaster? 
seline: she’s that really intense freshman right
francie: WAY too intense.
seline: and loud. and also i think she might be a robot, she never just. STOPS. ykwim
francie: She comes from a long line of us, though. 
seline: ugh. i hate nepotism.
francie: Rich of you to say. It makes the world go ‘round.
francie: Anway, I should care about this, beyond McMaster being insanely intense and coming from a long line of Puffs because…?
seline: right! so i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café 
francie: Get to a point, please.
seline: and she sat with lauren whatever her name is. seline: …and asking her a lot about the clairosophic society.
francie: What?! francie: But her family’s fully puffed!!!
seline: except her cousin.
francie: Who cares about her freaky cousin? A voluntary defector!!! There hasn’t been one in at least ten years, and even then, that was forgiven when she got suspended for troublemaking!!!
seline: maybe i heard her wrong, bc i was listening to that stupid video mr. gardiner keeps saying i should listen to to “improve my understanding of calculus,” but that’s what i think i heard her say.
francie: We absolutely cannot have this. 
“if katy fincher’s mom tries to butt in on coaching the cheer squad one more time, i’m going to scream,” sasha says, her face buried in her arms where they rest on the desk of their mutual english class. 
they currently have quiet time to work on their papers, which means everyone is talking in quiet voices and absolutely not working on their papers. most are instead online shopping on their laptops or texting other people on the sly.
“mood, retweet, same,” roman says, sticking a post-it in the latest poetry compendium he’s reading. he thinks logan will like this one, even if it is a bit more avant-garde that logan’s usual tastes.
“like, we get it, you were a cheerleader here fifty years ago or whatever, that doesn’t mean you get to just steamroller over our actual coach,” sasha continues, scowling. “it’s enough that she has somehow managed to nepotize katy into a flyer position, now she wants to choreograph routines to bring them back to how they were? no, thank you.”
“she wants to do what,” roman says, looking up from his poetry book. “since when?”
“i don’t even know, but joanna posner texted me that mrs. fincher has some suggestions for practice tomorrow, apparently.”
“the routines are great the way they are! we’re nearly done with the basketball season already, what’s the point of doing it now? is coach actually going to hear her out?”
sasha looks up just enough to shrug and give roman a look at her excellent cut-crease eyeshadow look today—all silvery sparkles and stark, dramatic gunmetal gray—before dropping her forehead back onto her arms. 
“this means she’s probably going to put herkies in it,” sasha whines. “i hate herkies.”
“i also hate herkies,” roman says. it’s true, it’s probably his least-favorite cheer-specific jump, which is something, because he usually loves leaps and jumps. it’s like someone ferociously messed up an attitude leap and decided to just rename it instead of facing up to the fact that they did it wrong.
“if any parent should come in to choreograph a new routine, it’s your mom,” sasha says, rolling so her cheek is resting on her arms now, not her forehead. “your mom rules at teaching routines.”
roman smiles. it’s true. his mom does rule at teaching and also at everything else.
“it was really cool to see her teach and stuff last weekend,” sasha continues. “it makes me wish i actually went to a studio to do ballet instead of trying to teach myself from barbie movies.”
“barbie’s nutcracker and twelve dancing princesses are an integral part of my ballet dancer lore,” roman says, “but yeah, she’s the best. and you did, in fact, miss out on the best dance teacher of all time.”
“not that you’re biased.”
“of course not,” roman agrees, amused. “i’m the least biased in the world.”
the bell rings; there’s a great scraping of chairs and desks as everyone gets up to go to lunch, their teacher calling out reminders on the deadline for the paper maybe two of them were actually working on.
roman tucks his book into his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and asks, “sit with me?”
“sure,” sasha says, and so they set off for the cafeteria, briefly interrupted by a conversation with brick davis about if either of them know anything about arranging carpool arrangements—they don’t, but roman gives brick logan’s phone number because he probably will know—before they find a decent table away from the herd of people who probably sprinted here to get to the microwaves first.
elliott finds them all not long after that, sitting down beside sasha.
“hi,” they say, before peeking curiously at the contents of sasha’s lunchbox. “that looks really good.”
“thanks!” sasha says brightly, already drizzling tzatziki over the innards of her wrap. “i’d heat it up if the lines weren’t so bad today, but souvlaki’s okay cold. even if might be blasphemous to my ancestors, whatever, they never had to deal with microwave lines.”
elliott sighs a little, glumly removing a ziplock bag with what looks like a very sad sandwich inside. they examine it for a minute.
“erm,” roman says, briefly glancing up from his chicken caesar salad. “what is that?”
“i… am not really sure,” elliott says. they open it, sniff a little, and hastily reseal it, but not before the scent of heavy mayonnaise reaches roman. “and i am not entirely sure i trust that this is vegetarian, so. what’s on the hot lunch menu today?”
“umm, i think it’s spaghetti? but don’t quote me on that.” sasha adds hastily.
“sold,” elliott says immediately, scooping up their sad, mayo-infused sandwich to dump in the nearest trash can. “be right back.”
sasha, likely reveling in the fact that one of her dad’s favorite hobbies is remaking and gently tweaking family recipes until they match his elusive childhood memories of summers spent in katerini, looks on sympathetically as elliott shuffles their way in line.
“i’d bring them a spare lunch if they ever asked,” she says with a shake of her head. “i think this is the third time in two weeks that elliott’s had to buy a hot lunch because they weren’t sure if their mom remembered to pack something vegetarian.”
“ditto,” roman says, unsuccessfully attempting to spear a crouton. “my mom’s pretty good about meal prep, and even then, i live, like, right next door to virgil. he’d pack them a lunch without a doubt.”
“it’s like they don’t know they’ve got prime food access just by virtue of us,” sasha says.
“we should hint that to them. delicately.”
“for sure,” sasha agrees. “if it’s not mayo, it’s ham. if it’s not ham, it’s, like, really sad pb&js that are half-smushed inside a ziploc bag.”
“you’d think it would get better once chad graduated,” he says, then, “right, right, you’re new. chad is elliott’s older brother.”
“mm,” sasha says, nose wrinkling. “is he, like, a nice chad, or—”
“no. quintessential chad. whatever you’re picturing, you’ve probably got it.”
sasha’s nose wrinkles further, and she and roman distract themselves with eating as much of their lunches as they can until elliott comes back. 
lunch breaks aren’t exactly leisurely at sideshire high. ergo, the sprint to form lines at the microwave; the faster it’s warm, the faster you can eat, the faster you can get to talking to your friends, or visiting your favorite teacher, or stopping by your locker, or what have you.
roman’s pretty sure they aren’t leisurely at chilton, either, but roman bets the students there are a bit less social and a bit more studious with their spare time during lunch breaks.
after a few minutes, elliott drops down at their table and they, too, promptly begin inhaling their spaghetti with marinara sauce and garlic bread on the side.
“we ran into brick earlier, do you know anything about carpooling to the debutante ball?” sasha asks elliott.
they shake their head and make noise of denial. 
“that’s a good idea, though,” they mumble.
“yeah, someone should get on that,” sasha says, then, “wait, duh, i know a quick way to get an answer on this.”
she pulls out her phone and sends a text; roman sees his phone screen light up from where he has it stashed in a backpack pocket, in the sideshire debutantes group chat.
“oh, obviously,” roman says. “why didn’t i think of that?”
“just say your brain’s fried from whatever amount of planning happened this weekend, we’d forgive you,” sasha advises. “it was a really big production, does your mom do that kind of thing a lot?”
“well, she hosts a lot of town meetings,” roman muses. “and, i mean, we teach a lot of classes, but—nothing like that.”
“no, this is a pretty unique situation,” elliott says between bites. “your mom’s still really scary, by the way, it did not get better just because i took a class with her like you said it would.”
“i know, isn’t she the best?” roman beams.
elliott makes a nervous mmmmm sound as sasha says “yes absolutely she is.”
“like, hey, look,” roman says, displaying his salad. “i said i was craving caesar, and look! caesar. with plenty to spare, if anyone ever asked me to bring any spare food to anywhere for any reason, plus, like, really close access to the best restaurant in town.”
“subtle,” sasha mouths at him, and roman just shrugs. 
hey, he can be a lot of things—dramatic, ostentatious, confident—and none of those are exactly synonyms for subtle.
“yeah, speaking of virgil,” elliott says, digging out their phone. “look at my suit! dress? suit-dress?”
“swess,” sasha says, leaning over to peer at elliott’s phone screen.
“druit,” roman says, doing the same.
it looks, frankly, really cool; half perfect tux, half old-fashioned, regency-esque white dress. 
“elliott, that’s gonna look so good,” sasha gushes happily. 
roman says, delighted, “wow, elliott, it turned out great, i can’t wait to see it in person!”
“thanks,” elliott says, ducking their head. “i’m, um, i’m really happy with it, actually. i was really nervous.”
“what are you gonna do with shoes and stuff?” sasha says curiously. “oh, i could totally help you do a half-and-half look, just say the word!”
“would you really?” elliott says, looking surprised. “thanks, sasha, that would be really—really great, actually. i mostly just,” and gestures to their dark eyeshadow. “y’know. not exactly intricate stuff.”
sasha squeals happily, clapping her hands.
“i love having models to do makeup on!” she says. “my sisters are getting so tired of me bursting into their rooms when they’re trying to do homework, let me tell you. ooh, ellie, this is gonna be great! we should probably carpool then, right, if i’m your makeup artist?”
“sure!” elliott says. “we can text other people to see if there’s room in the car, or if you’ve got yours, or—” 
“totally,” sasha says. “sorry, can i just take a picture of your face, real quick? i want to make sure i have a reference for foundation matching.”
“um, sure?” elliott says, and they try their best to offer a neutral expression to the camera.
quickly afterward, not even leaning over to peek at the picture sasha got, elliott turns to roman. “how about you? i don’t think i’ve seen your dress.”
roman grins. “it’s a surprise, darlings.”
“aw, not even one hint?” sasha teases.
roman, faux-thoughtfully, taps his finger against his chin.
“well,” he says with a smile at elliott, “you won’t be the only one doing an avant-garde makeup look, how about that?”
“oh, nice,” elliott says. “i mean—not that you won’t do a great job, sasha, it’s just also nice to know i won’t be the only one.”
“i don’t think you were ever going to be the only one,” sasha says cheerfully. “it’s a ton of people smashing gender norms, interesting fashion and makeup kind of goes hand-in-hand with all of that.”
“interesting fashion seems like a theme with those chilton kids for sure,” elliott says. “i mean, wasn’t that friend of logan’s wearing a cape?”
roman scowls, more out of instinct than anything.
“uh-oh,” sasha says. “we don’t like logan’s friend? what’s their name?”
“dee,” roman grumbles, “and no, we do not like him. he’s competing with logan too hard for valedictorian, which should be logan’s in any sane world, he lied to me for the sake of his own amusement, he pokes his nose in everyone’s business, he—”
“okay, we don’t like him,” sasha says, cutting him off. “got it.”
elliott makes another mm noise.
“what?” roman says, lowering his fork.
elliott jerks their shoulders up and down in a shrug.
“no, really, what?” 
“wellll,” elliott says, drawing out the word, dragging their fork through the pasta. “does he… really suck?”
“yes, he sucks,” roman says fervently. “he, for sure, really, absolutely sucks.”
“do i detect jealousy?” sasha says, a hint of intrigue on her voice.
“you absolutely do not,” roman says fervently. “no. no way. i am not jealous of that—that jason vorhees wannabe!”
elliott’s head tilts, and their mouth pulls to one side.
“what was that face?” roman says. “i’m not!”
“weeeeellllll,” elliott says in a high-pitched voice.
“oh, go on, elliott, you know i’m new,” sasha urges. “you know all this history, i’m at a disadvantage.”
elliott shrugs, lifting a noodle on their fork, letting it drop back down into the tray. “i mean, you and logan have practically been together since kindergarten.”
“not true,” roman mutters petulantly. “if we had been together that long, i could have saved myself a lot of longing staring and yearning angst throughout the years.” 
“not necessarily romantically,” elliott adds to sasha, as if roman isn’t even there. “just, like. it was always roman-and-logan, logan-and-roman, you know?”
they say it very quickly, like they’re used to saying their names as all one word; romanandlogan, loganandroman. roman fights the urge to be sappy about that.
“if one was there, the other wasn’t far behind. they’ve always been,” elliott says, and twines their fingers together, using the gesture to finish their sentence. 
“ohhh,” sasha says, in a great gusting sigh of realization. “i see. logan moved, met this guy, and now this is a whole another person might be becoming important to the person who’s important to me thing.”
“it is not that thing, okay, first of all,” roman says, “he’s evil.”
“evil?!” sasha says, on the edge of a laugh. “he’s a prep wearing a cape, roman, i don’t know if it’s that serious.”
“it is that serious,” roman says vehemently, “he manipulated someone into punching logan, so—!”
“wait, what?” elliott says, and so roman has to catch them all up on the dastardy of dee slange.
this takes the rest of lunch break; they split off for their respective lockers and afternoon classes, roman slightly vindicated by the looks on their faces as they realize that dee slange is heinous.
“but if he did all that—” sasha begins, then breaks it off, her brow furrowing.
“what?” roman says, distracted by the sound of their class bell, putting his phone back into the perfectly sized pocket of his backpack.
elliott and sasha exchange another look.
“well,” sasha says. “i guess i don’t know him as well as either of you do, but… logan seems like a really smart guy. if dee really did all of that—then why is logan bothering to hang out with him?”
roman sets his jaw, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“that’s what i can’t figure out, either,” roman says, and he goes on his way to his next class before either of them can start brainstorming and come up answers that make dee even more abominable than he already is..
or, even worse—
answers that will make roman start to consider dee as logan’s misunderstood confidante.
“uh-huh. well, that’s good, at least.”
patton makes eye contact with virgil and nods as virgil speaks into the landline; virgil nods back with a little distracted smile on his face as he continues listening intently on the phone. patton contents himself with attempting to guess who’s on the phone based on the half of the conversation he’s walked into the middle of. 
“yeah, it’s all going pretty well, we had a big get-together with a lot of the kids so they all know how it’s gonna go down… probably, yeah, i’m up to my armpits in tulle, but i think i’ve gotten all the last of the last-minute folks in, so i can at least narrow it down…”
okay, someone who is interested in how the debutante ball is going, which means not someone with a strict business relationship based mostly on virgil ordering ingredients and supplies.
“...bit longer, but shouldn’t be much. you know how things get with the seasons, i’ve got a bit more downtime here and there…”
hm. virgil’s tone makes it almost like he’s talking to his mom, which would fit, except virgil’s probably talked to meredith recently enough that she’d know about the timeline, and someone else who knows about how restaurant levels vary. which leaves…
“okay. yeah, see you soon… i will, i will, he’d probably like that… thanks. bye.”
virgil hangs up the landline; if there’s one thing about landlines patton misses, it’s probably that sense of concrete finality that comes from hanging up a phone. smartphones just mean pressing a screen. no theatricality of clicking buttons, no twirling the line around a finger.
lot more convenient to carry, though. and little smartphone games! patton loves little smartphone games.
“bud or maisie?” patton asks, as virgil, smiling, leans forward, elbows on the counter. “i’m guessing maisie.”
“maisie.”
“ha! i got it!” patton crows, before leaning forward; virgil, who he is maybe in the midst of accidentally pavlov’ing, leans the rest of the way to give patton a little greeting kiss.
“maisie wants me to bring my handsome young man back over pretty soon,” virgil says. 
patton grins. he likes bud and maisie quite a bit; he’s pretty pleased that they like him back.
“she and bud say hello.”
“well, i say hello back,” patton declares, despite the fact that virgil would probably have to call them back to pass on this news. it’s in the spirit of the thing. 
“how was work?”
“oh, same old, same old,” patton says vaguely, “except i think one of the kid guests is trying to smuggle one of our squirrels into the hotel so they can smuggle it back home in their luggage.”
virgil considers this. “i don’t know what to do with that.”
“yeah, me either,” patton agrees. “logan never really got into the let’s adopt this animal phase beyond, like, frogs.” 
“ah, i remember reptile phase,” virgil says. “made it a lot easier that you lived by their natural habitat, though. i don’t think this girl can do that unless she convinces her parents to move here.”
“i don’t blame her, though. we’ve got a pretty good squirrel population. very fuzzy, very fat, very prone to posing for pictures.” 
“true,” virgil says. “we have very handsome squirrels here. good representatives to stick on a wildlife brochure. i don’t know how taylor is behind this, but i think taylor is behind this.”
“you and logan think taylor’s behind everything.”
“he is, but continue.”
“well—i don’t think tipping off the parents that their child is planning to abduct the local wildlife is really in my job description, considering she’s been pretty vocal about our squirrels, but i told the landscapers to keep an eye out for it.”
“probably for the best,” virgil agrees. 
“speaking of photogenic,” patton says, and he waggles his eyebrows. “do you have your fancy black tail outfit all sorted out?”
virgil groans—half joke, half real disdain for the stuffy uncomfortableness of it all—and rests his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “do i have to?”
“probably not,” patton says, practical, “considering all the kids are flouting dress codes anyway.”
virgil freezes.
patton grins. “did i just now bring that to your attention?” this strikes patton as particularly ironic, considering virgil’s outfit today; a dark, silky purple button-down tucked into a breezy black maxi skirt, his eyes rimmed with black and his lips painted with burgundy to match.
virgil drops his forehead onto his arms, whining “i could have just not bought a fancy suit?!” into the counter.
“aw, poor virgil,” patton says, running his fingers through his impressively silky hair, then, “...how fancy?”
“very!” virgil grumbles, not moving. “i bought a tailored coat with and without tails because i couldn’t remember which i needed, patton! i have two fancy suit coats i don’t need now!”
“how many fancy suit coats did you have before?” patton says, curious; he thinks he’s only ever seen virgil in suits at weddings, exclusively. photographs of virgil’s siblings’ weddings—patton only ever attended one of the three, though wyatt’s triad is rapidly approaching common law marriage length of relationship had their home state allowed such—and weddings of the general townsfolk, who frequently invite him to fancy events like that since virgil’s the face and name of a town staple and all.
“one!” virgil wails. “i’ve tripled my fancy suit coat collection! how often am i going to be wearing fancy suits?!”
“well—”
“the dry cleaning is a nightmare, patton. i never remember to drop things off at dry cleaning, and then i never remember to pick them up.”
“that i know,” patton says, amused, carding his fingers this way and that through virgil’s hair. “i’m surprised you only had one suit.”
“you have to do business-y things more than me,” virgil says.
“that’s true,” patton says. in addition to weddings—the inn being a popular venue, and patton also being part of a town staple—patton also has much more frequent meetings, bank conferences, the occasional conference for inn owners that maria usually enthuses about, and general tasks that he has to do for his business degree (so close to finishing! patton really does not enjoy studying macro or microeconomics!)
virgil, on the other hand, usually only has bank meetings on the roster. suits in a diner kitchen kind of seemed like a nightmare waiting to happen.
“besides, you’ve got some fancy events coming up other than this, it’ll be nice to have spares,” patton points out—the boys’ graduation within the next couple of years, a fancy dinner or party that patton’s certain his parents will take them both to at one point or another, not to mention the Big Deal Life Events of virgil’s many nieces and nephews. 
just off the top of his head, patton’s pretty sure both wes and mikey are approaching graduation from middle school, and little baby red has had murmurs of a formal christening (primarily moira’s side of the family; silas has never struck patton as particularly religious).
patton mentions this, and virgil only sighs.
“are we done sulking?” patton says, a little amused. “can i see that handsome face, partner of mine?”
“dunno,” virgil mumbles into his arms. “the scratching feels really nice. i could stay here all day.”
patton laughs, scratches a little firmer for emphasis, and says, “we could at least take this to a couch so that you can nod off while i’m doing this, i know you’ve been staying up late with dress alterations lately.”
virgil lets out a sigh of longing, which makes patton giggle, but virgil stands upright.
“there he is,” patton coos, and virgil ducks his head—not quite blushing, but certainly smiling in that shy, bashful way patton loves.
“do you have a suit?”
“oh, my mom referred me to a tailor way back when we first got the dress,” patton says with a little laugh. “i just have to pick it up.”
“probably should have guessed that,” virgil says. “of course your mom would have a tailor on speed dial.”
a tailor. with the way that his mother has her exacting specifications for anything and everything, but especially shopping and appearances in general, coupled with her tendency to immediately fire anyone who displeases her? virgil’s adorable.
“at least i only had to get the cummerbund and coat,” patton reasons, and virgil lets out a great big gust of air.
“can we revisit that whole i lay down on the couch while you scratch through my hair idea?” virgil says. “i’ll bring dinner and the hair. you’ve got couch and the hands.”
“well, how could anyone refuse that offer? it’s a date.” patton beams, and virgil leans over, pressing an imprint of burgundy lipstick into patton’s lips.
patton refuses to wipe it off.
Subject: Design edits for debutante spread
I appreciate your very prompt response in getting your designs on the flashdrive and down to the journalism lab! I’ve have a few minor edits notated on the PDF attached—mostly to switch from HEX to RGB color codes and adjustments to the margin width to best fit printing standards. 
Very well done on the infographic design work—especially for a freshman! I think you may be able to progress to a more advanced course under my tutelage in your sophomore year, considering I anticipate you won’t need much help figuring out Adobe programs. I might need to ask you for pointers!
Best,
Mel Kramschissel, PhD.
Subject: Story edits for debutante spread
I’ve attached the story edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. Very compelling throughline—I would like the transcripts of your interviews as soon as you can get them to me, so that we can work on ensuring it’s fact- and quality-checked before it goes to print. I appreciate your work—I’m unsure if your future goals involve journalism, but I think you have a very bright future in storycraft regardless, no matter which form it takes.
Best,
Mel Kramschissel, PhD.
Subject: Column edits for debutante spread
I’ve attached the column edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. They’re mostly line edits, though I wonder if you can fit in a graph about your or Dee’s personal connections to this project, to give the story a personalized “human” element. I appreciate the citation section of the report—very thorough!—and, barring the transcript, can tell you that your work’s fact- and quality-checking is about finished. Is this how things are done at the Courant? I must commend whichever editor has instilled this habit within you, as it’s saved a great deal of time. 
Lauren’s told me some about the things she’s seen as she’s been photographer of the project, and her review of the way yourself and Dee work together has been glowing. I’ll admit I was a little hesitant about the prospect of the pair of you teaming up, given the debacle last semester, but I’m pleased to see such talented minds find common ground. 
I hope to see more works that you accomplish together, in whatever capacity (though I certainly would appreciate if they were for the Franklin!)
Best,
Mel Kramschissel, PhD.
Subject: Re: Debutante Spread
Hi all! 
Attached is a rough draft of Poppy’s design layout with the pictures Kram and I picked included. Comments and notes appreciated. I wanted to thank you three again for having me tag along—really fun photography opportunity AND a really interesting story for the paper! Definitely sign me up if you’ve got any more ideas.
—Lauren
Subject: Potential meeting for spread tweaks
I think all the individual aspects of what the spread is so far are very promising. Would the four of you be free to meet before or after school in the coming week so that we can coordinate on reviewing final edits and the plan to cover the event itself?
Please let me know what works best on timing. Color me impressed by what you all have put together so far! The Franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with all of you taking turns manning the helm.
Best,
Mel Kramschissel, PhD.
the day starts off simply enough: wake up, brush his teeth and comb his hair, get dressed, go to the diner with dad and virgil, get ahead on some of his daily readings on the bus, walk to his locker to swap out some of his heavy textbooks to the other, then swing by mel’s desk to see if there’s anything else needed for their spread.
at least, he intends to swing by mel’s desk.
instead, logan enters the lab hallway to chaos.
it does not seem to be an exaggeration to state such a thing. francie, of puff fame, nearly knocks him off the stairs at the speed at which she’s storming past him; as he’s rounding the corner on the landing, someone is hastily shoving a copy of the jefferson into his chest then continuing their run to the nearest person with an empty hand; as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, hattie has an arm around summer, also of puff fame, murmuring to her in soft, comforting tones as she cries loudly into hattie’s shoulder.
in the midst of the lab hallway that logan was originally intending to traverse to swing by mel’s desk. there is a crowd the likes of which logan only sees at pep rallies or mandatory assemblies, many of them clutching matching copies of the jefferson, many of them elbowing each other and craning their necks to try and get a look at what lies within the great crush of people.
logan, despite his better judgment, cannot resist his own curiosity; he does not keep walking and ignoring it all. instead, he lingers, because he’s fairly certain nothing will get done in the journalism lab; the crowd’s chatter is slightly subdued, but that is because, logan thinks, in the middle of it all, there is a great deal of yelling.
“—oh, now he’s a CAVEMAN! What were you planning to do, knock me on the back of a head with a club then drag me back to your porsche—?!”
“—BROKEN UP, do you hear me—?!”
“NEVER—in all my years as headmaster—!”
logan blinks, startled, then shuffles vaguely, integrating himself into the great cloud of his navy-plaid-and-gray clad peers, so he can get some impression of what’s going on, then—
“shame,” janus says in a casual, flat tone, appearing suddenly at logan’s side as though summoned by logan’s sheer confusion. logan refuses to jump or startle.
“what is—?”
but then, as the trio shuffles forward, a parting in the crowd, and—
there’s a car.
there’s a car. blue. a honda accord, if he isn’t mistaken. sensible. reliable.
one he’s usually accustomed to seeing in the parking lot, not in the middle of the lab hallway.
in the basement of the school. granted, logan doesn’t know much about cars, but he is 100% certain that the doorways are not wide enough to allow this, let alone the presence of stairs. 
logan turns to janus. “how—?”
“why do you assume i know?” janus scoffs, adjusting his cape. logan still isn’t certain how he isn’t getting daily uniform infringements; logan finds himself touching the knot of his own tie, just to ensure he’s in dress code.
“you’ve been here longer than i have, i just got here,” logan points out. “wait—doesn’t the jefferson usually publish on mondays…?”
“both true,” janus says, then, “shh, charleston might go full thermobaric. he’s been due to blow his top for ages.”
logan barely even has time to mentally recall the meaning of thermobaric—containing a charge of fuel designed to ignite and combine with oxygen present in the atmosphere to produce a prolonged explosion—before charleston resumes his rant.
“—that is IT, that’s IT! I’VE HAD IT! RIGHT TO MY OFFICE, YOU THREE, AND YOU’D BETTER PRAY THAT YOUR PARENTS ARRIVE WITH SUFFICIENT EXPLANATIONS TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING EXPELLED!”
a gasp doesn’t quite suffuse its way through the crowd, but certainly a few of the more excitable members of the student population do, and—
“OUT OF MY WAY!”
a column of students shuffles awkwardly to part the navy sea, lest they get bowled over by the headmaster (and likely given a detention for it, given the foul mood he’s in), and logan beholds
ah. unsurprising.
of course it’s tristan, duncan, and bowman at the scene of the crime.
“and that’s military school for dugray,” janus murmurs into his ear. not quietly enough; tristan’s eyes dart right to janus, glaring, clearly about to say something before charleston’s “MOVE!” gets him into motion.
“military school?” logan repeats. 
“oh, sure,” janus says. “ever since the three of them got caught breaking into a locked safe of bowman senior’s, mr. dugray’s been dying for any excuse. i guess he wanted to go out with a bang.”
janus’ comment is caught by the crowd, but not by many. logan isn’t unique, it seems, for turning to the nearest familiar face to discuss the whole affair. logan hears words like cheater and plagiarism and the jefferson said flying around like a murmuration of starlings, the allegations shifting and shape-changing as easily as any flock.
logan is almost certain that, with the proliferation of gossip, the involvement of the jefferson, and the sheer number of witnesses that the number of new rumors that will crop up over the course of the school week will be dizzying in both number and any lack of logic.
mel clears her throat, loudly, from where she’s located at the end of the hallway.
“all right, everyone, show’s over!” she declares. “get to your first period, the bell’s going to ring in five minutes.”
the crowd, very slowly, begins to disperse, breaking off into duos and trios, all of them with their heads bent together, all of them talking very intently. 
well-timed, logan supposes, for this meltdown to happen on the same day that the national honors society meets before school; well-timed for charleston to catch word right as the flood of early birds (most of the chilton population) were sure to hear the fallout and come along to see the fuss themselves; well-timed that this all imploded the day that tristan and his posse decided to do something stupid.
yes, logan thinks, his eyes drifting to where janus is standing, staring, at the crying girl and the one comforting her. hattie glances up from where she’s smoothing back summer’s hair, as if feeling janus’ stare.
it’s all very well-timed indeed.
hattie and janus lock eyes. 
for a moment, just a moment, but logan can’t help but think—
perhaps, there’s something more than a last-minute debutante escort assignment there.
and then hattie is earnestly making a case to mel, asking for a late pass so she can escort summer to the nurse—”she can’t pay attention to class in this condition, doctor kramschissel, look at her—” and the moment almost fades.
almost.
even as he awkwardly tells mel that he’ll come back at study hall, rushes to his locker, stuffing his copy of the jefferson inside for later perusal, and makes it to his desk just in the nick of time, logan can’t quite shake the feeling that there was a bit more happening than an extremely ostentatious prank carried out with no thought to consequences.
(deep into the witching hour, janus drums his fingers idly against his desk, eyes roving over the password-protected folder hidden in the depths of his laptop, scrolling through a list of transgressions with a deeply bored expression on his face, drag-and-dropping attachments. he examines the note again, written in hattie’s elegant, sloping script.)
(“way past time i did this,” janus mutters, and resumes narrowing down his list of infractions to the most infuriating offenders, dropping each into folders labeled for summer, beth, jessica, kate, claire, kathy, mary, mr. dugray, mr. charleston, mrs. fischer, olivia who is “rumored” to be the current editor of the jefferson, and, just for the hell of it, tristan’s grandfather’s business email, scheduling them all to send should his plan a fail.)
(it does not fail. it’s embarrassingly easy to plant plots into bowman and duncan’s thick skulls.)
(janus sends a number of them from various burner accounts anyway, aided by a world-class vpn and a lack of presence in the hallways at school as he slips forgeries into their lockers, knowing that either bowman or duncan would be eager to claim credit for chaos.)
hattie: Splashy.
Dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you mean.
hattie: I guess I don’t either. hattie: It’s good that Summer found out in cold, hard proof. hattie: Even if she maybe hasn’t been iron-clad in monogamy either.
dee: scandal!
hattie: Maybe. hattie: Old news now, anyway. hattie: You might tell your new freshie friend that she’s about to have a redhead hot on her tail.
dee: oh?
hattie: Tradition. You know how it gets.
dee: that i do.
hattie: Do you have a ride to the ball? Mother’s insisting I get there early to stake out the best spot in the dressing room.
dee: yes, that’s handled. do they know?
hattie: My parents? They know some. I already had a formal debut last year, I think they’re just pleased I’m not pulling a Libby Dotie.
dee: debut number five this year, isn’t it?
hattie: Poor thing went right after Pukey last time. Shame that Eileen couldn’t hold her booze.
dee: a real shame indeed. midori sour is a real choice for her first blackout.
hattie: Her chances of living that down are absolutely nonexistent.
dee: you can say that again
hattie: Any chance you’ll send me some of that interesting info that didn’t make the cut for some fun reading right before the escorting…? Since we’re talking about nonexistent.
dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you’re implying about nonexistence dee: how IS dear “beau” anyway?
hattie: See you thereeee
“oh, wow!”
“i guess they paid a mechanic to do it,” logan says, “which makes a great deal of sense—none of them strike me as the sort to gain any sort of practical knowledge.”
“yeah, i’d bet,” patton says, then, shaking his head, “wow. never in all my days at chilton did someone pull a prank that elaborate. so—did it ever come out what the punishment is?!”
“tristan’s dad pulled him out of school and put him into military school, effective immediately.”
“wow.”
“—i think duncan and bowman got away with suspension, which makes sense. they’re not exactly mastermind sorts. if you passed by charleston’s office at any point that morning, though, you could definitely hear a lot of parental yelling, so i’m sure that it’ll be an extended punishment. maybe another entry for military school—apparently the three of them already broke into a safe of mr. bowman’s, so he was very loudly angry.”
“gosh, i couldn’t imagine,” patton tsks, shaking his head. he glances to make sure no one is waiting on them at this stop sign—they aren’t—and reaches over to squeeze logan’s arm. “have i told you how lucky i am to have you as a kid lately?”
“yes,” logan mutters. 
“well, i am,” patton says, pressing on the gas pedal and trundling along. “never has the thought of military school ever had to cross my mind. at least i know that whenever you get up to trouble, it’s good trouble that i can be proud of, like this deal with helping out dee—”
“dad,” logan complains, looking quietly, shyly pleased nonetheless.
“oh, wait!” patton realizes, half-turning to look at him. “all three of them were in the debutante deal, are they—?”
“all kicked out,” logan says firmly. “if not by the society, then probably by their parents, and definitely by dee and i. we’re hunting for last-minute debutantes for some of the escorts—we’re going to have to see how that goes, or maybe just scrap their involvement.”
“it’s a shame that three of the girls won’t be able to join in because their classmates were knuckleheads,” patton says, then, quickly, “don’t tell anyone i called them that.”
“knuckleheads?” logan says, arching an eyebrow. “i think we’re safe from any scandal there. there are several demonstrably worse things you could have said—they’d know, they probably got a lot of them screamed at them from a combination of parents, teachers, and girls tristan has apparently wronged.”
“still,” patton says, as he pulls into the driveway of the elder sanders’ manor. “gosh. poor mr. mccaffey.”
“he’s taken next week for vacation, dee says.”
“he deserves to—his car just got stolen, practically!—grandma might ask you about it, she’s bridge buddies with bitty charleston.”
“i’m sure it was the cause of a great deal of conversation,” logan agrees, unbuckling his seatbelt. “it certainly has been for the student body.”
“a car,” patton repeats. “how long did it take them to, y’know—?”
patton mimes unscrewing a bolt in the air.
“parts of it are still there.”
patton stifles his laughter as they approach the front door and knock. 
the first words out of his mother’s mouth are “you simply must tell me this business about the car, logan!”
“told you,” patton says in an undertone, then, “hi, mom, it’s great to see you too!”
“oh, hush,” emily says dismissively, stepping aside and waving them in. “you’ve had three days to hear all the sordid details secondhand.”
“firsthand,” logan says quietly.
“what was that?” emily says, already leading them to the drink cart.
“firsthand,” logan says, slightly louder. “i missed the beginning of it, but i was there.”
“oh, excellent,” emily says gleefully, then, “richard, put down the paper, logan’s here and he saw the car!”
“what car?” richard says mildly, folding down a corner of the paper, then, “ah, logan, patton! wonderful to see you, won’t you sit?”
“hi, dad,” patton says, settling onto his usual spot on the couch. “how was frankfurt? any sightseeing?”
“i stayed in a conference room a mile from the airport the whole time,” richard says ruefully. “i could have been in new york or shanghai, and i wouldn't have known the difference.”
“wine, soda,” emily says, pushing a glass into patton’s hands (“oh!”) and then logan’s with a sort of fervor typically reserved for new collections from her favorite fashion designers, rushing to sit at her typical place and eagerly smoothing her skirt over her knees. 
she leans forward, eyes bright with gossip she could use to lord over fellow chilton grandmothers. “now, logan, tell me everything, bitty was being quite coy with the details.”
“what details?” richard says, and emily scoffs.
“oh, richard, i told you this earlier! the situation with bertram’s boy—?”
“oh—a transfer to military school in north carolina, wasn’t it?” richard says with a general air of puzzlement.
“men,” emily tuts. “none of you remember the most pressing details. that trait’s certainly skipped a couple generations for our resident journalist—from the beginning now, logan, if you please.”
logan’s straightened up slightly at the mention of our resident journalist, and he clears his throat.
“i missed the beginning, of course,” he says, “though i’d imagine everyone except for bowman, duncan, tristan, and the mechanic they’d hired did too, considering they did most of it under the cover of night…”
even if patton didn’t have the general sense of this logan’s entire life since he’d learn to read and write, he reflects, it’s always wonderful to receive a reminder that logan was, first and foremost, a gifted storyteller, and two, that he was wholeheartedly chasing after a career that he loved—and three, that those things overlapped.
patton had gotten the general rundown over the past couple days, it was true, but it was one thing to hear the ebb and flow of various reports (procured primarily from dee, who had quite an ear for that kind of thing, it seemed) and another to hear it as one smooth, cohesive narrative with a rapt audience. 
though patton and his parents have, obviously, had some difficulties, he can never find fault with how much they adore and treasure logan. this is all the more apparent in how they handle listening to logan’s tale: they gasp in all the right places; they come in with “no!”s and “well, i never!” at all the points that call for it; richard even digs for a pen and paper so he can jot down questions he has as logan talks, ticking them off as logan continues the story.
it carries them all the way through the salad course, logan seeming to enjoy his enthralled audience, painstakingly accurate, citing sources where he can, and even dipping into what is, perhaps, a real-life journalistic no-no but something patton has seen in countless tv shows and movies: “now, this is off the record, of course, and unconfirmed at that, but dee heard…”
this also means that some of the details that logan had either glazed over or patton must have missed take place in a new sort of limelight; the car, the breakups, the expulsion, all of it painted in lurid, scandalous detail (much to the delight of his mother who will, patton knows, be gossiping about this with her bridge group next week.)
and—though patton’s pretty sure most chilton parents aren’t supposed to know about its existence unless they, like him, are alums—logan doesn’t mention the coincidental social explosion ignited by the special edition of the jefferson’s publication to his grandparents, but he had mentioned it to patton.
coincidentally, all of this on the same day.
“wow,” patton says, casual, as he stabs at the endives with a fork. “seems like a pretty big blowout to happen all on coincidence, huh?”
logan glances up at him. patton twists his mouth to one side: you don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you? he tries to impart. 
“no one knows for sure,” logan says, noncommittal in tone, but meeting patton’s eyes. 
“seems like those boys weren’t very careful with not getting caught,” patton says, a lift of the shoulder, an even more significant look: unless someone tipped the scales against them?
“it seems like it, but. no one knows for sure,” logan repeats, with a slight twitch of his eyebrow that reads, to patton, as but i sure have my suspicions.
“huh,” patton says lightly, arching his eyebrows at logan in a way that he hopes imparts i certainly have some guesses too.
“regardless,” logan says swiftly, “rest assured, grandma, that if the dar doesn’t have them taken out of the debutante ball for their behavior, the rest of us will.”
“as you should,” his grandmother says with a firm nod in logan’s direction. “no room for hooliganism in the dar.”
patton hides a laugh as a cough into his napkin. 
“the dar?” richard says mildly. “logan, what’s all this about the debutante ball? are you escorting a young lady?”
patton swivels to look at emily. 
“oh, goodness, i did forget to tell you in all the excitement,” emily says. “richard, logan and dee slange have taken it upon themselves to do a demonstration at the debutante ball this year.”
“a young lady is escorting me,” logan clarifies, then, glancing between his grandparents, “i don’t suppose you know the mcmasters? their daughter poppy is my escort.”
“poppy, poppy…” richard says, frowning.
“coppelia,” logan elaborates. 
“is it really?” emily says, blinking. “that’s… unique.”
“you see why she goes by poppy,” logan says. “she’s a freshman this year.”
“oh, yes,” emily says. “we certainly know the mcmasters. richard, you remember…”
“oh?” he says, then eyes widening, “oh. yes, i remember the mcmasters. their daughter is… ah…”
he looks to emily for help.
“poppy is very driven,” logan says diplomatically. “she’s already gunning for an editorial position at the paper. we’re all doing a feature spread in the franklin together for the event, as a matter of fact—myself, dee, and poppy, i mean, along with the help of a junior.”
“are you really!” emily says. 
“dr. kramschissel said the franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with the three of them manning the helm,” patton says proudly, then, leaning forward, “you know, she’s implied that logan’s first in line for editor in chief senior year.”
“dad,” logan complains, a little smile on the face nonetheless.
“well, of course he is!” emily declares. “a very fine show of initiative. she’d be a fool not to pick you, given your long history. you probably have the most experience in a newsroom of anyone your age who’s gone through the chilton journalism system.”
“you’ll make sure we get a copy or two of that edition,” richard says firmly.
“of course,” logan says, smiling. “we put in final edits just today—i’ll bring it next week.”
“a demonstration, you said?” richard says.
“oh, sure,” logan says, in a very casual tone. “grandma’s very generously given me what was to be dad’s debutante dress. a great deal of us boys are going to be debuted into society.”
richard puts his fork down. patton waits with bated breath.
“debuted?”
“yes,” logan says.
“how many of you?” richard says.
“current count—well, it was 46 before the car debacle, but it might be 43 now. or 40, depending.”
“40 young men in fluffy white dresses are to descend on the dar?”
“well,” logan says, frankly, “about twenty young men. there are some nonbinary people too. and roughly the other half of them are girls in suits.”
richard stares. and stares.
logan tilts up his chin.
and then richard breaks into chuckles.
“a hostile takeover of the debutante!” he hoots. “oh, i wondered if a crop of mischief would pop up in you, young man! some of my fondest memories of my time at yale are banding together with my friends to cause some trouble. well, that and performing with the whiffenpoofs, of course. these things make your high school and collegiate experience, you know.”
“they do?” logan says blankly.
“you’re young and full of energy!” richard exclaims. “this is your time—it certainly was for me. every day was at yale an adventure, no challenge was too great. we wanted to change the world. i have some experience with clothes-based protest too, you know.”
patton’s never heard about this. “you have?”
“certainly,” richard says. “i, and a group of like-minded young men decided to protest the new dress code—oh, it was my sophomore year at yale. we wore silk ties and nothing else.”
patton squeaks, trying not to cover his ears with his hands like a child.
“we were written up by the dean of admissions and threatened with expulsion. we were also suddenly very popular with the ladies.”
patton has the sudden and horrifying realization that one of those ladies might have been either his almost-mother, pennilyn lott, or had an equal chance of being his actual mother.
“ah, yes.” emily huffs. “this is exactly the kind of conversation I had hoped we would have with our son and grandson. what a pleasant family dinner conversation!”
“i was naked for an entire month,” richard says to logan. “a night full of men in dresses does not come near as close, of course, but i’d argue the amount of red tape you had to cut and the number of participants might push you over the top of that particular stunt!”
“wow,” logan says, blinking.
patton understands how he feels. his business-loving father, whose grand excitements seemed to be traveling for work, reading the newspaper, and undertaking new deals, a prankster. would wonders never cease.
(there is a small part of him that wonders if maybe—just maybe—if he had been born a boy, if richard would have been much more forgiving for patton’s own wild teenaged transgressions.)
“this roommate of mine in sophomore year at yale—we absolutely hated him,” richard says, leaning back in his chair, clearly lost in memory. “he was a complete nincompoop. so one night, we tied him between two mattresses and threw him out the window.”
“dad!” patton says, horrified.
“oh, he was fine,” richard says dismissively. “he went to sleep, woke up in the morning, and picked up right where he left off.”
patton puts his face in his hands.
“we wound up throwing him out the window every night for a month, and then he transferred.”
“well, do you think you guys tossing him out the window on a regular basis had something to do with that decision?” patton says, incredulous.
“well, it crossed our minds, yes.”
“so you guys have tickets for entry to the event, yes?” logan intercedes, looking to emily.
“it’s one way to see my descendants debut,” emily says.
patton shrugs, not rising to any bait. “it’ll be nice to escort him.”
“not christopher?” emily asks, but she’s cut off as richard says “ah! you’re in on it?” at the same time.
“a lot of the parents are,” patton says, “then, well, a lot of the sideshire parents are. i’m not quite as close with the chilton parents, of course.”
“we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” richard declares, then, with a big, goofy smile, “my grandson, the mastermind!”
“co-mastermind, really,” logan says. “dee slange was involved too.”
richard blinks, this time setting down his fork. “julian is in on this?”
“well,” logan hedges, higher-pitched. “define ‘in on this.’”
“he fully knows what’s going on, and he agreed?” richard says.
“oh,” logan says. “erm—no.”
“definitely not as much as me, at the very least,” patton says.
“gutsy,” richard comments.
“maybe you could help talk him over,” patton says delicately. “from what i remember of julian, he wasn’t exactly… jokey.”
“no.”
“certainly not,” emily says, almost overlapping her husband.
“maybe you could intercede?” patton says. “point out all the good a bit of trouble does for a boy their age. uh—after the event, of course. don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“yes,” richard says thoughtfully. “yes, perhaps i will. it’s about time julian cut loose.”
that’s one way to put it, patton thinks.
“i can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces,” richard says, perhaps the most excited that patton’s ever seen him for an event put on by the daughters of the american revolution.
well, patton thinks. this is probably the best way that richard could have taken it.
even if it does mean that logan, patton, and emily spend the rest of dinner hearing richard monologue about The Good Old Days back at yale, and patton learns a bit more about his father’s particular brand of young-adult mischief that he, perhaps, shouldn’t have ever heard in the first place.
roman’s elbow-deep into rearranging his travel makeup bag. it is, generally speaking, where he keeps a lot of his makeup storage, so it’s kind of a mess after spending a lot of time simply dumping the products back in there because he’s running late, only sparing time to remove and wash his brushes and sponges.
it is very much a mess.
he hears a gentle tap against the door.
he glances up; though it’s barely past eight, his mother is already dressed for bed. her hair is damp, still drying from the post-lessons shower she’d taken, free from its typical bun. she’s in an old, too-big t-shirt advertising the ballets russes (from dimitri, probably) and a pair of sweatpants cut into shorts. she completes the ensemble with a pair of fuzzy socks and her feet in a pair of orthopedic-friendly slippers (his mother is, understandably, very conscious of foot health). 
his mother is deeply devoted to her rituals and routines; he knows what she’ll ask even before she says it.
“tea?”
“yes, please,” roman decides, setting aside two different bottles of foundation to be decided later, picking up a few press-on nails, his own pair of fuzzy socks, and a tub of aquaphor, and plods after his mother, heading for the kitchen.
his mother goes about filling up the kettle (an old-style bright red one, the kind you set on a stove, not like the sleek black electric one that virgil has) and turning the stove on as roman pulls out two mugs. he decides on a large, maroon stoneware mug for her, speckled with white, and an equally gigantic ceramic red mug for himself.
“which would you like?” his mother asks, accepting the mug that he hands to her. she’s already pulled out her favored loose leaf herbal chamomile, beginning to scoop it into a infuser; roman notes that it’s the one he got her for mother’s day a couple years ago. he scoots around her to peruse his options. 
his mother’s tea supply surpasses remy’s café in terms of selection and variety; roman thinks tea might be the only thing he’s ever seen his mother spontaneously shop for in the same way roman shops for clothes, or makeup, or jewelry, or little treats, or—
“this one,” he decides, pulling out a blend that promotes good sleep—spearmint, lemongrass, chamomile.
roman hops onto one of the barstools, opening up his tub of aquaphor and doing as his mother almost certainly has: absolutely slathering his feet in healing ointment. he’s aggressively earned these dancer’s calluses, but dang it, he can lessen some of the effects; therefore, absorbing aquaphor overnight, with the aid of fuzzy socks. 
“how are your hamstrings?” she asks. “less tight?”
“definitely,” roman says, shifting his barstool so he’s able to more easily multitask between keeping eye contact with his mother and caring for his feet. “typical cure—”
“stretch and hydrate,” they say simultaneously.
“very good,” his mother continues. “hot and cold therapy?” 
“i used the heated blanket a little bit,” roman says. roman and his mother love those things; roman simply plugs it in and becomes the warmest burrito of his dreams. bigger than a traditional heating pad and more flexible, which means he can just wrap it around whatever body part that needs heat. roman’s pretty sure they have six between them. he could probably just mummify himself on a day where he was really achy.
“be sure to rest this weekend after the ball,” his mother says. “i don’t want you straining anything.”
“i will,” roman promises, pulling on one sock and setting about massaging ointment into the other foot. he should probably start making a dent in that english essay anyway; even though he’d definitely prefer to spend the rest of his weekend reading something that he’s interested in, not something assigned to him.
his mother nods.
“a lot of your classmates are going too,” she notes.
roman smiles a bit, despite himself. on the whole, his gaggle of classmates at the prince family studio were what he imagined it to be like to have a flock of sisters: chatty, hogging the bathroom, annoying and endearing in equal measure, occasionally awkward, but fierce and funny and beautiful, all of them clever in their own ways, all of them deeply capable dancers.
not that he’d know what it was like to have a sister, of course. roman had contented himself with being an only child long ago.
“it’ll be fun,” roman says. “at the very least, we know who’ll be hogging the dance floor all night.”
they share a smile. his mother had chaperoned the sideshire homecoming in the fall, and she’d spent a 33% of the night fielding hi, ms. prince!s from her students, 33% watching in vague bemusement as they danced to trends she’d lost track of long ago, 33% feeling proud as all of them had monopolized the innermost circle of the dance floor with the confidence she strove to teach them, and 1% fighting the urge to go over and correct their form. 
roman gestures with his chin toward the three packs of press-on nails: a classic french manicure, white nails with a red floral design, and a bright blue chrome.
“help me pick? i’ve been driving myself nuts over it. all of them would work, but i just need to decide and go for it.”
his mother hums, examining them. “remind me of the makeup you settled on?”
“classic eighties, to match the dress,” he says. “bright blue eyeshadow, red lip, generally very sparkly and,” he makes a pow! i’m here! hand gesture.
“well, french manicures are very classic,” his mother says thoughtfully, “but—” the kettle begins to whistle. roman, hastily, pulls on his other sock and goes to wash the excess aquaphor off of his hands before he does anything else.
they are waylaid by the pouring of boiling, steaming water, the distribution of milk and/or honey, the procurement of snacks (his mother favors savory foods more often than not, so she puts together a plate of crackers, cheese, and deli meats; roman slices a couple apples with a ramekin of peanut butter for himself, with the intent to steal a bite or two from her plate) and relocating to the living room.
roman sits himself on the ground, setting his snacks on the coffee table; his mother does the same, folding her legs to butterfly position, pressing her hands down onto her knees to stretch.
he considers his options before he just decides to mimic his mother, feeling the familiar stretch through his hips. he settles his elbows on his knees, bending slightly forward and blowing on his tea.
his mother examines the nails again. “can you match these?” she asks, touching the blue chrome.
roman tilts his head, mentally calling up the exact shades of blue in his several eyeshadow palettes. “if not exactly, then close enough to look intentional.”
“i know red is your signature,” she says. roman looks at his fuzzy socks—cherry red—and hers—wine red. in the prince family, red is a neutral that goes with everything.
“but,” she continues, “they fit a certain level of garishness that matches your dress.”
roman nods, setting them aside; he’ll glue them on in the morning. honestly, he’s a bit pleased he can keep the floral red for another occasion. a fancy date with logan, maybe? 
“is that the last detail handled?” his mother says.
“it should be,” he says. “well—i was sorting through my makeup bag, but it’s more of an organization thing than anything else.”
“dress packed?” his mother checks. “shoes, accessories, wig and hair supplies?”
“yes, yes, yes,” roman says dutifully.
“then—that’s your last of prep for tomorrow?” 
“just about,” roman says. 
“good,” she says. “i suppose many of the last-minute details shall be left to logan and dee.”
roman’s lip curls reflexively. the thought of logan and dee, working together, agreeing on things, brainstorming together and coordinating any last minute hiccups. as if they were a team.
“what was that face,” his mother says. her voice is flat, with no edge of scolding or reproach. just genuine curiosity.
roman’s lips twist as he removes the infuser out of his tea, deeming it well-enough steeped. he stirs his cup absently.
“i just…” roman gesticulates vaguely. “what did you think of dee?”
if his mother thinks that’s an odd response, she doesn’t let on. she stacks her makeshift charcuterie—club cracker, slice of cheddar, sliced chicken from the deli—and sets it aside before she goes about formulating other sandwiches. club cracker, mozzarella, turkey breast.
“i didn’t have much opportunity to speak to him,” she says. cracker, cheddar, turkey.
“yeah, but you guys had a look,” roman says. “i saw it.”
“i suppose he seemed… a touch stand-offish,” his mother says. cracker, mozzarella, chicken.
“yes,” roman says, his and??? going unspoken.
“and, perhaps,” his mother says, then, frowning, “well, i didn’t know. that’s the troubling part.”
“dee’s very good at that,” roman mutters resentfully. “presenting himself one way, when he’s really actually the other. the thing is, logan has seen that he’s really actually the other, and yet—here they are!”
“that’s very unlike him,” his mother says, frowning. “logan has a very sound sense of judgment.”
“he does.”
“but if logan’s deemed him appropriate to plan alongside—”
roman drops his forehead to the floor, groaning.
“oh,” his mother says, awkward. roman hears crunching.
“i don’t know why!” bursts out of him. 
“why… what?”
“why logan’s teaming up with him!” roman says. he looks up in time to see his mother washing down her snack with a swallow of tea.
“...roman,” she begins. “it’s entirely understandable to… feel a certain way if your boyfriend is spending time with another—”
“oh my god, i’m not jealous!” roman snaps. “why does everyone think that?!”
his mother doesn’t lecture him about volume, which is nice. 
“well,” his mother says, “what is it, then?”
this is also nice—his mother, ever straightforward, ever blunt. 
roman rubs his hand wearily across his forehead. “did i tell you, last fall, about logan getting punched in the face?”
“yes,” his mother says, her expression darkening; some of that remnant of anger of someone laying hands on his boyfriend roars to life in his chest again.
“i know,” roman says.
“was it that boy?”
his mother isn’t a particularly expressive person, but even any given passerby would categorize that look on her face as thunderous. his mother is very fond of logan—she’d actually told logan so—and roman knows that, over the years, logan’s courtesy and good grades and general support of roman had endeared him to her time and time and time again.
which—obviously. roman’s of the opinion that his boyfriend is one of the best people in the world. of course everyone should recognize that—feel that same protective fire pop up in their chests at any sign of anything going wrong for him, because logan deserves the world.
roman scowls, looking away. “not—technically. but!” he says hastily, “but, he’s the one who started it all. he got a detention for it and everything! louise probably never would have hit logan if he hadn’t been there urging her on!”
“why on earth…?” his mother says, sounding baffled.
“i don’t know!” roman wails. “that’s what’s getting me—i don’t get it! one second, logan’s telling me all about this terrible boy at school, and then his grandmother invites him and his grandma to lunch and apparently that’s super awkward, and then there’s the punching, and then he’s at the stuffed up birthday party logan’s grandparents threw for him, and then logan’s confronting dee and making sure he doesn’t rain on our parade at the winter dance, the next, they’re teaming up together to say ‘screw you’ to the patriarchy! i don’t know why on earth!”
his mother considers this, then pushes the plate of apples toward him, then piles the empty space on the plate with three of the charcuterie sandwiches she’s concocted. roman, grumpily, dips an apple slice in peanut butter and crunches a bit more loudly than he would in any other circumstance.
mother—much like virgil—believed very heartily in proper nutrients fueling every activity. outbursts took energy, which meant that roman should eat carbs, fats, and proteins to replenish that energy, with bonus points for foods that were particularly vitamin- or fiber-rich. roman has been told this for most of his life, only with things like dance lessons or exams or being a pain, this does not mean you’re getting a second soda, pick something substantial swapped in for outbursts as applicable.
“that makes very little sense.”
“exactly!” roman says, gesticulating at her. “thank you!”
“chew your food with your mouth closed,” she says, some automatic motherly impulse, then, “well, what’s changed?”
before roman can answer, she says, “i know you don’t know. but something must have. logan’s a very intelligent young man, and he isn’t fickle—not him, not any of his parental figures that could have persuaded him.” 
patton, virgil, and probably her, roman figures. he doesn’t know much about christopher, but his reasoning definitely wouldn’t override those three.
“do you think it could be on a needs-must basis?”
roman’s mouth twists as he swallows. “maybe,” he hedges.
“but you don’t think so.”
“no,” roman says. “if it was just unavoidable, some sort of grudging alliance, he would have complained about it.” to me, he thinks.
and logan hasn’t.
“could there have been some kind of change?”
roman narrows his eyes, setting aside his honey-sweet tea. “i’m not following.”
“logan’s always struck me as very pragmatic,” she says. “ergo, there could have been some kind of event that would put more weight in dee’s favor.”
“it would have to be a pretty big change,” roman says, mind churning. as it is, that’s the likeliest of answers outside of forced partnership.
“you could ask him.”
roman sighs. “i think the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it to me already…”
“could mean nothing,” his mother says, with a shrug of a shoulder.
“big change,” he reminds her. “big.”
they both consider this, sipping their tea and eating, silent in rumination.
“have you ever dealt with something like this?” roman says, despairing. “like—some dancing partner of yours teaming up with a rival? or—?”
dad, he almost says, but he discards it as soon as the idea comes to mind. no. all he’s heard of his father is that he could be prone to his own flights of whimsy, true, but he’d always been achingly steadfast in partnership with his mother and, to a slightly lesser extent, with virgil.
she seems to see the thought flash across his face, though. her eyes flit—almost unconsciously—to an old photo of the pair of them on the wall behind him. 
roman knows the one without having to look: his mother, stunning and sharp in tutu and pointe-shoed glory, clearly in the middle of telling him off about something; his father, muddy for some reason and in ripped clothes, arm thrown around her shoulder, grinning and giving a thumbs up to the camera, a slight wince on his face the only sign of whatever lecture she’d given.
but, roman thinks. but. people hadn’t necessarily liked his father. even virgil had cautioned him at how strange his father had been, that he’d done things full of mischief and occasional rebellious wrong-doing, that he’d been acquired taste. a bit like…
no. roman shakes the thought without finishing it. no way.
his mother detects it anyway.
“how have you been sleeping?” she asks delicately.
“fine,” roman mutters. he knows what she’s about to ask without her asking it, too.
whatever mental illness his father had had, the only sign of odd or strange thoughts that has ever remotely recurred in roman have been odd, vivid dreams, veering into the occasional night terror.
he has been sleeping fine, though. fitful, sure, and maybe a bit less than his mother would like, but he’s been sleeping fine. no dreams at all to speak of. 
“all right,” she says placatingly. 
roman stirs his tea a bit more vigorously than necessary, the spoon clanking against his mug. his mother smiles a bit.
“you didn’t answer,” roman says. “have you had a situation like this?”
“you know i haven’t,” his mother says. 
“well—i know, not exactly like this,” roman says. he’s known his mother’s aromantic and asexual since he was old enough to learn the words and absorb that that’s what those little flag barrettes she wore during pride meant. no significant romantic partner of his mother’s has ever caused her strife, because she’s never had a significant romantic partner. “but—dimitri teaming up with someone and he didn’t tell you why. or something.”
his mother pauses to think. then:
“no.”
roman sighs, perhaps a bit more loudly than necessary, and dips another apple slice.
“virgil might’ve,” she says thoughtfully.
roman pauses from where he’s trying to scoop extra peanut butter onto his apple.
“yeah?”
“yes,” his mother says. “you remember silas.”
ugh.
“don’t make that face,” she scolds gently. “but—as it happens, i wouldn’t be surprised if either of them didn’t have a moment exactly like this. virgil with some friends of his, silas with your father.”
“how did that go?” roman asks.
his mother smiles. “i believe they talked about it.”
“traitor,” roman grumbles, half-joking. “i can’t believe either of you invented mind-reading technology for me to use in this specific moment.”
“you could just ask.”
“you’ve said that already.” roman says. “does no one in this apartment appreciate the fine-tuning of the delicate art that is teenaged angst and overthinking?”
“you live here,” his mother points out. “you have sufficient appreciation for the both of us.”
roman huffs. his mother tilts his head.
roman scratches his thumb against the mug.
“dee’s very charming,” he mumbles. “i mean—he managed to charm me at logan’s fancy birthday party before i knew who he was. if he’d just started off with that, instead of leading straight into villainy then pulling a 180, then i guess i’d get it a bit more. but as it is—why him? why that guy? logan likes rule-following. he likes that kind of thing. is it a ‘keep your enemies close’ thing? no,” he answers himself, “logan wouldn’t do that, he has no patience for duplicity. which makes it even more confusing, because dee seems to love duplicity, exhibit a, him being charming at emily and richard’s party—erm, mr. and mrs. sanders’ party, i mean.”
his mother hums.
“and—i don’t know. he’s off at chilton, doing great, and i’m happy he’s making friends, i seriously am, i’m not jealous, but it just. suddenly, both of us in different schools means we spend less time together, and that’s making me think about college, and, unless miracle of miracles happens and i find the perfect ivy league that has a combo of the perfect dance program and the perfect journalism program that will accept both of us that’s close to new york, we’re going to spend even less time together, and that sucks.”
his mother nods sagely, placing her right foot against her left knee, stretching to grasp her own socked foot.
“and it’s, like. why that guy? if you’re going to hang out with someone outside of school out of preference and not obligation, why the one i’ve heard the most negative things about? why the one who’s in direct competition with you? why the one that would probably have sabotaged him, given the chance? why?”
his mother remains quiet.
“say something,” roman requests desperately. “i’m asking questions here, they’re not hypotheticals.”
his mother blinks. “you were doing a good job of talking it out to yourself.”
“well, sure, but,” he gestures between them, “input. it’s mother-son time.”
there’s a pause.
“this isn’t like you,” she decides.
“what?”
“this,” she gestures at him. “indecision about what to do. it’s unlike you.”
“it’s unlike logan to consort with ne’er-do-wells,” roman sniffs.
his mother simply arches an eyebrow. roman sighs, picking up his mug, savoring the warmth it seeps against his palms.
“i don’t know,” roman says quietly. “it just—it is different for logan, to… consort with someone like this. there’s some big reason why, and i don’t know what it is, and it’s just… it’s driving me a little crazy.”
his mother politely does not say anything along the lines of i can see that or obviously.
instead, she says, “does the concept of talking to logan about this make you nervous or anxious?”
“what? no.” roman scoffs.
“it’s all right if it does,” his mother says. “i won’t think less of you or logan. it’s very normal to be a bit worried about having a big conversation in any relationship, much less one that’s been weighing heavily on your mind.”
“i’m not—”
his mother arches her eyebrows at him, and yeah, okay, roman can see how saying i’m not worried when he’s dominated the conversation obsessing over why that guy would probably come off… not great.
roman sighs, slumping his shoulders.
“fine,” he mutters. “yeah, i’m worried.”
“perfectly natural,” she says. she switches positions, placing her left foot against right knee, stretching.
“i know,” he grumbles. “i just—i don’t want to come off as that kind of boyfriend, you know what i mean?”
“no.”
fair.
“like,” roman says, drawing himself up. “why are you hanging out with that guy? hang out with this person instead, not that guy. you’re not allowed to see him. you know? like—jealous. possessive. whatever. i mean—logan was so understanding with jess. so understanding! they didn’t have a ton in common, but logan was still polite and everything.
“and i don’t want to turn right around and be like, hey, i don’t like that guy, what’s up with that? or insult his intelligence—’cause he’s way book-smarter than me—by being like, i think that guy might be manipulating his way into your life. thoughts?”
“do you think—?”
“what other explanation is there?!” roman whines, drawing there into, like, five syllables.
“and we’re back to square one,” his mother says. “all right. i see.”
roman goes about polishing off the last of the snacks.
“i still think you should talk to him,” she says. “i know you’re worried—that’s understandable. but logan isn’t going to go into this thinking the worst of you. he ought to know that you only have his best interests at heart.”
roman sighs after swallowing a mouthful of charcuterie. “i guess.”
his mother smiles slightly.
“you’re so very much our son,” she says, and roman ducks his head, trying not to flush.
“remus got any sense of propriety or caution surgically removed, to hear some tell it. and i probably wouldn’t have figured out such a careful way to put it: i probably wouldn’t have said anything at all until it got pressing. it’s difficult, i know, but i’m proud of the middle ground that you walk.”
“yeah, yeah,” roman mumbles, still pleased. our son. he felt so divided, sometimes: the face of his father, the skill of his mother, the rest of anything else him, from nowhere at all. 
“you don’t have to go into it unplanned, of course,” his mother says. “text him your thoughts if that’s easier. put a pen to paper to figure out what to say and how to say it.”
“true,” roman admits.
his mother drains the last of her tea and stands.
“well,” she says. “it’s probably best for you to talk to him tonight. or early tomorrow morning, if you care to sleep on it. may as well clear the air before the ball. i’ll leave you to your thoughts?”
“sure,” he says, slowly drinks the rest of his tea, thinking. then, quietly, “thanks, mom.”
he hears his mother placing the dishes in the dishwasher, shutting off the lights in the kitchen, ensuring everything is in its proper place, before she journeys back to the main room and shuts off all the lights except for the one closest to his room—he’ll turn that off when he goes to bed.
he watches her achieve the rest of the good night routine: she plugs her phone in to charge, she nudges her shoes so they’re in line with his at the door, and then…
she detours. she walks back to him, where he still sits on their rug.
she leans over to smooth her hand over his hair.
“goodnight, mijo. dulces sueños.”
“dulces sueños, mami,” he says.
and then she just… goes to her room.
she’s left the front door unlocked. she’d simply nodded to him, went to her room, and closed the door, almost like…
wait.
does she…?
no. there’s no way.
his curfew-issuing, sleep-adoring, routine-oriented-to-a-fault mother? roman would have gotten grounded, like, ten years ago for ten years if she actually knew how often he snuck out to the gazebo to talk to logan.
yeah. no way she knows that he sneaks out.
“hey.”
“hey! sorry if i responded late—we were squaring away escorts for the ladies. turns out some sideshire kids decided to join last-minute, so we should be all even. no idea what they’re doing for dresses, but it’s in their hands now, i suppose.”
“no, that’s all good—c’mere, it’s still a bit chilly out.”
“of course.”
“so, what did you want to talk about?”
“oh, right. um—may as well just come out and say it, i guess.”
“...sure?”
“what’s up with teaming up with dee?”
“...ah.”
“i mean—i guess i just don’t really get it? i’ve been trying to figure it out, and i can’t. like—one second, he’s getting someone to punch you in the face, the next, you guys are architecting this plot to go after the daughters of the american revolution.”
“no, i—i understand. it must seem jarring from the outside.”
“...so?”
“...”
“um. admittedly, i find your renewed and increased friendship with dee very confusing. the things i’ve heard about him have, generally, been pretty bad—for example, the punching incident, your birthday party at your grandparents’, and the winter formal. ”
“...are those notes…?”
“shh. you’ve never particularly struck me as the kind of person to simply be friends with someone for the sake of making life easier: my mom says you’ve always struck her as very pragmatic, and i agree. it makes me think that something in your relationship with dee has changed, because otherwise, i find myself… well, deeply confused and honestly a little worried that dee might be up to something again.”
“you talked about this with your mom?”
“well—i didn’t, like, set out to do that, but yeah. she suggested that i just talk to you about it, since you’d know that i have your best interests at heart, and that you have your reasons ‘cause you’re so smart, and also maybe write down what i wanted to say so i didn’t come off like a huge controlling jackass.”
“she said that?”
“not that last bit—i’m editorializing.”
“that’s—huh. okay… um. how do i phrase this.”
“…”
“i’m sorry, i’m walking an awkward line of secrecy here.”
“how secret? secret, like, jo posner’s first kiss, or secret, like, secret-secret.”
“secret-secret.”
“...oh.”
“but i still want to—communicate.”
“right. um… is there a little loophole you can thread here?”
“like what?”
“like… i dunno. i know they aren’t your strong suit, but a metaphor? or a comparison to something else that’s happened in our general lives?”
“like what?”
“well, i don’t know, logan. that’s kind of why we’re here.”
“right. yes. um… let me think.”
“sure. take your time. if it’s secret-secret, i promise i’ll keep it, but even then, i get not wanting to say anything. like—”
“oh! oh, i remember!”
“...remember…?”
“back in eighth grade, when you had elliott over to that sleepover, and elliott told you about how they were feeling regarding their identity, but to keep it secret double-pinky-promise even from me?”
“yeah, of course.”
“and they didn’t come out until the middle of last year?”
“right.”
“...i find a lot of parallels to then.”
“oh.”
“yeah.”
“oh—okay. i see.”
“it’s not one-to-one. as a matter of fact, there’s more to it. this is the part i feel most comfortable disclosing, since that part is generally a jo posner’s first kiss level of open secret at chilton.”
“sure.”
“but—”
“i get it. there’s more. okay. that… huh. okay.”
“right.”
“i guess i can see it. the cape should have tipped me off. have you told… anyone else? about the things outside the parallels?”
“no—no one. not even dad.”
“really?”
“really. well—he might know part of it, so maybe that doesn’t count, or dee might have told him more, but. really. not even dad.”
“...you said…. even more?”
“i’m very glad no one in our lives has parallelism to this that i can apply here.”
“...me too, i guess?”
“trust me—you are.”
“okay. i will. i do trust you. you know that, right?”
“of course i do. i trust you too.”
“okay. good. good. i didn’t want it to come off like i didn’t trust your judgment or something. you were so understanding with jess, i wanted to extend the same thing—”
“—we’re not—”
“—i know it’s not a one-to-one. trust me, we’d have a lot more to talk about if it was any kind of romantic scenario. there’d be yelling. i know it’s not. i’m just saying: you and jess didn’t have a lot in common, but you were still decent to him because you knew i wanted to… associate with him. i want to do the same for you.”
“right. of course. i—well, frankly, i hadn’t really considered your point of view. i can see how it would be strange from the outside perspective. i’m sorry i didn’t think of it.”
“you’ve had a lot going on.”
“sure, but still. i should have looped you in as much as i could.”
“well, i appreciate that. thank you.”
“and thank you for bringing it up.”
“this is very mature of us.”
“i know.”
“for teenagers, and all.”
“and for my first romantic relationship.”
“i’m more used to bickering. this is weird.”
“definitely.”
“...wanna make out?”
“say no more.”
find the next half of this chapter here!
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theloveoffootball10 · 3 days ago
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sᴛɪᴄᴋᴡɪᴛᴜ - ᴛ ᴡ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʏ ɴ ɪ ɴ ᴇ
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m a s t e r l i s t
ᴛ ᴡ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʏ ɴ ɪ ɴ ᴇ
Falling asleep and waking up with Lando are probably two of my favourite things in the world. The warmth of his body next to me. His arm lazily resting across my hip. His soft snores when he's not talking in his sleep. It all feels very normal. When we're in bed like this he's just Lando. He's not the formula one driver everyone loves to have an opinion about. He's just my Lando.
"You have that look on your face what you pull when you're thinking. What's on your mind?" Lando mumbles one eye half open.
"You. I just love when we're like this. It's just us and there's no expectations. I get to just enjoy being with you and no one needing your attention for anything else" I knew what I was getting into with Lando, I've never been oblivious to that but when so many people demand his attention for media or fans or whatever it may be on a daily basis I appreciate being able to have these moments alone.
"I know you aren't a morning person but it's nice to just relax and not have a reason to get out of bed. It's been amazing having you in Monaco, I didn't realise how much I needed it until you were stood in my apartment. It wasn't a hotel. It wasn't a motor home or drivers room. It's my home and that means more to me than anything else".
"Lando I'll be here as much as you want me to be here. I've loved being here with you as well. It just feels like it's meant to be. I would love to stay in bed with you but we have a busy day. I need to arrange everything for Liv and Max's gender reveal" after brainstormings for a few hours I came up with what I think is the perfect way for them to find out if their baby is a boy or girl. I have the envelope so I could technically look but I want to find out with them.
"I still can't believe they're having a baby its wild"
"I know! Who would have thought them meeting in Belgium would lead to this. I need to shower and get ready for today I'll be as quick as I can" walking into Lando's bathroom I lock the door knowing Lando is likely to follow me. Normally I'd happily share a shower with him but I am a woman on a mission today. I loosely curl my hair and apply my make up in the bathroom before opening the door to allow Lando in.
"Fuck me baby you look stunning" Lando looks genuinely surprised at my appearance and I have no idea why. I've done nothing different.
"Thanks babe. You seem surprised" I stand leaning against the door frame of the bathroom as Lando brushes his teeth.
"I'm not surprised, you always look stunning but there's just something about the way you look today" feeling Lando pick me up and throw me over his should I can't help but laugh as I'm thrown on the bed "I need you. You've given me a semi just looking as good as you do"
"Lando..." I can't even argue as I feel Lando's lips on mine. He's always affectionate but I don't know what has got into him today.
"Baby I just need to eat you out" who turned my boyfriend into a teenage boy? Feeling my legs spread and my underwear pulled to the side I don't stop Lando. I have a list as long as my arm to do today but I want this from Lando as much as he wants to give it.
"Please Lando, I need you" my words are all it takes to feel Lando's fingers tracing my slit and his tongue teasing my clit. He's holding me down with his spare hand leaving me a moaning mess on the bed underneath him.
"You two are so loud when you start" Liv says to me as we're stood in Lando's kitchen ready to leave and my cheeks heat up with embarrassment "it's a wonder that I'm the pregnant one not you"
"I'm so sorry. You didn't need to hear any of that" I would say it'll never happen again but I'm never going to be quiet when Lando is giving me multiple orgasms with his fingers and tongue alone.
"It's nice to see you so in love so I'm not going to complain just don't wake me up when you're so loud and we're good. Plus Lando had let us stay here so I can’t complain" Liv says with a laugh knowing I'm dying inside. We all know it happens but no one wants to hear anyone having sex.
"Are you okay driving? You know where we're going and I know you hate when I drive" I ask Lando as he joins us in the kitchen knowing how dramatic he is when I drive us anywhere.
"Yeah I'm driving. I don't think I'd survive a car journey in Monaco with you" rolling my eyes I hand Lando the keys to his Lamborghini Urus so we can all travel together.
"Okay drama queen. Liv are you both ready?" I ask picking my phone and bag up knowing we need to leave soon.
"Yeah we're both ready. I'm nervous to find out" Liv tells me as we walk to the car and I can only imagine how she feels.
"Do you want a boy or a girl?" I ask knowing everyone usually has a preference.
"I honestly don't think I'm bothered Lucía. I think I'll be happy with either but I know Max would love a boy but I think that's just a man thing isn't it? Did you look in the envelope?"
"Nope. I was tempted but then I changed my mind. I want to find out with you and Max" our conversation continues as Lando drives us through the streets of Monaco towards Monte Carlo golf club. I know Liv and Max are both confused as no one is dressed for golf and neither of the boys have their golf clubs.
"Are we playing golf mate? You could have said!" Max is gutted I can tell.
"Max he didn't know. I only told him when we left the apartment where we were going. He has no idea what I have planned" I can't let Max blame Lando for the lack of golf prep considering he didn't know. Today isn't about them playing a round of golf.
As Lando parks the car we pile out and into a golf cart. I may have had to pull the Alonso card and possibly the Lando card to pull this off but it's going to be worth it. The golf club have closed a section of the course for us that is out of everyone else's way. I want this to be about our friends, not people realising Lando is at the golf course.
"Why are you driving?" Lando asks expecting me to let him drive the golf cart "You're never allowed to drive when we're together"
"You drove here but now I'm the only one who knows where we need to be" I say with a shrug as I drive us around the course.
"This is almost criminal driving around the course and not playing a round of golf" Max complains as we pass every hole on the course.
"Max don't complain, you have no golf clubs with you. We're here for a purpose" I say pulling up to the quietest spot on the golf course where the team have absolutely nailed my vision in such a short space of time.
I didn't want anything too over the top but the small set up of a golf cart cut out, pink and blue balloons with a backdrop reading 'boy or girl with will our caddy be?' Is perfect. It's big enough for us to make a celebration but not too over the top when it's only the four of us here. The views behind us are incredible of the sea in the distance and the sun is shining.
"This is perfect! It looks so good! Lucía you've pulled this off to a point I didn't think you would! I was thinking just a balloon with confetti when I asked you to arrange something"
"Liv I've never done things by halves, I'm not about to start now" walking behind the back drop I grab the golf club that is now engraved with 'baby Fewtrell' handing it to Max "you have a few practice shots first then the golf ball printed with the baby footprints is the one that has coloured powder in it. I have my phone on the tripod recording, go ahead whenever you're both ready" leaving Max and Liv to have a few moments with each other I feel Lando wrap his arms around me from behind.
"You've done amazing to pull this off. It looks incredible, we're all lucky to have you in our lives you know that right?"
"I've only done what Liv would have done for me if it was the other way around. What do you think, boy or girl?" I turn my head to look at Lando as I'm stood in his arms. I know regardless he's going to be an amazing uncle. He's already amazing with Mila and Athena and they adore him.
"I think girl. I can see Max being a girl dad but I know he'd love a boy as well"
"I think boy but you know my thoughts on girls" I say with a laugh as we join Liv and Max who are ready for their moment.
"Go on mate it's your chance to shine" Lando tells Max as he lines up the ball. He takes a few practice swings away from the ball before getting into position with Liv by his side. As the golf club hits the 2 inch ball I scream with joy in Lando's arms as blue power explodes around us.
"No fucking way!" Max and Liv both shout as they embrace in a hug. Our best friends are having a baby boy!
"I'm so happy for you!" I say hugging Liv then Max once they pull away from each other.
"I wanted a boy so bad I didn't want to admit it. I almost convinced myself it was a girl so I wasn't disappointed if I ended up having a girl" Liv tells us as we take in the blue power spread across the green below us "honestly Lucía I'm so thankful you arranged this for us. It's been perfect. I can't wait to share the video with my mum"
“Her and Noah are going to be so happy” hugging Liv I try not to cry and ruin my makeup. I didn’t realise just how happy I could be for someone.
A few days later we’re in Austin and it’s media day. My time in Monaco has gone so quickly I almost don’t want to return to the UK after the race. Lando and I have fallen into a perfect routine together and call me insane but I could see myself living with him. I know I have to go home after this weekend as much as I don’t want to but right now I’m joining Lando for the interviews that are open to fans.
Standing at the back of the room I want to keep out of the way and let Lando’s fans get closer to the front but I still want to be here. I’m savouring every minute I have left with him and that means being by his side at all times except when he’s in the car. As the interviewer fires quick this or that questions at Lando one in particular catches my attention.
"Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?" The interviewer asks Lando oblivious to the fact I'm in the audience.
"Blondes" Lando says with a slight laugh barely able to get his words out before the crowd around me goes wild "my girlfriend is blonde and she's in the audience so I have to say blonde or she'll kill me" this is the first time Lando has said in public that he has a girlfriend which sends the audience into meltdown and I can't help but smile at him from my place at the back of the room. A few fans have realised I'm stood where I am and smile at me but my eyes are on the man at the front of the room. My man.
“And is it true your girlfriend is Fernando Alonso’s daughter?”
“Yeah it’s true, Lucía is Fernando’s daughter” I’m interested to see where this interview is going considering it’s taken a detour from rapid fire questions.
“How does he feel about you being in a relationship with his daughter?” Talk about digging for an exclusive! Lando already knows I’m happy for him to talk about me in public but I can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t want to give too much away. We’re both enjoying our relationship as it is and we don’t want anything to change.
“He’s happy for me. I think. He hasn’t pushed me off track yet which is a good thing I guess” Lando explains making the crowd in front of him laugh. He’s got them on a string. He could say anything and they’d believe him “I’ve known Fernando a long time and I’ve always looked up to him. Hopefully he knows by now I’m a good person and will always treat Lucía with the love and respect she deserves”
“You sound like the kind of guy every dad wants for their daughter”
“I have my flaws just ask Lucía she’ll give you a list” Lando says with a laugh as he winks at me. Never mind the audience being held on a string, the man has me hanging on his every word. As the interview wraps up Lando works his way around the room taking photos with the fans until he gets to me.
“I love you y’know”’ I say wrapping ay around Lando’s neck kissing him softly.
“I know and I love you”
landonorris
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landonorris LFG! Austin I’m coming for ya 🇺🇸
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esmelucia if anyone wondered what it's like to be on your knees for Lando its a similar view to this 🤤
↪️ landonorris seriously Lu 😅
↪️ esmelucia I'm so fucking horny
↪️ landonorris you're the only one
oscarpiastri I have a girlfriend and you two make me feel single
↪️ esmelucia sucks to be u
user93 Lando and Lucía quoting Sabrina Carpenter to each other is iconic!
↪️ user68 imagine the bed chem between them!
↪️ emselucia it's even better than in my head
↪️ user93 what an absolute queen!
• • •
This isn’t proof read and it’s shockingly bad but I’m sorry it’s taken forever for me to post. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to sit and write 🫣
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wisecrackingeric-2 · 2 days ago
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Also I know I’ve already just made a post but I didn’t know how else to say like,,, thank you??? Omg thank you so much for all the kind birthday wishes and art and messages and everything????? Like I genuinely wish I could blast my gratitude through the screen right now GHNSHSNDJCNDDJ I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this many happy birthday’s in my ENTIRE LIFE and!!! I’m emotional man!!!!! I think I spent over half of today sobbing my eyes out!!! BCBDBXHDNDN
Hopefully soon I’ll be able to elaborate on why further when things have calmed down but this week has I think been just the worst week of my entire life and I was fully not expecting to do much today at all, but seeing just SO MANY PEOPLE go out of their way to wish me a lovely day and make stuff for me when they really didn’t have to gave me SO MUCH hope and reassurance and confidence and idk that means more to me than literally anything else in the entire whole wide world and I wish there was more I could do than just say thank you!!!!!!!!
I truly truly truly have no clue what I did to deserve such amazing friends and also be apart of the coolest most amazing little community ever full of literally the most talented and creative and kind and thoughtful and again just INSANELY TALENTED PEOPLE I HAVE EVER MET IN MY ENTIRE LIFE like you guys!!!! Are amazing!!!!!!!!! You’re all so cool aaaaaa??!!,?,!,?,,?.?.?????? I hope YOU! YES YOUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!! Have the bestest day you possibly can and again just thank you so infinitely much for all your lovely lovely lovely words <<<:)) <<<33 ok I’m going to sleep for a bajillion hours goodnight BCNDHENEIS :3
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