#a fuck ton of history notes to take tonight

[the-kneesbees]

im actually about to drop out

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi bunny I have an idea

What if reader and lando lowk hate each other and are rivals but one night at vegas they wake up after being blackout drunk married and they only have photos (a bit like the hangover movie) and then they get a flashback of everything with a fruitcake, crostata, cranberry juice and coffee plss thanksss bunny !

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of items to check out, thank you so much for those who have submitted, these have been a lot of fun to make. i really love this concept so thank you for putting it in front of my eyes! i hope you enjoy <3

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special." + crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.” + cranberry juice: mean!character + coffee: rivals served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rivals au, driver!reader, drinking, drunk marriage, hate sex, mean!lando,

light streamed through the large windows in your hotel room. your eyes cracked open and your mouth felt instantly dry. your lips couldn't form words as you just groaned. you were no stranger to hangovers, but when you turned away from the evil sun, your cheek collided with something firm. someone firm. it was a body, your eyes open wider. you looked to see who was the mystery man in your bed.

while you were expecting some babe from the strip. you instead saw a sleeping lando norris.

and when you recoiled away from you and put your hand over your mouth, you noticed something even more terrifying. you had a gold band on your left hand.

it started over drinks, you could see lando from across the bar as you leaned back into your seat. your teammate followed your gaze. not this again.

lewis had the displeasure of hearing almost all of your drunken rants about lando. he knew very intimately how much you loathed, but also wanted lando. he was your proper rival. while the rivalry wasn't the more fierce in the history of formula one, he wanted you to just get over your stubbornness and sleep with the mclaren driver to get over the tension.

"i hate him." you sighed, "he walks around the paddock like he has the biggest cock."

"and how would you know his cock isn't the biggest?" lewis laughed which spurred you to laugh.

"well, c'mon. we all know that my cock is the biggest. in a metaphorical sense anyway... but it takes big balls to be the only female driver. gotta keep up with the boys." you laughed and winked at your teammate.

lewis chuckled, "can't argue with that." then took a sip of his (non alcoholic) drink. he watched you look over at the mclearn drivers at the other end of the bar. while oscar gave a wave, lando glared at you.

you made a face before you took another sip of your cocktail, "he doesn't act like that with anyone else. he is practically running max off the track and he is still more friendly than with me. maybe he hates women." the alcohol was flooded in your brain and your tonuge felt looser.

your teammate laughed, "right, right. he hated woman." he watched you ramble. an unintentional plus side to not drinking was that he got to be the sober person in the room when fellow drivers spilled their guts over drinks. eventually he said, "i think you need to talk to him."

and you were so drunk at that point you took hew advice and got up on shaky legs. you started to make your way over to lando, which shocked lewis. you never took his advice like that. he also knew that he wasn't going to be seeing you for the rest of the night.

he looked around for a moment before he took another sip of his drink. he hoped that you didn't get into too much trouble tonight. and made a mental note to check in on you in the morning. someone could get into heaps of trouble in a place like las vegas.

you don't know this happened or what you said. but lando was soon in your room with his large hands all over you. you groaned at his touch and he wanted to devour you whole. you wanted the same for him.

"i'll make tonight special." he said as he got you out of your mercedes branded t-shirt. and eyed your breasts.

"never seen tits before, norris? i thought you went through women like pairs of socks." you laughed before lando pushed you further up against the wall.

he chuckled lowly, "you like getting me mad, huh? you like driving me up the fucking wall. stupid slut, this is what you wanted, huh? you wanted me to fuck you like i hate you." lando then groaned, he pinned you to the wall, "you're such a whore. i bet you keep toto's bed nice and warm during the off season."

"fuck, shut up. you basically are between the legs of zak any time he asks. like a fucking dog." you bit back before lando kissed you once more.

the months of feuding had come to a head. as lando continued you to mark up your breasts before he took your bra off. he hungrily licked his lips and groaned a little.

the bed seemed far and you ended up on the couch. both of you were stripped naked, your flushed body on display for him as you straddled his waist and he held on to your hips like you two had done this a million times. you moved well together.

"i thought you were a virgin because you never put out. turned out you're a proper whore." your moan only spurred him on as he pushed himself inside of your achy cunt. he felt you in such an intimate way.

"i'm not a whore" you groaned as you fully seated yourself onto his cock.

he gripped you by the ass and replied, "there's no shame in being a whore. especially my whore. don't worry, i won't throw you away. nah, i'm keeping you." he groaned as he started to fuck you. and you felt the flood of pleasure in your body.

you had to admit, lando made you feel good. there was something about how it made you feel that made you move faster. damn lando norris, damn him.

his kisses got hotter the more you both rutted against each other.

"you feel like heaven. the hottest piece of ass on the track." he groaned, "you're always trying to be the best, but i know you well enough. fuck you drive me crazy!"

you asked, "is that why you hate me?" you felt the pleasure pair with the liquor in your system. it all clouded your mind.

"could never actually hate you." he groaned, "i'd bully and tease you. but that's because i want you so badly. spent so many nights jerking off to the thoughts of you." his breathing became heavier, "wanted to fuck you in front of the grid. i wanted you all to myself." his tone was hungry, but his words were true. he needed you. you had invaded his thoughts.

"fuck, lando." the haze of it all kept you moving. there was a painful heat between you. it was unlike anything you felt before with anyone else. sex was fun with others, but with lando it was a deep need.

he excited you sexually, just as he ddi on the track. you two kissed once more and lando moaned against your lips. youmoved faster, you could feel his cock hit against your softest areas. and you felt heaven on earth. and as you climaxed, the feeling was closely compared to winning a grand prix.

"fuck.' he groaned as you came. you kissed once more and practically melted against him. he gripped your hips tightly.

you continued to fuck him through your orgasm. and by the time he finished inside of you, you had marked up his shoulders with your nails because he made you finish for a second time.

when you slowed to a stop, you rested against his toned chest. he wrapped an arm around you and gave you a lazy kiss on the mouth.

he groaned when he pulled away, "fuck it. i'm keeping you. let's get married." there were a lot of ways to get into trouble in las vegas.

-

you laid in bed beside a sleeping lando. you looked at your wedding ring in shock. it only made the hangover worse. you had no recollection of most of the night, you remembered being intimate. but no details about your wedding.

your phone rang and you reached for it. you picked it up and heard lewis' voice on the other end, "good morning mrs. norris."

you sat up in bed and the throb in your head got worse. "how did you know? jesus christ." you said as you got out of bed to have this conversation in the bathroom.

"i mean, you sent me photos of your wedding. didn't take you as someone who wanted to be married by an elvis impersonator. how drunk were you last night?"

you closed the bathroom door and looked into the mirror. and saw all the marks lando left you the night prior. you said, "i couldn't tell you... i remember nothing."

"well they already updated your name on the track for next weekend." lewis laughed, "i'd suggest your change it on your track id, don't want any problems, mrs. norris."

"you hate me, lewis. you want me dead."

lewis replied, "not as much as toto wants you dead. have fun with your husband, let me know if you're flying to qatar with him or not."

when the call ended, you looked through your photos. you got married to lando norris. your rival. you felt your stomach dropped when you saw all the photos. the bathroom door opened and you were face to face with your husband.

you looked at one another in shock. you looked down at the photo on the phone screen. it was you in a short white number and lando in a white button up and tan slacks. you had no memory of this.

your hands shook as you showed him the photo. there was a silence between you two. before you could say anything, you jumped as you phone rang once more.

your stomach twisted when you saw the caller id. it was your boss, toto wolff. <3

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a Valentine's Day fic rec list! All of these fics involve Valentine's Day in some way or have a Valentine's Day vibe. We had a very short version of this rec list that we posted many years ago, but as you can see, there have been a ton of amazing Valentine's Day-related fics posted since then. Happy reading!

1) The Valentine's Day Special | Explicit | 1,322 words

Every year on Valentine's Day Harry and Louis spend the whole day participating in whatever kinks they want. This means February 14th is one of their favorite days of the year.

2) Valentine's Day | Explicit | 1,900 words

Louis and Harry are excited for Valentine's Day and can barely make it back to the hotel room.

3) All The Love | Explicit | 2,118 words

Harry smiles warmly when he sees the room with the makeshift dining table, coffee mugs for wine glasses, and a couple lit scented candles scattered across the room. He fills an empty glass and places the flowers in it, setting it on Louis’s bedside table. His smile grows even more fond when he sits across from Louis, seeing the meal his boy has prepared. They’ve only been officially dating for about a month and a half, but things couldn’t be going any better. “What’s this?” Harry asks, nodding in the direction of the dishes in front of him. “Chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in Parma ham with a side of mash,” Louis says full of pride. “My little chef,” the curly haired boy grins, leaning over the table to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek before taking a bite. “This is really good baby.”

4) Red Pants | Mature | 2,463 words

One shot in which fem Louis wears his tight little red pants to school on Valentine’s Day, and discovers he has a secret admirer.

5) Love Me Like You Do | Not Rated | 3,964 words

Louis is all in if Harry is, and Paris seems like the perfect place to ask

6) Lagrangian Point | Explicit | 4,055 words

They find each other again the night of Valentine's Day.

7) I've Loved You Three Summers Now Honey, But I Want 'Em All | Mature | 4,216 words

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do. After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

8) Reckless Serenade | Explicit | 4,446 words

Note: This fic features Girl Direction.

Harry's Google search history may or may not look like 'my girlfriend doesn't know we're dating.'

9) Dancing In The Moonlight | Explicit | 4,587 words

Louis’ fuck buddy gets a date for Valentine’s day and he discovers that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.

10) Keep Your Head Down And Make It To Me | Not Rated | 4,643 words

“You know, if I hadn’t been so stupid 8 years ago, we could’ve been doing this for 8 long years. My sincere apologies,” “Maybe, but now I get to enjoy this moment even more because it’s been 8 years and I’ve never stopped wanting to kiss you ever since,” Louis admits, a light blush surfacing upon his face. “I love you,” Harry repeats. Louis beams at him. Literally beams. “I love you, Harry.”

11) Cherries In The Snow | Mature | 5,151 words

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harry is not in the mood. So naturally, Louis lets Harry paint his body with kiss marks to make him feel better.

12) Be Mine, Little Valentine | Explicit | 7,435 words

All Louis wants is to find someone who’ll love all of him. There’s just one tiny complication.

13) Indecent Proposal | Explicit | 8,445 words

The one where Louis and Harry reminisce the ups and downs of a relationship that once was, imagining themselves as the happy couple celebrating in front of them, and decide that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too bad to relive their relationship one more time.

14) Let Me Be Your Good Night | Explicit | 10,517 words

Cupping one hand over his fist and holding them to his chest, Harry’s nose scrunches hopefully, “Would you want to get a drink before calling it a night?” Louis stares at him. “I know you’re probably tired, it’s just—” Harry sighs, wiggling his hands around nervously. “We’re both going to be alone after this and I really enjoyed talking to you, so maybe this is a little pathetic, but I could use the company?” “I, uh,” he stalls, weighing his options: either go home, have a wank, then bathe the night off, or talk more with the affable sweetheart while sharing a drink or two. Easy. “I’d like that. Sure.”

15) Better Than Words | Explicit | 11,321 words

Note: This fic is the second part of a series.

Harry and Louis have an argument while at the doctors to check on their baby. Then they celebrate Harry’s birthday and Valentine’s Day in their own way.

16) Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice | Mature | 13,487 words

You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.” Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing. “You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

17) Lead Me To Paradise | Explicit | 14,615 words

No one told Harry that a paramedic could be this pretty.

18) James The Pimp | Mature | 28,255 words

Everybody, please welcome my other good mate and Harry Styles’ Valentine Date, Louis Tomlinson!” 'Kill My Mind' played as the dusty-haired singer walked onto stage from the opposite side that Harry entered. “Thanks for having me, James.” Louis’ light voice carried well as he hugged James. With the grin still plastered to his cheeks, he looked around the bulkier man at Harry politely. “But, uh, I’m a tad bit confused. As lovely as Harry here is, you should probably both know I’m, er, into women.” There was a hint of awkward hesitation in his words. He likely thought Harry wasn’t straight and didn’t want to offend him, which Harry appreciated, even if he knew he had to say his next line despite it being utterly untrue. “The same goes to you, Louis, but I am as well.” James waved a hand flippantly. “Pish posh. Who really cares about that anyhow? Come along, boys. This is my show, so if I say you are each other’s Valentines, then you are each other’s Valentines. Now act like it!”

19) Cupid’s Chokehold | Explicit | 35,326 words

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[ladynoirelf]

Dark Crystal Tik-Tok challenge: Calling s/o the wrong name.

Deet to Rian:

Deet was writing up her midterm paper comparing Stonewood and Grottons weapons for her elective history class. Thanks to Rian and Ordon, Deet had tons of research material to work with thanks to Ordon’s collection and Rian’s expertise. Though she was having a bit of trouble remembering what a specific sword was used for. She also made a mental note to call up Amri and see if he could send her a picture of his family’s old bombs that they used. She called to her boyfriend:

“Amri! I-I mean Rian”!

“Amri”!?

Oh crud.

Rian walked out in robe, pink facial mask on and his hair tucked under a towel.

“Of all the names to call, you call Amri? Your EX”?!

“Im so sorry”.

“Amr-Does Amri sounds like Rian? D-Do I look like an egotistical grottan with a bad haircut who makes horrible fashion choices ”?

“Hey”!

“Oh don't defend him Deethra, short or long just pick man”!

Deet stifled the growing lump of a laugh in her throat. “He was on my mind, I meant to call your name-”.

“Why was he on your mind? Why are you thinking about your ex-boyfriend when you have all this”?! Rian circled his hand around himself.

“I need help with my paper”. Deet giggled, finding humor in her boyfriend’s reaction.

“No you know what, get an F”.

“Huh”?!

“Yeah, you want to hurt your boyfriend’s feelings, you get privileges taken away. No more help, no more access to the family weaponry, you want help you get Amri”. With a final humph and quick tightening of his robe, he left Deet alone cackling on the bed.

 Rian to Deet:

After a successful date, Deet recommended that they grab some burgers and fries from Wimpy. 

Deet was driving despite Rian’s gentle protest, but the young Grottan loved using the car since it took to roads so well compared to a Grottan vehicle that was more suited for the paved sirt of her hometown. The problem was that Deets turns were quite harsh and sharp as if she was still trying to trek through the caves roads.

Rian held on to the coat handle for dear life as Deet skidded the car into the parking lot, nearly knocking over one of the trashcans by the outdoor seatings.

“For the love of Thra! Mira you're gonna kill us”! Rian screeched just as Deet spiraled to park perfectly.

“Who”? Deet put the car in park, brows raised in question.

“Huh”?

“D-Did you just call me by your ex-girlfriend's name”?

Did he? He was too terrified for his life to even comprehend what he was saying.

“Did I”?

“Yeah, did my driving make you think of her”? Deet grinned leaning in close to a flustered Rian, who was clutching his thumping heart. 

“Probably, she drove crazy like you. Though she didn't have an excuse she just liked giving me a scare”.

“Awww, you’re still going to introduce me to her right? She sounds fun”. Grinned Deet, grabbing her purse from the back seat.

“Oh yeah, she’ll love you”. Rian breathed, shakingly getting out of the car. 

His legs were so wobbly Deet had to help him inside the restaurant.

 Brea to Kylan:

Brea was on her phone while Kylan was at the foot of the bed folding their laundry. 

As she scrolled through her phone, she got an email from her friendly ex, Rek’yr. Apparently, he had tickets to a museum benefactor gala. He was going to go with his plus one but apparently, they had to cancel. So Rek’yr decided to offer the two tickets for her and Kylan to use. Delighted by an evening out, Brea immediately accepted the offer.

“Rek’yr what are you doing on Friday”?

“...”

“...”

“A-Are you...Were you addressing me”?

Brea slowly looked up from her phone, mortified as she realized her error. Kylan looked at her, a mix of confusion and hurt on his face.

“... I am so sorry”.

“I-Its fine, i guess. I mean...It was a mistake right”?

“Yeah”. Brea’s lips quivered, tear bubbles forming in the corner of her eyes. Kylan cooed, pulling her into his arms he rubbed her back as she began to cry.

“Shhh, it's okay Brea, I know it was a mistake”.

“I-I-Im so sorry”. She wailed, clutching Kylan’s snotty shirt.

“There is nothing to be sorry for Princess”. Kylan sweetly assured, kissing her temple as she continued to cry in shame.

Completely forgetting about the tickets.

 Kylan to Brea:

As much as Kylan was getting used to Brea’s family members randomly coming over to their apartment, It was a hassle when one of her sisters just came over randomly. The latest ‘visitor’ was Brea’s second older sister, Tavra.  Who apparently stopped by to drop off some leftovers she thought he and Brea might like then left in a hurry. 

So when he heard the door open, he assumed it was Tavra coming back for something.

“Did you forget something Katavra”?

“Excuse me, Ka-who”?

Kylan looked from his book to his girlfriend's confused frown. Brea pushed her sunglasses over her eyes, hands on her hip and amber eyes narrowed.

“Who is Katavra”?

“W-Wha”?

“You heard me”. Brea sauntered over, her intimidating demeanor forcing Kylan to scramble to the side of the couch. “Who is Katavara”?

“Is this a trick question or are you having fun with me”?

“Kylan, do I look like I'm having fun with you”. Brea leaned over, caging Kylan with her petite body. “I'll ask again.Who.Is.Katavra”?

“...Your sister”. Kylan warily answered.

Brea blinked, irritation morphing into realization. Her mouth opened in an “oh”.

“You mean Tavra”?

“Did you forget your sister’s name”?

“Well I mean, no one calls her Katavra so...Yeah I forgot her name. Sorry larva”.

“For the love of Thra woman”.

 Mothria to Gurjin:

The best thing about being chosen to dance in the Sog community’s up-and-coming festival was that Mothria had an excuse to ditch Pop-Pa’s excruciating farmwork. To replace it with an excruciating hour of practice, though it's not all bad. It was nice to spend time with Naia, as both of them were partnered up to dance the part of the maiden. Although, having your ex-boyfriend as the head director can be quite awkward. Thankfully, Geal was very professional and only talked to her when needed.

Unfortunately, when Mothria got home after a long rehearsal her greeting was a little off.

“Geal I'm home, wanna get take out”?

“The FUCK you just call”?

Mothria stiffened as Gurjin stomped over to the foyer, arms crossed and eyes burning with anger.

“Did I call you Gael by accident”?

“Yeah, you did”.

“I messed up bad huh”?

“Mm-hm”.

“Couch tonight”?

“I'll get it set up for you”.

Mothria didn't move as Gurjin’s locs hit her snout as he swiftly turned to march to the linen closet.

“I love you”. She called.

“Love you too, but you're still on the couch tonight”.

 Gurjin to Mothria:

If there was one thing Gurjin liked doing, it was messing with Mothria when was in a pissed mood. Not to pissed that would kick him out the loft, but pissed enough to at least get kicked out of the room for thirty minutes to an hour.

And he cooked up the perfect way to agitate his love moth even more.

His ‘victim’ was sitting at the kitchen island on her phone probably venting to his twin. With natural born charm, Gurjin slid to Mothria’s side wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Lovemoth, why so sad”?

“Oh, just dealing with family drama Gur-Gur”. She sighed, leaning into his touch “Not to be a brat but can you cuddle me later. We can watch whatever I just want snuggles”.

“Of course, Resha”.

Gurjin bursted out laughing as he was roughly shoved on his rump.

“I freaking hate you”! Mothria growled, stomping their shared bedroom after gently punching Gurjin below the belt.

“OOF”! Gurjin guffawed as he clutched his gentiles “M-Mothy what about cuddles and movies”? “You're banned from cuddles and movies! I'm going over to Naia’s”!

“Can I come”?

“NOOOOO, people who call me by ‘Resha’ don't get my love”!

The fuming Mothria stepped over her still laughing boyfriend who was now rolling on the floor. Grabbing her purse and keys.

“Love you”! Gurjin wheezed, tears in his eyes.

“Eat sog”! Screamed Mothria, slamming the apartment door. Leaving a chukaling Gurjin on his own for the next few hours.

[lovelylogans]

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

debutante

part of the wyliwf verse.

chapter one | next chapter

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

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

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

⁂

“i need a dress.”

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

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

“i’m coming out,” logan continues.

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

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

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

the double-meaning clicks in his head.

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

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

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

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

“you remember dee.”

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

“who came over to our house once.”

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

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

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

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

a cold feeling crawls uncomfortably in his stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so you’re okay with it?”

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

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

that cold feeling is back. “ah.”

logan blinks. “what?”

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

“what about—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⁂

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

“hello, mister slange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“where is she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“hello, granmè,” he says in french.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dee hides his smirk in his tea. 

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

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

she might not know. she might not even remember.

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s just not very… well. lived-in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the exit door opens.

shit. shit.

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

“are you skipping class?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so what if i am?” dee says, and he might have pulled off his airy tone, if his voice hadn’t cracked on the last word. dee coughs, to cover it, but now logan is walking closer.

“were you… crying?” logan says uncertainly.

“no,” dee lies. and honestly, getting caught might be worth it for the expressions that wars across logan’s face—pained awkwardness overwhelms it, but there’s concern, and discomfort, and a sense of do i have to, and honestly, if dee wasn’t in such a shitty mood it would be pretty funny.

“may i sit?”

“will you listen if i say no?”

“probably not,” logan admits. “even if you weren’t crying, which i’m pretty sure you were—”

“—i wasn’t—” 

“—your attendance is as good as mine, i’d still want to know why you were skipping class.”

dee makes a show of sighing, but shoves his backpack a little further away and scoots further into the corner. logan nods, settling his backpack beside dee’s, and sits close to dee. not quite side-by-side, but just far enough away that it’s clear he’s offering dee the choice to lean closer. it’s strangely thoughtful. he remembers, distantly, logan at his birthday party; he’d ducked hugs a lot of the time, only accepting it when he couldn’t substitute a handshake. he wonders if logan doesn’t like physical contact, and tucks away the idea of investigating that for potential use later.

logan pauses, before he says, almost kindly, “the book’s giving you away. you’re reading the scarlet letter. we read that last quarter. i highly doubt you’d be rereading it. you made your dislike known enough as we were reading it, not that i blame you for finding it dull and archaic. it is dull and archaic.”

dee bites back a curse as he makes a show of glancing at the book. he knew he should have cleaned out his backpack after midterms, but no, he’d been too busy—

“i like the scarlet letter,” dee lies, and logan looks at him, arching an eyebrow.

“try again.”

“what?” dee says. “i could.”

“you literally overrode class one day to complain, at length, about how stupid the plot is, how overblown and over-long the prose is, and that hawthorne desperately needed an editor. which i agree with, by the way.”

“well,” dee says. “i could still like it.”

“please,” logan scoffs.

he turns the book in his hands and reduces a shudder. god, what a terrible book. he’ll toss it as soon as he gets home.

“well, i like sleep,” dee says lightly, “and one should always have sleep-inducing material on hand. it’s remarkably effective. i like it for that reason, how about that?” 

logan smiles, with a little hum of acknowledgement. a i don’t believe you but i think your excuse is funny enough that i won’t press you on it hum. dee’s heard it many times.

they sit in silence for a couple minutes. long enough that dee thinks that he’s going to get away with it—if they’re quiet until second period, then dee can steal away and have an excuse ready by lunch, if need be.

except logan clears his throat, and dee braces himself.

“if you’d like to… talk,” he says stiffly, and he coughs again. “i am—here. clearly. not just physically, as i am now, but as a means of support. i suppose.”

dee rolls his eyes. “how convincing,” he says, and ignored how clogged-up his voice sounds, all of a sudden.

“yes, well,” logan says. “of the many things my father’s taught me, one thing he apparently hasn’t been able to pass down is being particularly good at navigating these… emotional kinds of conversations is not one of them.”

dee would laugh at the look on logan’s face when he says emotional, if his brain wasn’t stuck on my father. 

“your dad,” dee says, a strange tone in his voice, before he can stop himself.

logan’s dad, who was raised in this environment, in this world, and, somehow, had managed to be openly, proudly trans.

logan’s dad, who had been trans, without his parents attempting to publicly interfere with the way he presented himself.

must be nice.

“yes,” logan says cautiously. “what about my dad?”

dee takes a deep breath, and, immediately, two concepts begin to war in his mind.

don’t tell him, one side screams. the whole reason you’re out here is because you don’t want people to see weakness!

he has access to a unique perspective that, to your knowledge, is only shared by yourself and that other person, he argues with himself. and the largest part of this that would be kept secret, he already knows. and you have blackmail in hand if he were to suddenly confess with this additional quest for information.

dee lets out his breath. he says, “does your dad talk about the way it was for him? back then.”

logan stiffens, ever so slightly, in surprise.

“not often,” he says, the cautiousness still lingering in his tone. “he’s only ever really told me a little; bits and pieces. not details, you understand, but…”

logan pauses, collecting his thoughts. dee almost snaps at him to hurry up; usually, logan’s a decent enough public speaker, but the whole dramatic pause thing he did sometimes was really quite annoying.

“i know that it wasn’t easy, for him,” logan says. “that in part, the reaction helped fuel his desire to run away, in addition to my existence and the further stigma that’s associated with that. there are likely old issues of the jefferson that could provide the nastier details; i’ve given him my word i wouldn’t seek them out. i don’t particularly want to. in addition to the writing skills of the jefferson being terrible, i am not particularly inclined to read transphobia and terrible rumors about anyone, much less my father.”

another pause. then, “he had a bonfire for all his dresses and skirts.”

dee turns to him, startled. logan’s dad? that soft little puffball?

“i know,” logan says, seemingly agreeing with how out-of-character it seemed. “my other father—christopher—helped. he’s been saving stories of his various teenage rebellions, too. he used to be rather…” a brief hesitation. “a rabble-rouser.”

dee snorts. it sounds very snotty and terrible and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

(also—well, dee had known that logan was technically a hayden, it was just he hadn’t really heard logan outwardly express it, ever. he knows that christopher is located in california, somewhere. he wonders how logan handles that. something to look into.)

“why do you ask?” logan says.

“you know why.” 

“all right, that was poorly phrased,” logan says. “why ask about this now?”

dee hesitates. logan adds, awkwardly, “if you don’t want to answer—”

“it’s… fine,” dee says stiffly. he clears his throat. he looks at his shoes.

logan is one of the smartest people you know, he reminds himself. he wouldn’t tell. he knows you’d immediately move to destroy him if he told.

keeping his eyes on his toes, he says, forcefully light, “my parents have entered me into the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball. apparently, they’ve decided to stop humoring this phase i am going through, as i am now sixteen, it is time to cease such childish rebellion and enter society properly, as a—” dee stops, abruptly.

“as a gender which you are not,” logan finishes for him. his voice is very, very quiet.

dee clears his throat, and redirects his gaze from his shoes to the wall across from them. he’s very conscious of logan’s eyes on him, examining him, staring at his face for any sign of weakness.

“dee,” he begins, haltingly.

“it doesn’t matter,” dee says, except for the fact that it very much does matter. 

“that’s not,” logan begins, then, “i don’t,” and then, a frustrated sigh, before he says, “i’m sorry.”

“don’t,” dee snaps. “i don’t want your pity.”

“the definition of pity is the feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others,” logan snaps back. “as a fellow member of the lgbtq community, of course i feel sorrow and compassion at the information that someone does not have the support of their parents, and that lack of support will cause that someone will be outed publicly without their consent.”

dee doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to stare at the wall. his jaw is clenched so tightly he thinks his teeth might break from the pressure.

“is there anything i can do?” logan says stiffly.

dee keeps his eyes on the wall. “no,” he bites out.

they sit in awkward silence for a few more seconds. it feels like an hour. then:

“what if i stopped it?”

dee scoffs.

“what?” logan says.

“please,” dee says. “it’s the dar debutante ball.”

“we can get you out of it.”

“the bill’s already paid,” dee says. 

“then we’ll stop the ball,” logan says.

“i’m sorry, have you met the ilk of your grandmother and her friends?” dee says pointedly. “you think you’re going to rob them of the chance to trot their precious little darlings around in a circle for all the men to drool over?”

logan’s back straightens. dee, finally, turns to look at him.

it’s like dee can see the lightbulb go off over his head.

“what?” dee says.

“nothing,” logan says, except he’s smiling.

“what,” dee snaps.

“nothing,” logan repeats. “it’s just—i might have an idea.”

“might,” dee repeats.

“might,” logan agrees. he’s clearly about to say more, but the bell rings, and there’s the beginning of shuffling steps that means people will emerge into the hallways. logan scrambles to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, before, belatedly, offering a hand to dee.

dee considers it. he accepts. logan helps haul him to his feet.

“your idea,” dee says, picking up his own backpack.

“you’ll see,” logan says, and dee huffs at him, before beginning to head off to his next class—

“dee?”

dee turns, and logan offers an awkward little facial expression that might be a smile.

“if you want to talk about it—”

“we aren’t friends,” dee says, cutting off whatever platitude that he’s clearly building up to. an idea. probably a lie to try and make dee feel better.

“i know that,” logan says, firmly. “but if you ever do… want to talk about it.”

“i will,” dee says, and tacks on, “if i want to.”

“okay.”

“but i probably won’t.”

“that’s fine.”

dee hesitates. “but if i do—”

“i’m around,” logan says simply. 

“i doubt i will,” dee says, attempting to resume his haughty expression.

“you know where to find me, if you do,” logan says. 

dee rolls his eyes, as if that conversation was very trying and not something that threatens to create an even bigger lump in his throat, and resumes his route to his science class.

“mister slange, dinner!” nanny calls, and dee startles. he clears his throat and puts down his pen, rising to his feet.

“coming, nanny!” he calls down the stairs.

find him. right. like the idea of talking to logan sanders about anything else in his life is even slightly appealing.

no, he tells himself. the idea of getting to know logan sanders? maybe even becoming something other than rivals? not even a little bit nice.

⁂

as soon as virgil comes out of the kitchen, roman has this Look on his face that makes virgil immediately say “no.”

“you don’t even know what i’m asking yet!” roman protests.

“i can tell you’re plotting something just by the look on your face,” virgil says.

“ah, but technically i’m not the one plotting, logan is,” roman says, and, well. that’s outside the norm. roman tends to be the plotter of the things that give roman That Look on his face, the one that reminds virgil only a little painfully of remus.

“okay, why am i involved in the thing that logan’s plotting?”

“patton’s in on it too,” roman points out. “and, uh, my mom.”

virgil pauses, contemplates, and says, “i don’t know if that’s a warning sign or not.”

“well, logan and i can explain when patton and him get here for dinner,” roman says. “in the meantime—”

“please don’t order something that will make your mom kill me for violating your meal plan too terribly, i don’t think i’ve recovered from last friday,” virgil says wearily.

“ugh, fine,” roman says, and orders something that is at least passably healthy, which he could really teach to his boyfriend and—and virgil’s boyfriend.

virgil’s boyfriend, patton. nope, even after two and a half months, it’s still bizarre in the best possible way.

by the time virgil puts roman’s order in, and carries out about three more, he’s carting a tray across the diner as the bell jangles and two familiar faces walk in.

“hey,” patton says, and leans in to give him a brief, welcoming kiss. habit. routine. thrilling. patton runs a thumb along virgil’s stubble, grinning at him.

“hey yourself,” virgil says, and jerks his head. “roman’s in a booth over there, and apparently i have a plot to be brought in on?”

and then patton… puffs up with pride? literally, puffs up. whenever he’s proud of logan, his posture gets better and he puffs his chest out a little and his chin tilts up, like logan achieving something is an achievement for patton, makes him more confident in himself. virgil guesses a lot of logan’s achievements owe at least a little credit to patton’s parenting, though, so it’s a fair trade. logan doesn’t seem to be complaining.

“that you do,” patton says, a little smug.

“okay then,” virgil says. “brainstorm your pitch and i’ll be right over.”

he drops off dinner orders—mrs. torres and a gaggle of other older ladies who coo and giggle and wave to roman, who blows kisses back, because he’s the default adopted son/grandson for any active older woman in town—before he sidles up to the sanders/prince booth.

“right, okay, orders, then plot,” virgil says, flipping to a new page in his notepad and clicking his pen.

patton and logan put in their orders—virgil successfully convinces them both to trade in something unhealthy for either a salad (patton) or a side of vegetables (logan)—which he notes dutifully, before he slides in beside patton in the booth.

“okay,” virgil says, and he nudges patton. “pitch.”

“my idea, actually,” logan pipes up, and virgil obligingly turns his attention to the younger sanders.

“so,” logan says, folding his hands. “i am coming out.”

“um,” virgil says, dropping his gaze pointedly to where roman’s resting his hand on logan’s wrist. “you did that. like, eight years ago.”

“that’s what i said,” patton says, pleased.

“let me rephrase,” logan says, and his nose wrinkles. “i am coming out in the sense of the viennese waltz, i will be deemed of good breeding and marriageable age, must have dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, fluffy white dresses, et cetera.”

“oh, jesus christ,” virgil says. “what friend roped you into being an escort for this thing? because that is not a friend.”

“keep listening,” patton chides, a laugh in his tone.

“well, that’s the thing,” logan says. “i’m not going to be an escort.”

virgil considers this for a moment. “i’m not following.”

“logan’s creating an army to charge upon the daughters of the american revolution so we can destroy the patriarchy,” roman says, bright and perky.

“i’m recruiting like-minded members of the next generation to make a statement about gender equality,” logan corrects. “in other words: i shall be the one with a dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, in a fluffy white dress.”

“uh.”

“me too,” roman says sunnily. “i’m going to be wearing a fluffy white dress, too. plus a ton of other kids in our grade—the idea’s really caught on. ooh, logan, we can recruit some of the dance girls as escorts!”

virgil tries to picture it: a group of boys in dresses, girls in tuxes, gasping, scandalized rich people. the idea brings a smile to his face.

“oh, good idea, we should send put a sign-up sheet in the studio,” logan says.

“wait, you said i was going to be involved,” virgil says, his brain catching up with him. “where do i fit into all that?”

“well,” patton says. “isadora and i decided to set up a kind of etiquette-and-dance crash-course day for all the kids involved, because despite my best efforts i have not purged the viennese waltz or my numerous etiquette lessons from my mind—”

“you, cultured?” virgil teases, and patton smacks virgil’s arm playfully.

“with no help from you, thank you very much,” patton says. “anyway. since isadora and i are teaching the kids, and there will be an influx of fluffy white dresses and tuxes…”

it clicks. “alterations.”

“got it in one,” patton says cheerfully.

virgil’s a pretty decent tailor, for an amateur—he’s done his fair share of hemming dance costumes, or fixing suits, even some emergency repairs for some wedding dresses, over the years. he’s about to say something along the line of are you sure i should do this, i don’t think i’m qualified for something so fancy but then he catches the hopeful look on logan and roman’s faces, and—

“all right, fine,” virgil says, and he stands. “just let me know when and where, yeah?”

logan grins at him, and roman chirps a thank you, and patton giggles, soft, as virgil makes his way back for the kitchen.

fancy debutante tailor. he guesses he can handle that. it’s not really a step outside of the norm, so it’s not like he’s doing anything super out there, like the kids are.

virgil thought too soon.

by the time he re-emerges from the kitchen, ready to wipe down the counters, patton and logan are at the table finishing up the last of their meals, and roman’s at the counter, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes snapping to him. 

“hey,” virgil says. “you need a refill of water? because i’m telling you now, if you’re going to try for dessert, you may as well give up now—”

roman rolls his eyes. “no. it’s about the debutante ball.”

“okay,” virgil says, and tosses his towel over his shoulder. “what about it?”

“it, um,” roman says, and clears his throat. “ugh. apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.”

“oh,” virgil says. 

“and, um, since i don’t really have a dad,” roman begins.

“i could alter a tux for your mom?” virgil suggests. “since everyone’s already doing the whole ‘screw gender’ thing anyway.”

“i—no, no, she’s probably going to do backstage stuff to make sure that the sideshire kids aren’t spooked by the rich people,” roman says. “plus, she’d hate wearing a tux.”

“yeah, fair enough,” virgil says. he thinks the only time he’s really seen her dressed up is when she has to, during a recital or performance or something. “okay. i could help with the tux of… i forget his name, what’s that guy who was your one-on-one instructor during the nutcracker? sergio, right? i could drive you to visit sergio—“

“sergio is in portugal,” roman says, looking an odd mixture of helpless, amused, and frustrated. “y’know. where he’s from?”

“oh,” virgil says. “um, there’s always taylor? you know he’d be super into the whole pomp and circumstance thing.”

“taylor,” roman says. “virgil. you of all people. recommend taylor.”

“i know, okay, i know, but i’m kind of coming up blank here,” virgil says. 

“coming up blank?” roman repeats, the frustrated part becoming more clear.

“i’m trying here,” virgil says. “you could—”

“oh, for god’s sake, dumb-utante, i’m trying to ask you to escort me,” roman snaps. 

virgil’s jaw drops. just a little. 

“oh,” he says.

roman flushes a brilliantly bright red, and looks down at his shoes.

“i—just, whatever, okay, you don’t have to,” he mutters, and scuffs the toe of his shoe over the diner floor. he needs new ones—the white, rubbery part of his converse is overrun with mud and sharpie doodles, the aglets frayed, part of the high-top worn from where roman grabs it to shove his foot into it every morning discolored. 

remus used to wear green converse, sometimes, the most casual in his extensive collection of costume-style clothes. he remembers telling roman this, when roman was pretty little and ms. prince had enlisted virgil to take roman out for back-to-school shopping, and virgil had bought roman his first pair. he’d been little, then. six, he thinks. maybe seven. they’d gotten ice cream after. roman had gotten rum raisin, and virgil ended up having to eat the rest of it when roman pronounced it “ucky” and roman had ended up getting his usual chocolate-cherry. virgil had made roman pinky-promise that he would get a small one, so he wouldn’t spoil his dinner.

but roman prefers high-tops, and remus had always gotten classic chucks. roman loves red, and remus loved green. 

they’re different, remus and roman. like night and day. it still makes virgil feel a little strange whenever he thinks about how much longer he’s known roman than he’d known remus—really, it had topped out a few years ago, much longer if virgil was just considering how long he and remus had been friends. so much of his relationship with roman was built on the basis of being the last of remus’ friends still in sideshire, other than ms. prince, and so he was one of the only ones who could tell roman about his dad. do what his dad would have done.

remus probably would have bought roman his first pair of chucks when roman was a baby, those little tiny shoes that can sit comfortably in the palm of virgil’s hand with plenty of space to spare.

but remus is dead, and so buying roman his first pair of signature red shoes had fallen to virgil.

basically everything remus would have loved to do with his son had fallen to virgil, really, if ms. prince hadn’t taken care of it first.

apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.

“no,” virgil says, strangely choked up. “that’s—that’s a good idea. cool. i can, um. i can do that.”

“really?” roman asked, eyes snapping up from his shoes. he smiles like remus when he’s plotting, that much is true, but when he smiles when he’s just happy—all virgil can see is roman.

“yeah, sure,” virgil says, and then he coughs into his elbow to clear whatever’s lodged in his throat. “just, uh. just keep me updated on, y’know. details.”

roman’s grin grows a bit more delighted, a bit more remus-like. “are you crying?”

“what? no,” virgil scoffs.

“because you sound like you’re about to start crying.”

“i was chopping onions,” virgil says lamely. “this has nothing to do with you.”

“oh, i better check my calendar again, i didn’t realize it was opposite day,” roman says gleefully.

“you’re the most obnoxious teenager i’ve ever met,” virgil says, and roman laughs, even as he’s backing away, slowly, toward the door. virgil rolls his eyes, and moves to wipe down the counters.

“and you have to wear a tux!” roman calls, and virgil’s head snaps up.

“wait, what, no way—“

“shave off the five o’clock shadow, too, i won’t be looking scruffy by comparison!” roman calls, opening the door. virgil scowls, rubbing a hand along his face—yes, he goes stubbly sometimes, especially during winters or when he’s busy, but he doesn’t look bad with facial hair, he just looks a bit off today because he woke up late—and the reality hits him. a tux. dressing fancy. being involved in a high society ceremony.

“the tux is bad enough!”

“you’re forgetting the tails, the cumberbun, plus white gloves!“ roman says, ticking it off on his fingers.

“i take it back!” virgil calls. “i’m not doing this anymore!”

“too late, i already signed you up!” roman shouts, and disappears from the diner before virgil can yell at him anymore.

a tux. tails. white gloves.

a cumberbun.

dammit, of course roman would manage to net him into some kind of makeover.

⁂

it’s been a shitty day so far. 

something kept interrupting his sleep last night, so when he finally managed to get to sleep, he slept through his alarm. granmè was already having a bad memory day, repeatedly calling out for her dead husband and not recognizing nanny, which means she probably won’t recognize him, so he had to keep out of their way, and as he was walking out the door he saw bertie holding up something ensconced in a garment bag, lips pursed in disapproval, whose length could only mean the arrival of a fluffy white dress, a nice reminder of the thing that dee was dreading.

and it isn’t even eight yet.

“move,” dee snarls to the particularly amorous couple blocking the path to his locker—really, people, it was seven forty-five in the morning, did they always have to start the day attempting to tie their tongues together?—and they shuffle aside, to a vacant stretch of wall, presumably to resume their excessive pda.

dee rolls his eyes. typical.

except—

“slange,” one of the makeout participants says. dee ignores him, placing the books he’d had to bring home for homework in and pulling out the books he’d need for his morning classes.

“hey, slange, i’m talking to you,” he repeats. 

dee rolls his eyes with all the sarcasm he can muster, and directs his gaze to them; summer, absently wiping some stray lipgloss off with her finger, and tristan, leaning over.

“what,” dee says, in the crispest tone he possibly can.

“didn’t take you for a troublemaker,” tristan says, grinning still; dee notes, sourly, that summer could probably spare some energy to wipe off the sticky lip gloss on tristan’s chin, too. 

“excuse me.”

“oh, right, right,” tristan says, and rolls his eyes. “fighting the patriarchy, excuse me. hey, if that excuse is enough to make it look good on your college resume, you wouldn’t happen to know how to—”

“you already know all the people in our grade who write papers for a fee, dugray,” dee says, already exhausted and snippy and—he hates to even admit it to himself—confused. “take it up with henry, if you must. and wipe off your face before you go to class, you have holographic glossier smeared everywhere. it’ll give you away to julia, she doesn’t wear lipgloss.”

summer gapes at him, and immediately begins to screech something along the lines of “what is that supposed to mean, i knew you didn’t block her like i told you to!” but dee’s already tuning it out, slamming the locker door shut and making his way to homeroom. frankly, summer should have dumped tristan the second he told her that she wasn’t allowed to talk to other boys. the pair of them were toxic together—half the material he had on tristan were things that he wouldn’t want summer to know.

the other half would, if it made its way to the right hands, get him sent off to military school.

dee’s saving most of the rest of that for when he gets really annoyed with tristan.

he might be there in ten minutes if he didn’t get an answer—what did tristan mean, trouble-making? and tristan dugray, fighting the patriarchy. please. tristan’s as emblematic of a toxic, rich, straight white boy that there could be. tristan adores all the trappings of the patriarchy; it better allows him to pursue whatever girl he wanted into being his girl of the week, despite the fact that they weren’t particularly wanting to be his girl of the week, whenever he and summer were on a break (and, most of the time, when they weren’t.)

except that isn’t even the only time.

henry, dermot, lem—even shy little brad, who usually breaks out into cold sweats at the sight of him since the whole theater incident in sixth grade, seem to be attempting to make eye contact with him as he walks down the hall, like they were in with him, or something. like they were suddenly friends.

dee stews, furious, at the very idea they could know something about him that he doesn’t know—until he sees lisa approaching logan sanders, who seems to be loading up his backpack.

dee frowns. logan wouldn’t like lisa—well, obviously, he’s gay, but also, lisa subscribes to her parents’ politics, including the epithets of “fake news,” and he’s pretty sure that alone would spring logan into a furious tirade like little else could.

dee pauses.

fight the patriarchy, tristan had said. trouble making.

“what if i stopped it?”

and then he moves immediately toward the locker.

“—long as you don’t say why, then yes, of course,” logan says.

“duh!” lisa chirps. “hilarious, lo-lo, seriously.”

logan’s face twists up as politely as he can manage at the sound of a cutesy nickname, but he can’t really say anything, since lisa’s already flouncing off to be discriminatory and heartless on her parents’ orders.

presumably.

“what,” dee says, “was that.”

“i know,” logan says, turning back to his locker. “lo-lo. what am i, a puppy?”

“not that,” dee says. “you know she’s—”

“a terrible person who stands against everything i am, yes,” logan says mildly. “but she’s wealthy and has a fair amount of—” a near-sneaky glance at a notecard in his hand— “clout, amongst the puffs.”

“the puffs?” dee repeats, his voice already sounding strange.

“you know, the secret sorority,” he says nonchalantly. “one of them, at least, and certainly the most desired to join—”

“i know who the puffs are,” dee says, in a tone that clearly denotes do you think i’m stupid, i’ve gone to this school for longer than you have.

“ah,” logan says. “right. well, i would have gone through francie jarvis, who is less diametrically opposed to—” he makes a sweeping gesture up and down his body, “but she was absent yesterday, so. lisa was the obvious in.”

“why do you need an in with the puffs?” dee says. 

logan glances up and down the hall—god, way to show off you’re discussing something sensitive—before he pulls a leaflet out of his backpack, handing it to dee.

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY!

dee skims it, and feels his eyebrows rise higher and higher, even as his throat gets disturbingly closed up.

“i noticed that a lot of the puffs are due for their debutante ball,” logan explains, even as dee stares at the—the excuse, the excuse that logan’s pulling for this elaborate ruse, that, if it works—

i won’t be outed.

dee swallows, hard. he folds the leaflet back up, and clears his throat.

“the puffs are a decent enough start,” he says, voice perhaps a bit thicker than normal. “as they’re the most socially prized secret society at chilton, it was a good place to begin—people will want to emulate them, especially those who are attempting to get puffed. mostly freshmen, but there are a few sophomores who are sixteen that’ll join. but you need to pivot your focus—the old crows and the skull and dagger would probably gain more participants per club capita.”

“old crows?” logan says uncertainly.

“the secret society for a select few seniors,” dee says. “who have likely already had a coming out, but it’s not uncommon to do multiple. skull and dagger would probably love an excuse to cause chaos, but that’s sorted, so long as you bother tristan some more. and if you’re going to come at it from the fight patriarchy angle, you’re going to need to get the clairosophic society involved.”

“the…?”

“another secret sorority,” dee says. “do you only know the puffs?”

logan abruptly looks sheepish, and dee sighs, put-upon.

“well,” he says. “clearly, you need my help pulling this off. of all the secret societies at this school, only ten are worth mentioning—”

“only ten?!”

“—so we can get people through those,” dee says, “and yes, ten, i thought you were a journalist, aren’t you supposed to know how to research these sorts of things?”

“well,” logan says. “i’ve already gotten a group of kids from sideshire, but clearly, i’ll need your help on the social side at chilton.”

a beat, and then, uncertain, “if you’re okay with this.”

dee stares at him for a long few seconds.

“if this works,” dee says carefully, trying to directly telepathically communicate i am okay with you attempting to cover for me like this, please count me in, “you’re going to have a hell of a college essay on your hands.”

a grin breaks out on logan’s face.

“as if i don’t have three drafts written already,” he says, and dee allows himself to grin back at him.

“now,” he says. “the clairs,” and logan readies a notebook, and, if dee were at all prone to clichés, he might say something like, this is the start to a beautiful partnership.

but he isn’t. obviously.

⁂

logan has his game face on.

patton’s seen this face countless times before; before he walks into mayor porter’s office to demand answers beyond pr statements, before they entered charleston’s office his first day at chilton, when coming face-to-face taylor after his latest piece that critiqued the way he handles town government.

he’s seen it while they were driving to the exact same place, too; before holiday parties, before birthday dinners, before the first-ever friday night dinner. but he hasn’t pulled up to the sanders’ mansion looking like that in months.

patton puts the car in park, removes the keys, and wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers for what must be the dozenth time that night.

“i’m on your side,” patton reminds him. 

“i know,” logan says and opens the car door, ready to storm up to the door and… well. tell emily that he was going to join the debutante ball.

which she’d probably be thrilled with, if he was the one escorting a girl in a white dress.

it would almost be a little funny to think about, if he wasn’t so nervous—emily expecting patton to go through a debutante ball in a fluffy dress, only to be derailed by the fact that he wasn’t a girl and, you know, the teen pregnancy; emily then expecting logan to escort a lovely young lady on his arm only to be turned around by logan doing it in a fluffy dress.

patton wipes his hands off on his pants again before he rings the doorbell. 

he has never seen the woman who answers the door before.

which isn’t surprising; new maids crop up at his parents’ house like weeds. he’s really hoping that therapy would help make a dent in that habit of his mother’s, but no dice yet.

“hi,” patton says, as kindly as possible—he always tries to be as kind as possible to the maids, just to make up for whatever future tiny offense that they might get fired for. one time he got grounded for two weeks for helping esperanza polish silver and practice his spanish. poor esperanza, he’d liked her.

plus, ever since the whole “being a homeless housekeeper” thing, his sympathy had really only escalated for them—he feels a level of solidarity, even if he’s not a housekeeper anymore.

“hello,” the maid says; she has an accent, patton thinks probably german. she’s blonde, and patton can see only half her face from the way she’s practically hiding behind the door.

“you’re new?” patton asks, and she nods.

“okay, well, hi,” patton says, offering a hand to shake. “i’m patton—”

she shakes his hand hurriedly, before pulling back further into the house.

“—and that’s my son, logan. what’s your name?”

“liesl.”

“hi, liesl,” he says warmly. “i’m emily and richard’s son, she’s expecting us for dinner?”

“oh! please, come in,” she says, flustered, opening the door further. 

“i, uh,” she says, “can i, um. get you a drink?”

“you know what, that’s okay!” patton says brightly. “we can handle it.”

a pause, before patton says in an undertone, “if you’d like to hide in the kitchen before my mother gets down here, please go for it.”

a look of relief breaks out on her face. “really?”

patton nods.

“thank you,” she exhales, and scuttles off to relative safety.

logan waits until she rounds the corner, before he says, “she won’t last another day.”

patton sighs, moving to hang his coat on the rack. he would tell logan that’s not a very nice thing to say, if he wasn’t right about it. “i know, poor thing.”

as they continued into the living room, patton could hear his mother coming down the stairs; less than a few seconds later, she rounded the corner, landline phone firmly affixed to her ear.

“—don’t forget that the dar meeting’s on tuesday, it’s at three o’clock and all the women are extremely punctual…”

emily makes eye contact with patton to roll her eyes, as if to curse the entire customer service industry; patton shrugs at her, just a little, before he lightly bumps logan’s shoulder and murmurs “soda?”

logan nods, drifting off to investigate the latest influx of tiny figurines that definitely weren’t there last week, and patton goes to the drinks cart to prep their drinks for the evening.

her mother’s talking about heddy cubbington—ah, so she’s talking to a caterer, then—and patton leans into her line of vision just enough to wiggle a bottle of gin at her, mouthing “martini?”

okay, he might try and make it a smidge stronger than usual. honestly, if she’s a bit off her game from more gin than usual, then maybe she won’t freak out as badly as patton is kind of expecting her to!

but regardless, his mother nods, even as she’s telling the caterer about her very precise tasting methods that they’ll have to follow to a t, and patton reacquaints himself with the process of preparing a martini exactly as his mother likes it—there was a stint of about a month or so when the hotel’s bar staff was incredibly short, way back in the day, so he picked up a few cocktail tricks here and there. 

he wonders if he could still manage to do a lidless shaker flip without spilling anything.

before he can try, though—and probably hear his mother’s outcry about trying his absolute hardest to stain her rug—his mother hangs up on the phone with a fervor, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“honestly, sometimes it’s like the only person with any sense,” she huffs. 

patton hums, carefully straining the martini into one of the coupes. he would do a martini glass, but those tend to spill more, the coupes hold more liquid, and she prefers the material of the coupes anyway—less likely to have fingerprint smudges, which also means one less thing to use to potentially snap at poor liesl. “troubles with the dar, mom?”

(okay, so maybe he’s busting out his old tricks to put his mother in a good mood—there’s almost nothing his mother likes more than gossiping and snipping at the members of the dar that aren’t pulling their weight, and once she’s expelled a bit of energy ranting like that, it usually meant less energy could be spent ranting at him.)

she sighs, settling on her usual spot on the couch. “constance betterton is running this event into the ground—” patton presses the martini into her hand, and she looks startled, momentarily, before thanks him briefly and continues on her tirade, including the perils of unsold tables and constance’s absolute inability to plan a function. 

patton hands over logan’s soda and directs him to the couch before he can crack open any books of interest, because logan will probably spend most of the dinner ignoring them if that happens, and since richard is on a business trip again that means it will be just him and his mom, and with how nervous he is over logan’s upcoming proposal he absolutely cannot do that, and then he goes and makes himself a plain club soda because him drinking sounds like a not-great idea right now.

by the time that particular train of conversation runs out of steam, it’s enough to carry them to the dining room. 

“so, logan,” emily says, as liesl attempts to set a land speed record for serving salads in her quest to get back to the kitchen, “is there anything new in your life?”

patton’s pretty sure that it would be impossible to pick up on who’s more nervous, him or liesl.

“there is, actually,” logan says, somehow entirely unfazed. “dee slange—you remember, you took me out to lunch with him and his grandmother evelyn—”

“oh, yes,” emily says, “wonderful woman, incredibly talented gardener. she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat.”

“—we’re arranging a bit of an extracurricular project,” logan continues. 

“oh?” emily says, sounding interested. she picks up her fork and begins to eat her salad. “you two are getting along, then?”

“we’ve come to an understanding,” logan says coolly, and even as nervous as patton is, he can’t but grin a bit at his son. we’ve come to an understanding. really, logan, it wouldn’t hurt to say that you’re friends now.

“wonderful,” emily says briskly. “good that you’ve put that petty rivalry behind you.”

patton bites his tongue rather than start on a rant about the seriousness of physical assault.

“quite,” logan says. 

“so, what’s this project?” she asks, with a slight gesture of her fork. “you two are interested in journalism, from what i hear, is it something like that?”

logan sets his fork down. “actually, grandma, it has to do with you, tangentially. mrs. slange is a member of the daughters of the american revolution. like you.”

“a research project, then?” she says. “richard will probably have some books for—”

“not really,” logan says. “we’re both arranging for greater participation in the debutante ball. i’m coming out.”

patton holds his breath. here we go.

emily chuckles. “the correct term for the young gentlemen is escorting, logan. are you both escorting young ladies, then? anyone i know?”

“oh, i used the correct term,” logan says mildly. “i’m coming up with a partner later, but i was actually going to ask if you ever bought a dress for dad to use before he came out.”

emily lowers her fork.

patton’s pretty sure that even if he was about to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to.

“i’m going to be a debutante,” he says, very slowly, as if explaining something he thought to be obvious.

“you’re not serious,” she says disbelievingly.

“i am,” logan says. “we have approximately twenty-five participants so far, and we’re recruiting more. so. do you have a dress or not?”

“that’s absurd,” emily says. “i mean—my grandson, gallivanting about in a dress, how will that look?!”

“you were going to let dad do it,” logan points out, and before patton can say hey, nice point! emily swivels to face patton, piercing him through with a glare. “did you put him up to this?!”

before patton can squeak out anything, logan putting down his fork with a clang louder than necessary, and she turns to face her grandson.

“i was simply asking if you had a dress,” logan says. his voice is very, very even. the game face has reappeared. “i can ask again, if you’d like. do you have a dress suitable for this occasion, or should i shop for my own?”

emily and logan stare each other down. patton’s eyes dart between them both.

his mother has a variety of nicknames: the cobra, from her antiquing friends, because she’d squeeze and squeeze at you until you complied. wicked witch of the west, by some of her shopping friends, over the levels she’d go to over something as simple as a pair of shoes. 

christopher had joked once that “people considered what patton’s mother would do in a given situation, dialed it back, and they’d have what mussolini would do, then they’d dial it back, and they’d have what stalin would do, and then they’d dial that back and then it starts approaching what a sane person would do.”

she’d once forced an ex-president out of a hotel room because theirs had been bigger than theirs. a president. of the whole united states.

patton’s gearing himself up to provide as much supportive parent backup to logan that he possibly can, and also cursing himself for taking the time to hang up his coat, because if he hadn’t and just kept it with him they could make a quicker escape, and palming the car keys in his pocket. he puts together comebacks for my friends will be at this event and undignified and what will people say?!

and then patton takes a closer look at his mother’s face. it’s not her version of the game face, patton notices.

and then patton puts together what that expression is, with no small amount of surprise.

she’s calculating.

she’s calculating, patton realizes with no small amount of shock, if it’s worth it to go up against logan.

because logan is definitely wearing his game face, coupled with a defiant, angry look that, with another shock, it reminds him of him. it reminds him of him when he was a bit younger than logan is now—and, he realizes, his mother must be recalling those hellion days too.

at last, his mother sighs, wipes her mouth a napkin, and stands. “i might have something suitable.”

patton’s left sitting there, gaping. his mother. his mother backed down. his mother. did not fight with logan when it was clear what he was doing would interfere with her social status. 

his mother!

“well?!” emily snaps. “do you want to see it or not?!”

he and logan exchange a look before they scramble out of their seats, heading after her as quick as they can.

they’re going down to the basement, which holds a conglomeration of things and also patton’s second-most-frequently-used sneak-out route. the wine cellar’s down here, along with his parents’ collections of luggage, and matching white wardrobes filled with all kind of things, and gifts from granny trix that his mother has refused to display over the years, and art and furniture deemed out-of-fashion but were still held fondly enough to be stored in the house—it was, by far, the most disorganized segment of the sanders’ mansion.

of course, there were still clear paths to each segment of the basement, so it wasn’t as disorganized as, say, patton’s garage, but still. disorganized by his parents’ standards.

so patton follows logan who follows emily, past life-sized dog statues, past a stack of steamer trunks and matching carry-on luggage, past framed paintings of some of patton’s old family members, past the rows of old wines stored for an occasion fancy enough for them, past candlesticks and antique tables, past crates and cardboard boxes filled with, patton’s sure, more of the same, until they get back to yet another white wardrobe.

“it’s in here somewhere,” his mother says, already flipping her way through rows and rows of hanging garment bags, before she makes an “aha!” sound and plucks free a garment bag that looks identical to all the rest, before sparing it a fond glance.

“we got it in london,” she says fondly, “never actually worn, of course, but goodness, the plans i had for the seamstresses…” and patton feels a squirming sensation in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in a very long time; the same one he’d get every time he was dragged into a department store, the same one he’d get every time he knew he had to wear whatever was laid out on the bed for whatever party or get-together his mother was having, the same one he’d get when his mother’s friends, over for tea, would croon, my goodness, how pretty you are! 

patton clears his throat before his mother can start reminiscing on the times of dresses and skirts past, and says, “maybe show logan the dress, mom?”

“oh,” she says, seemingly successfully jolted out of whatever fashion-induced daydreaming session she’d fallen into, “yes” and unzips the garment bag, to reveal—

well, patton doesn’t know what he’d expected, really. all he can see is a lot of white, puffy tulle. 

“can i try it on?” logan says. “just to see it.”

emily hesitates, clutching the delicate fabric, before she hands him the garment bag with no small amount of reluctance.

“we’ll be upstairs when you want to give us a little fashion show,” patton says, carefully catching his mother’s elbow before she can rethink any of this. “let us know if you need help zipping it up or anything?”

logan nods, and begins the process of carefully unearthing the dress as patton steers his mother back up the stairs.

“he’ll need help getting into the dress,” emily protests.

“if he needs help, he’ll ask,” patton counters, firmly. “he’s sixteen, he’s helped roman with a lot of elaborate costumes like that before. he’ll manage. let’s give him a bit of privacy.”

patton glances back in enough time to see logan shooting him a grateful look, and patton shoots him a thumbs-up—he’d always hated it whenever his mother barged into a dressing room to “help,” so he’d always tried his best to let logan have his privacy when it came to this kind of thing.

also, okay, maybe the weirdness of having his pre-selected debutante dress he’d never worn or even really known about coming back to haunt him in some way is getting to him, just a little bit. 

“how did this idea get into his head?” she asks suspiciously, as soon as they’ve cleared the last of the steps and relocate to the living room; patton crosses to sit on the couch, and maybe walks a little slower than usual to get an answer straight in his head.

“i don’t… exactly know, why this, i mean,” patton says slowly—which is a little true, he doesn’t know exactly why logan chose this course of action over anything else—and fiddles with his suit jacket. “um, but i know it’s important to him. and dee,” he tacks on unnecessarily. “so, i’m all for it. a thousand percent.”

she surveys him, before she says, “you know more than you’re letting on, though.”

“not my story to tell,” patton says, and it surprises him, how firm his tone is. “but i am really behind logan doing this.”

she sighs, as if he’s a child all over again. “you would be behind logan doing anything. will you keep that attitude if he decided to drop out of school tomorrow?”

“okay, first of all, that sounds more like me,” patton points out. “in fact, that was me. logan is at least channeling any trouble-making tendencies toward something productive.”

“productive,” she says. “the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball—”

“—is an outdated, sexist ‘tradition,’” patton says, using finger quotes, “that will, at worst, turn out to be a college entry essay for logan, and at best be a nice, eye-opening event to some of your friends, who, if i recall, were not particularly enthusiastic about that whole upholding,” time for finger quotes again, “‘the promise of equality for all, and we share an obligation to help our nation fulfill that founding promise.’”

emily’s eyes widen, and oh boy, patton sure said a lot more than he meant to there, so he braces himself for what might be a fight, but luck happens to be on patton’s side tonight.

“dad?” logan calls.

“yeah, kiddo?”

“i need help with the buttons,” logan says, voice distinctly closer than before; like he’s hiding around the corner.

“okay, well,” patton says, about to get to his feet to go and help, but then logan turns the corner.

the dress, patton sees, is… surprisingly simple, for his mother’s taste. there’s delicate, appliqué straps, with a modest scoop neckline. the bodice is delicately embroidered, and the skirt is unadorned tulle. 

the dress is simple, he realizes, a little startled, because even before his mother was shopping for it, he had made his distaste for elaborate dresses and gowns clear. she must have picked this out for him in an attempt to garner his good graces with this dress; this was what she must have thought his tastes would have looked like.

he still would have hated it.

it twists up his stomach a bit more, thinking about what would have been, what his mother probably thinks should have been, but patton plasters a smile on his face, rising to his feet, pushing that out of his mind and trying to focus on how logan looks in the dress, not on the fight that would have happened if patton had seen this dress, if he’d had to wear it, before he’d come out.

it’s a little bit short on logan, but that’s to be expected—patton had been a pretty short teenager, and logan’s taller than patton is even now, after a half-foot testosterone-induced growth spurt. the skirt would have swept along the ground if patton was wearing it, if he’s calculating right; as it is, it hits logan somewhere above the ankles, giving it a “fifties flare skirt” kind of vibe. the bodice isn’t really thought out for someone with as flat a chest as logan’s, either, but at least it follows the path of his torso—no need to try and lengthen that.

“very handsome,” he says, before he rounds to logan’s back to examine—ah, yes, as he expected, the buttons up the back are all delicate and tiny and fiddly, and almost impossible for logan to fasten on his own, because he’d never had practice with things like this before. “yeah, okay, let’s see how you fit into it—gosh, i must have been almost a foot shorter than you are now when mom ordered this dress. we’ll definitely have to alter it—”

“do you have a tailor in mind?” emily says.

“virgil’ll do it,” patton says absently, as he’s a little surprised at how easily his fingers remember to maneuver the little pearly buttons—muscle memory, he guesses—and glances up to see his mother arching her eyebrows disbelievingly.

“i know he sews,” she says, voice clearly tinged with doubt, clearly about to say but.

“uh-huh,” patton says, turning his attention back to the buttons. “he’s really good at it, too. he’s done some emergency fixes on wedding dresses and stuff, so he knows how to work with gowns.”

there’s a soft hmph.

“he’s going to be altering dresses and tuxes for the sideshire kids involved in this,” patton continues, then, “all right, hon, that’s the last one. is it too tight, too loose…?”

“fine, i think,” logan says. “tight, but i think i can manage for now.”

patton flips a strap of the dress that’s gotten all twisted around, before sidestepping the skirt—they’ll need to get a crinoline so that it puffs out properly, patton can tell—and observing the entire look, how it seems now that logan’s fully dressed.

it’s a bit odd, definitely. logan’s only ever really worn dresses when he was roped into it as a kid, mostly while playing dress-up with roman—logan’s always been pretty attached to jeans or slacks to pair with his ties or bowties—so seeing logan in a dress is an unusual enough occurrence that it strikes patton’s brain as something completely new.

the dress, as delicate-looking as it is, combines with logan in a strange contrast that works; he looks nice in white, and all the delicate details seem to change what they emphasize—the scoop neck makes his collarbone look graceful, demure, but the thin straps emphasize the broadness of logan’s shoulders, the muscle there. the dress is all soft, sweet femininity, a look that logan doesn’t rock very often, because all the rest of it is logan—who usually favors a straight-forward, business-like, traditionally masculine look. 

he looks good.

“give us a twirl, kiddo,” patton says, mostly teasing, but logan obliges, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to spin himself around, the skirt flaring and settling. patton applauds.

and then he smiles, because logan is kind of smiling, but also kind of trying to hide that he’s smiling, because it’s probably the first time in about ten years that logan’s spun around in a long skirt, and hey, skirts of any kind might mess with patton’s gender dysphoria, but he also remembers how satisfying it is to spin around in a really long skirt.

logan plucks lightly at the skirt to make sure it’s all hanging straight, before he glances over and says, and patton only knows it’s tinged with slight nervousness because of how well he knows him, “what do you think, grandma?”

patton turns to look at his mother for the first time since he’d started fastening logan’s buttons.

emily’s staring at the pair of them. and staring. and staring. patton’s about to prod logan to maybe ask again, before—

“heels,” she says.

“what?” logan says, glancing up from the skirt.

“that dress will never work if you don’t wear heels,” she says, a glint in her eyes.

logan says, “heels are scientifically proven to cause foot, ankle, knee, and back problems. also, they are a tool of the patriarchy, designed to slow a woman down.”

“oh, it’ll be required,” she says. “as well as elbow-length kidskin gloves, pantyhose, a crinoline—”

“that’s ridiculous,” logan huffs.

“uh-huh,” patton says absently, recalling his own experiences with heels. “that’s a debutante ball, kiddo.”

“and if you’re going to do the thing, you may as well do it properly,” emily says decisively, standing up. “i might have a pair of heels that will fit you, just so we can see the amount of height you’ll need—”

and she’s off, heading straight for her closet. in retrospect, patton thinks, he probably should have expected his mom being more on board when it came to clothes.

“help,” logan says, looking at patton pleadingly.

“hey,” patton says, holding up his hands with half a laugh, “this was your idea.”

logan looks like he’s sincerely regretting it.

⁂

virgil’s putting away the last of the dishes he’d washed (patton would probably get on him, later, for doing chores that patton was going to do later, and how you don’t have to do that, honey!! but he was bored, he did some dishes, sue him, also patton always gives him this smile whenever he does things like this, so it is for slightly selfish reasons) when he hears patton’s car pull into the driveway, and the motor cuts off.

virgil smiles to himself, and makes sure that he’s put everything away properly, before he meanders over to the couch and tries to make it seem like he hasn’t been cleaning patton’s kitchen. he’s obviously going to get found out as soon as patton notices his sink is empty, but.

he can hear logan’s voice floating through the door, “—glad she took it okay, but dad, you had to stop at that store right then—?”

“i probably should have warned you,” patton, a laugh in his voice, “but honestly, well. you are gonna have to wear the gloves and crinoline at least, and since you’ve never—”

the door opens, logan carrying a garment bag, patton carrying a shopping bag, “—walked in a pair before, it’s probably smart that you—virgil, hi, honey!”

virgil rises automatically to his feet as patton’s face brightens, and patton rocks up on his toes to give him a greeting kiss. 

“i thought you were working?” patton says.

virgil shrugs, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “things were slow enough, i figured i could let jean close. hey, l, is that the dress?”

“it is,” logan says.

“so that went okay?” virgil says, and logan scowls, ever so slightly. 

“virgil’ll need to see you in the heels you’re intending to wear to get the hemming right,” patton says. “won’t you, virgil?”

“yeah, i’ll have to use it to see if the skirt needs more length—and heels, huh?” virgil says, glancing at logan.

logan scowls even deeper. “grandma seems to be under the influence that if i’m going to be a debutante, i’m going to have to do it properly. therefore, heels.”

“and elbow length kidskin gloves, and a crinoline,” patton says, ticking them off on his fingers. “i have a list.”

“should probably wait until you get the petticoat to tailor the dress,” virgil says. “could i see it, though? you don’t have to put it on or anything. i brought a—”

“oh!” patton says, catching sigh of the torso-only mannequin sitting in the corner of the room.

“i’ll just keep it here for logan’s dress,” virgil says. “i figured a headless one would be less… creepy.”

“it’s appreciated,” logan says, before he hands over the garment bag, and virgil unzips it, starting to unbunch the skirt and wrestle it onto the mannequin.

“i hate heels,” logan grumbles. “have you seen the studies on what wearing these things on a regular basis will do to your spine?”

“uh-huh,” patton says. 

“not to mention your feet,” logan says, scowling at the shoebox like it’s morally offended him.

“also,” logan continues, “heels are an invention of the patriarchy! they were originally meant to help men secure their feet in stirrups, and then it became a symbol of nobility and class, so they’re inherently classist, too!”

“oh, absolutely agreed,” patton says. 

“i can’t believe grandma insisted on heels,” logan says. “flats would be fine.”

“yeah, i probably should have guessed she wouldn’t let that part go, given the lessons,” patton says.

logan glances up, frowning. “lessons?”

virgil glances away from where he’s fluffing out the skirt of the dress, too, to see patton with a strange look on his face; half nostalgia, half regret. it’s a look he usually gets when he’s talking about growing up in the sanders house.

“oh, yeah,” patton says, reminiscent. “as soon as i was deemed old enough, we had walking practice lessons, me and your grandma.”

“…what,” virgil says. because. what?

patton laughs, just a little. “yeah, every day for half an hour a day, one summer! she’d make sure i had proper posture in heels. i had to balance a book on my head, too, to make it even more cliché.”

logan looks, perhaps, a little cowed. virgil, on the other hand, is just—

sometimes, it knocks him totally off-guard, whenever patton talks about the various absurd things he had to do, pre-transition, as the sole scion of a rich family. etiquette lessons and country clubs and going to the opera and flower arranging and walking lessons. patton remembers a lot of it, clearly—of course he does, for so long it had been deemed that patton would be a house spouse who raised kids for a similarly wealthy scion of an esteemed family—but it always throws virgil off, just a little.

he briefly pictures patton—long-haired, in the admittedly few pictures patton has shown virgil of himself at that age—chin tilted carefully up, but not too far up, one of the too-big grimoires from richard’s library wobbling on his head, eyes fixed on one of the portraits emily has dotting the house, walking loops around the living room as emily critiqued his posture and stance with a hawkish eye, the click-click-click of heels on hardwood the only thing to break up her commentary.

“i mean,” patton says, breaking that particular mental image. “you know. at least you’ve only gotta wear heels for this one thing. women are expected to wear heels all the time. and since you’re selling this to a lot of chilton students as experiencing what women experience for a day…”

“…i will shut up about the heels,” logan mumbles.

patton ruffles his hair, and, seemingly detecting the mood that’s dropped over logan and virgil—thinking about what it would be like, to be raised like that—and says, in a gentle tone, brushing logan’s hair back into place, “heels really aren’t so bad, once you get used to them. it does just take a bit of practice, i promise.”

logan sighs, and looks at the box a smidge less distastefully than before. “i suppose i’ll have to try it to see.”

“that’s the spirit,” patton says brightly, and virgil shakes himself and refocuses on fastening the buttons of the dress, before stepping out from behind it to get the full effect.

“it’s a bit short on you, huh?” virgil comments, already digging around in his breast pocket for the notepad he usually uses to take orders.

“i think it’ll look very audrey hepburn once we get the crinoline,” patton offers. “the flare skirt thing, y’know.”

virgil nods, jotting this down; as he is, he asks, absently, “logan, was it tight, loose, itchy, anything like that?”

“tight,” logan says immediately, “and a bit itchy.”

virgil’s brow furrows thoughtfully as he considers what to do about that—brick davis had already stopped by the diner to tell him their nickname they were going to use while they were considering other names to eventually adopt and show off their dress, and they had some sensory issues and had already told him that they loved the shape of the dress, but they already knew that if they could feel the itchy gemstones it would be enough to make them have sensory overload, so he was already brainstorming fixes for that—but he jots it down all the same, before reaching out to pinch at the skirt and lift it, then let it go, just to get a sense of how it moved.

“i mentioned earlier that it makes sense, since i was probably a foot shorter than he was when mom ordered that dress,” patton says. “but if there’s a way to just loosen it a bit, maybe, and make the flare skirt thing look more intentional?”

“that’ll all be in the,” he gestures, “crinoline, petticoat, whichever you get. a crinoline would probably be the better choice, if you really want the fifties vibe—logan, you’re cool with the fifties vibe?”

“fine by me,” logan’s voice floats from the couch, then, “how is this supposed to work?”

both patton and virgil glanced over in enough time to see logan holding up a high heel—white, of course, and very sensible-looking and, if virgil had to guess, three inches tall, maybe four, at the highest. 

patton blinks. “putting them on already?”

logan shrugs, and says, intentionally casual, “if they take practice, why not start now?”

patton pauses, before he clears his throat and crosses the room, and says, “yeah, okay. do you need help?”

virgil crosses the room, too, if only to get a look at the dress from a full-view angle, and he hears a ka-CLUNK as logan staggers to his feet. he turns in enough time to see logan pinwheeling his arms wildly, and patton reaching out to balance him.

“whoa, easy,” patton says. “let’s not walk yet—”

“not that i didn’t before, but i now, truly, know that i never would have been cut out to do pointe with roman,” logan announces, arms stilling, but still held out for balance.

patton laughs. “there’s a bit of a difference there—he’s been on tip-toe since he was learning to walk, honey.”

“you wouldn’t let patton set you down on wet grass until you were three,” virgil points out, which is true—he and patton had laughed a lot back then as logan had avoided bare feet on grass at all costs, doing some interesting baby gymnastics in his attempts to avoid it.

“i hardly see what that has to do with my balancing capabilities,” logan mutters, a little embarrassed, the way a teenager always is whenever someone brings up baby stories.

“okay, speaking of tip-toe,” patton says, “you’re putting all your weight on your toes, you gotta let the heel touch the ground.”

virgil leans a little to see—and indeed, logan is balancing on his tiptoes, as high as he can, the white heel hovering off the ground. logan, slowly, lowers and lowers until the heel thumps as it hits the ground.

“good,” patton says, hand still on logan’s shoulder. “let’s just get used to how that feels, yeah?”

logan frowns. “the weight distribution is different than i expected. i thought it would all be in the toes, not in the—” he cuts himself off.

“heels?” patton finishes for him. “that’s all okay, just—i’ll let you know how to walk. but you’re kinda getting the feel for it? is it okay if i let you go now?”

logan nods his assent, so patton takes a step back—not far enough that he wouldn’t be able to lunge for logan if logan fell—and logan wobbles, just a little, but he manages to regain his balance quickly enough.

“they hurt,” logan says, frowning.

“toe-pinching like it’s too small, hurt, or—?”

“i think it’s my feet aren’t used to it hurt,” logan admits.

“that’s perfectly normal,” patton says. “your grandma used to tell me to throw on shoes super early so that my feet would get all nice and numb.”

“that’s sick,” logan says. “the patriarchy is evil.”

“amen, brother,” virgil says dryly. 

logan preoccupies himself with shifting his bodyweight this way and that, trying to grow accustomed to it, so virgil goes over to inspect the dress a bit more—this dress, honestly, will probably be the most adjustment-intensive, so it’s probably good that it’s logan’s dress—half-listening to patton and logan discuss how logan should distribute his weight and any adjustments he might need to make to his posture and on and on.

considering patton was incredibly short, back then, it’s honestly probably a miracle that this dress even slightly fits logan well enough—and honestly, the fifties skirt effect would probably save virgil a lot of work, rather than spend any time on figuring out how exactly the lengthen the skirt to brush the floor. it’s not like virgil can really start any work right now, considering he really does need to have logan in the heels and crinoline to really get a feel for how the dress looks, but he can gather a few ideas on supplies he might need, fixes he could use for any potential problems.

it looks like his days are going to be filled with those kinds of questions for a while. brick davis wasn’t the only sideshire high student asking virgil to help with their dress; a large chunk of roman’s class had followed his lead, since, to virgil’s everlasting amusement while comparing him and remus, roman was a popular kid that people wanted to emulate, and roman’s friendship slash tutorship of all the students of isadora prince’s dance studio meant that there would also be an influx of tuxes—which, fortunately, were probably going to be way less labor-intensive than any of the dresses.

virgil’s busy jotting down things he might need to bring over or buy, not just for logan’s dress, but for all the dresses and tuxes of the sideshire kids, when patton says, “all right. walking time, do you think?”

“walking time,” logan agrees, with the grim, matter-of-fact determination of someone about to start to climb everest. 

“okay. now, remember, let’s start with half-steps, slowly, we can work your way up to your usual walk slash pace,” patton says, and virgil glances up in enough time to see logan cautiously put a foot forward.

he wobbles, and patton lunges forward, catching his hands—”i gotcha, i gotcha,” patton says, a bit of a laugh in his voice, as logan sways his way back to a balanced stance. a stray thought tickles the back of virgil’s brain, but he can’t quite identify what it is before patton starts talking again.

“don’t walk heel-toe, i’m sorry, i should have mentioned that—try putting weight on your toes first.”

“okay,” logan says, and renews his grip on patton’s hands, before carefully stepping forward once again. the thought pings at virgil again, and his brow furrows, ever so slightly, trying to identify what it might be.

“that’s it,” patton says, encouragingly. “just like that! you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

and that’s when the thought clicks into place—it’s déjà vu.

virgil’s brain flashes—logan, all of sixteen, not quite secure on his feet, but nevertheless trying to walk forward, patton moving backward with him, their hands clasped together.

it reminds virgil of logan learning how to walk.

and the mental image blooms into his mind, crystal clear, like it was yesterday; logan, all of ten months old, wearing his tiny overalls and his tiny t-shirt and his tiny little tennis shoes, mouth open and showing off all of his newly-grown baby teeth, tongue sticking out as he’d take one toddling step forward, two, patton kneeling on the black-and-white diner tile and saying in the exact same, near-laughing tone, that’s it, honey, that’s it! papa’s gotcha! c’mon, lo-lo, you got this! the sight of logan walking new enough that it was enough to stop twenty-three year old virgil in his tracks, watching eagle-eyed as patton shuffled backwards on his knees, eyes wide, encouraging and watchful, and so thrilled as logan babbled a stream of nonsense at him, stamping his way forward, hands wrapped around patton’s fingers.

and a laugh breaks through the memory, and suddenly he’s back in the present; virgil, all of thirty-nine, watching a nearly-full-grown logan, in his officious suit jacket and tie, struggling to take a few steps forward in his new high heels, brow furrowed still, but no childish urge to stick out his tongue; patton, taller, healthier, happier, overall, voice deeper but the tone’s still the same—absolutely thrilled at the concept of logan learning how to do anything, another milestone for logan to succeed in, another instance to celebrate. 

virgil remembers, too, logan’s soft, chubby little baby hands, wrapped around virgil’s fingers, staggering toward him, the way virgil’s voice would get softer and how quickly it became second-nature to catch logan if he fell. logan’s shrieking laughs, logan’s babbling in his ear, logan’s cries going quiet when virgil shushed and rocked him.  the sweet, babyish sigh logan would let out whenever he fell asleep against virgil’s chest; his head resting against virgil’s shoulder, his weight and warmth in virgil’s arms. 

logan’s far too big for that now.

virgil’s heart pangs—when did they all get so old?—but especially at the sight of logan, almost an adult, taller than patton, nearly as tall as virgil, and almost as old as patton had been that day he’d crashed into the diner for the first time. 

and now here he was; in high school, and preparing to be presented to society as an adult. granted, as somewhat of a prank. but the idea’s still there; logan is almost an adult. soon, logan would be making his way in the world.

soon, he wouldn’t need them to hold his hands. 

“you got this!” patton cheers, as logan slowly, gradually, walks a lap of half-steps around the room without wobbling too much, without the fear of falling down. “you’re gonna be a heels-walking professional by the time of the debutante ball!”

virgil swallows, and echoes patton, voice perhaps a bit thicker than usual, “yeah, kid, you definitely got this.”

logan glances up from the ground to flash a quick smile in virgil’s direction, and virgil takes a deep breath before he crosses the room to take a look at how logan’s handling it; sure, patton had had walking-in-heels lessons, but virgil had definitely worn heels more recently than patton had.

and logan still needs them to hold his hands, for now. just a little while longer.

[we-are-inevitable]

not moving on, not looking back // ch. 9

A/N: FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER UP AHHAHAHAAAA i hope you guys like this!!

Read On AO3!

“David! I’m getting a divorce!”

That is decidedly not what David had expected to hear at 7:45 on a Thursday morning, but at least Katherine seems happy about it. It takes a few moments for him to fully process the gravity of the situation, but David is quick to adapt, raising a brow and staring at her with a confused smile. “Uh- huh, that… Wow? Good? Oh no? How- How do I respond to that?”

“Good! It’s good!” Katherine squeals as she sits down, on top of one of the spare desks stored in David’s room. She already looks different, more carefree; she’s wearing her hair up, has on bolder makeup than usual, and is wearing a pair of fitted slacks, heels, a blush colored blouse and a blazer rather than her typical dress. “I’m checking in at the motel for a while until I can find myself somewhere to stay, but we talked it out and he agreed with me and everything is fine, so, yeah! Last night was the last time we’re ever going to sleep together, so it was a special occasion and I’m a little hungover, but don’t tell anyone,” Katherine chirps quickly, looking at David with a wide grin.

That is a lot to take in. He looks at her as he leans back against his desk, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m sorry, did you say you slept with Jack after agreeing to divorce? Like, slept in the same bed?”

“Nope. We fucked.”

“I-- Wow, okay. Kath, that’s not a mental picture I needed to see.”

“Unless you think about Jack alone, right?”

David nods before he can stop himself. As soon as he does so, his eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head, staring at Katherine as his jaw drops. “Wait, no! No, no, I don’t-- What? No, that isn’t-- I’m not-- No!”

Katherine doesn’t look convinced.

David hesitates for a moment before giving in and sighing, hiding his face in his hands. “Look, Kath, I am so sorry… It’s just- It’s a stupid little crush. Nothing substantial, and nothing happened, I promise. He doesn't even know, and--"

“Wait, you think I’m upset?” She asks with an amused tone. “David, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us! I think you two would be really good for each other.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that your husband is straight?” David asks with a raised brow, then blinks. “Unless-- No, no, I don’t want to hear any more. If something is going to happen, then I want to hear it from him first. I don’t want to speculate.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, then looks at Katherine. “What… What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that this is something I give you permission to pursue. Not that you need it, of course; you’re a grown man. You can do what you want,” She says simply, before standing and taking a few strides toward David. “But if you like Jack, then I want you to go for it. I won’t mind. I don’t know how he’ll feel, I don't know if he'll feel the same way, but… it’s worth a shot.”

David looks down at her with a hesitant look, before giving a sharp nod. “Noted. Thank you… I just-- If and only if he feels the same. I... don’t want to be a rebound? I’ve been in that situation. It’s never, ever good for my mental health.”

“Then take things slow and see where it leads," Katherine says gently, then bites her lip. "But I’ve known Jack since sophomore year, Davey, and he isn’t the kind of guy to do something like that. I promise,” She murmurs  sincerely, gently squeezing David’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do some paperwork.”

David watches as she walks toward the classroom door. He thinks for just a moment, and opens his mouth before he can stop himself. “Hey, Kat?”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me until you find a place,” David says simply, looking at her with a grin. “Don’t waste your money on a motel. I have a spare bedroom you can take, so… Stay with me. It’s the least I could do, since you’ve helped me so much these last few weeks. I-- My sister is coming into town this weekend, so I’ll be sleeping on the couch, but the spare room is yours.”

Katherine considers it, then smirks. “I hope you’re ready for all night Gossip Girl marathons.”

“As long as we throw a few episodes of Glee in, I’m down.”

“Trashy reality TV?”

“A must have, obviously. Sappy romcoms?”

“I have a whole box of DVDs,” Katherine grins, then gives David a wave and walks toward the door. “I’m staying with Hannah tonight- she's a friend of mine. Works with Jack," She explains with a broad sweep of her hand. "But I’ll see you tomorrow! Get ready for some Blake Lively action!” With that, she leaves the room, giggling down the hall.

David shakes his head as she walks away, letting out a content sigh. For once, he feels... Good. Excited. He’s looking forward to Katherine staying over, for as long as she needs to, of course. It would be good. He has… a friend.

That’s the first time it really hits him that he has a friend. Katherine and Jack are his friends, his real friends, and David is so glad to have them in his life.

But he needs to check up on Jack.

That afternoon, David says goodbye to Katherine in the office before heading outside the front doors. He walks down the sidewalk for a few moments, but stops in his tracks when he sees a familiar deep blue truck in the parking lot, and hears a familiar deep voice softly singing along to an old Johnny Cash song.

David grins to himself and walks toward the truck. His smile only grows wider when Jack notices him and rolls the driver’s side window down, waving. “Davey! Hi!”

David shakes his head, hurrying toward the truck. “What are you doing here, cowboy?”

“Well, ya see, I was gonna pick up my ex, but she told me she was workin’ late while I was already here, so I decided to stay and pick up the only adult I know who doesn’t own a car,” Jack says with a smirk, hanging one arm out of the window. He’s still in his professional "I'm A College Professor, Respect Me" clothes- navy slacks, a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and a navy vest. He seems to have already taken off his tie, but he’s wearing glasses and oh, God, David is weak at the knees.

“See, I knew not owning a car would come in handy,” David teases back, leaning up against the door of the truck. “I am the responsible and economically-friendly adult who doesn’t own a truck that emits tons of carbon emissions into the atmosphere each year that you’re talking about, right?”

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Get in the truck before I leave you here, dumbass.”

“Yes, sir,” David replies with a chuckle, walking around the vehicle to climb in. He sighs as he sits down and leans back, buckling up as Jack pulls out of the parking spot. “Hey, so, I... I know that the whole Katherine thing didn’t work out. How’re you holding up?”

“I think I’m doin’ good,” Jack replies with a sigh, looking straight ahead at the road in front of them. “It’s… It’s a good thing. Right? I mean, it’s an amicable split. We aren’t fighting over the house, ‘cause it belonged to my family, and we already figured out who gets to keep what last night after... yeah. Plus, this’ll be good for… me. Give me the chance to, uh, figure some things out. Self exploration, that’s what Kath said.”

That sounds promising, but David refuses to get his hopes up. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. I'm here for you, Jackie,” David offers with a soft elbow nudge, grinning. “So, the house belongs to your family?”

“Belonged. Past tense. They’re all, uh, gone.”

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

“No, hey, it’s chill. I kinda figured Kath would tell you about it, but I guess not,” Jack says with a shrug and a glance toward David, offering him a sad smile. “My mamá, her family owned it. They moved to America in the ‘30s. Stayed in Texas for a while, but they came up this way for work. My great grandfather worked here in Tarrytown, and actually helped build the house, plus a few others around town. There were some… family issues regarding ownership of the house, so it was sold to a different couple when I, uh… moved, but Kath and I bought it after we got out of college. It’s been renovated, but it’s a piece of history.”

“I figured that you were hispanic, but I didn’t want to assume,” David says softly. It feels really nice to learn a little bit more about Jack in such an intimate way. "That-- Sorry, I just... yeah. The house is really cool."

“Ya don't gotta be sorry for wonderin', Davey. I'm Mexican,” Jack clarifies with a grin. “If ya can’t tell by me bein’, y’know, brown. My great grandpa, Francisco- he and his wife, Dorotea, brought their three kids over. My abuela met my abuelo here in Tarrytown and had my ma. My mother’s maiden name was Maria Velásquez, but she married a guy named Daniel Kelly, so that’s where I come in,” Jack explains with a deep chuckle, shaking his head. His smile soon fades, though. “She passed when I was ten, and my dad… He’s gone. My adoptive mom lives in Connecticut now, too, so now it’s just… me.”

“Shit, Jack…” David bites his lip, looking over at him with a concerned expression. He rubs the back of his neck, gulping hard. “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you were able to get the house. To, y’know, have something of your family. I'm sorry you had it so rough, though.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Jack says with a grin, then shrugs. “And don’t get all down on me now. It’s been eighteen years since that shit went down, so I’m good. Really,” He nods, and there are a few moments of silence that pass before Jack turns to look him in the eyes. “Hey, are you free for a little bit?”

David really should have said no. He really should have avoided being anywhere alone with Jack for a prolonged amount of time, because this was only going to end in heartbreak.

But, then again, David has been through worse.

“I’m all yours.”

[kimberly-spirits13]

Family Disappointment (Request)

Paring: Tony Stark x reader (daughter)

Synopsis: You’re great in all of your classes, science, English, art, history, but math is just something you have to work even harder at, but should it really be that hard?

Warnings: Self Deprecation, Language Steve Rogers would not approve of

Notes: Y/T/N= Your Teacher’s Name    Y/F/S= Your Favorite Snack

Word Count: 1244

           It was the end of school and you had taken your math test out of your bag to look at it. Math used to be insanely simple for you and everyone thought it was genetics. I mean it was expected that you would excel in all of your classes what with your father’s legacy. It was all fun and games until they split up the math classes. You were better than most people, in the highest class in fact. There was a catch however, you had the lowest grades and pretty much worked your ass off every single night for this work.

           The grade in question was a massive 50. You sighed keeping a few tears in that wanted to escape your eyes. It was something that you could correct for extra points, but at this point, what was the point? Some of the things that your teacher taught just didn’t make sense. You could totally go to your father, but what would he say? You felt like the family disappointment and there was no getting over that feeling every time you flipped open a math book. Your teacher suggested you move down a level but you declined for reasons that were unknown opting to make a deal to come after class during your lunch break every day for tutoring.

           A massive black limo pulled up to the curb and you stuffed the paper into your bag and climbed inside. Happy was there smiling at you, a coffee in hand.

           “How was your day Y/N/N?” He asked pulling off as you shut the door.

           “Thank you so much Haps. It was fine. Yours?” You replied taking a massive swig of the drink.

           “Good.”

           You watched the people on the sidewalk waking down minding their own business and living in their own worlds. It was interesting to see how everyone lived and went about life with cares of their own. You rode into the building and got your bag out of the back, heading up to the penthouse level to drop your things off and change. After walking into the massive room, you called yours, you showered very quickly and got changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. It was around 3:30 when you felt like a snack was in order before you got to your homework. There wasn’t much to do, but math was inevitably on the agenda.

           Your mother, Pepper was in the kitchen flipping through an older looking book.

           “Hi mom.” You said grabbing a quick hug.

           “Hello sweetie, how was school today?” She replied putting her book mark in a certain page.

           “It was fine.” You answered.

           “Did you get that math test back today?” You mom always kept up with this kind of thing and you wish she didn’t but alas, here we were.

           “I did.” You got Y/F/S out and started eating some.

           “I got an email from Y/T/N about it. I know what you got, listen if you’re struggling you can always...” You cut her off gently.

           “Nope, I don’t want to go to the lower class. I’m fine, it was one bad test and I can fix it.” You put your hand up to stop her and then took a sip of water.

           “I just don’t want you to be stressed about this. You know that your father wasn’t that great until he developed his own way of learning the math.” Pepper informed you.

           “Really?” You asked leaning against the countertop.

           “Yeah, he said that the teacher wasn’t doing their job so he fixed it.” Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled, “Look, I know that it is heavy maybe not being the best at a subject that you think you should excel in, but it’s totally fine.”

           “Okay... is dad in the shop?” You asked putting your plate into the dishwasher.

           “He is.” She replied as you nodded and then walked out, deep in thought.

           You walked down a few halls after climbing out of the elevator and made your way to your father’s work space. You could tell that he was working after hearing him talking to Jarvis.

           “Hey dad.” You said walking inside and keeping some distance incase anything blew up or started sparking.

           “Hey kiddo.” He smiled and turned around wrapping you in a bear hug.

           “Ca-n’t breathe dad.” You laughed as he let go of you, “Watcha workin’ on?”

           “Some new gear updates.” He answered showing you the new system.

           You listened closely taking notes of everything and commenting on certain parts of the suit updates. After that you walked out to start homework before supper.

           You were sitting at the desk in your bedroom, study materials strewn everywhere in the most organized yet chaotic way that seemed possible. You were practically pulling out your hair over the math problems, watching videos, looking at notes, and reading through your textbook trying to get a right answer.

           “I’m so fucking stupid.” You sighed, “Like why do I even try this is worthless, I have got to be such a disappointment to this family.”

           Tears spilled from your eyes, “Damn it! This is impossible.”

           “Hey kid.” You heard a knock at your now open door.

           “Oh, hey dad.” You said drying your tears.

           “What’s bothering you?” He started walking towards you and hid the top part of your paper where the grade was.

           He rubbed your back and you sighed, “School is stupid.”            “Tell me about it.” He rolled his eyes some, “What about school is upsetting, teachers, kids, math?”

           Your eyes widened, “Mom told you?”

           “Yep.” He looked at the paper, audibly groaning in disgust, “Y/T/N?”

           “Mhmm.”

           “I had them when I was in school, God how are they even alive still? Isn’t it past their day or something?” your dad remarked making you laugh for the first time in what felt like hours.

           He pulled up a chair and sat down, “See the problem with this teacher is that they’re a teacher.”

           “No kidding.” You remarked.

           He smiled some, “You should do math this way instead of how they’re teaching.”

           Your father showed you the methods he used during his schooling. You latched onto it immediately finally starting to grasp what you were learning. It was an hour later when you guys finished and you sat back.

           “Y/N, I know that you feel like you should be doing better because of your last name, I don’t think you’re a disappointment at all.” Your father started.

           You blushed some realizing that he heard everything you said about yourself.

           “I felt the same way you did as a kid. Trust me, I know high school sucks especially with all of these standards and expectations. If you ever need help with anything, just come to me or your mother. We don’t look down on you for it.”

           You hugged your dad and thanked him, armed with this new knowledge for Monday’s classes and finally stuffed your homework in your bag.

           “Now how about we go and work on some side projects?” Tony asked standing up.

           “Sounds fun.” You paused, “We’re not going to blow anything up right? I need to know if I should change into something flame proof.”

           Your father laughed and ruffled your hair, “No, nothing is going up in flames tonight. Oh, the Avengers are coming over tomorrow, Auntie Nat will be here too.”

           You felt excitement bubble into you again and bounded away to the lab ready to do whatever work was there.

Omg I loved this request so much. I relate a ton to trying to be the best and not being able to. My father used to take over and teach some of his own classes in high school when he came back to the states from overseas travel since his father worked at an oil rigging plant or smt. We have a bunch of engineers in the family so being good at math and sciences was always important to me but I kinda suck at math if I don’t work really hard at it. Anyways, I hope you guys have a wonderful week and I’ll be picking requests back up on the 13th as planned still.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

[allie1804-fan]

Malaise (Chapter 1 - Calling Tara)

Warnings: Mentions of escort services and sexual acts

Notes  - I wanted to try and write something that I imagine might be a bit closer to the real experience of Keanu than my stories with romance and babies etc. Not completely sure where it’s going just yet but thought I would put out my first 2 chapters and see what people think.

Keanu stared at the phone in his hand again, thumb poised over the green phone symbol. He didn’t quite know why he was hesitating.  He had found himself unable to make even the simplest of decisions with any speed lately. His hand drifted down to his groin where he rubbed himself absent-mindedly. He took a deep breath and tapped “call”.

 “Codename please” the robot voice said

 “KCR”

 “please type in your pin”

He punched in 090264 wondering once again if he should really try to cover his tracks with things like this but nothing had leaked in the 10 years+ of using the agency . They were discrete and the system was designed to shield the calls by using the pin system and he was careful with his phone, never giving details to strangers. Heaven forbid if his number got out to hackers and they figured out that he made fairly regular calls to an elite escort agency!

Once through to a human being at their end, he asked for Tara who was his regular. He needed sex and as soon as she was available.  He specified “the usual” and put the phone down, going out to sit by the pool and have a smoke as distraction from his horniness.

He’d  tried a couple of his “friends with benefits” before calling the agency but they were out of town and he didn’t want to call Autumn, she was too needy for how he was feeling right now. There was history there of an on and off relationship in the early 90s that had been one of the ones that proved to him that he wasn’t cut out for commitment. She couldn’t deal with his regular absences to shoot films and he couldn’t stay faithful for that long either. Still, even now, they’d  end up in bed together sometimes, but he knew she still wanted more, more than he could give so it wasn’t fair to her. Back in the day she’d been more wild and bohemian, more aligned with his view that sex was just sex and you could enjoy it with or without the emotional baggage.  And she’d been willing to let him try things in his younger days like anal sex and a bit of BDSM - she liked to be dominated. Neither of those things were really his bag now but he’d been on a journey  of sexual discovery back when they started adding sex into the mix and she’d been a willing traveller.

He’d been in London a couple of weeks back and met up for dinner with an actor /writer friend Doraly – she wasn’t seeing anyone just now either and they both needed release so they’d gone back to her flat afterwards and fucked. That had been the last time and now he was antsy.

He got a text from the agency about 15 minutes after placing the call. Tara could come tomorrow. With Tara, part of the deal was to share some conversation and food first, basically a bit of a fake date night. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he wanted to have the trappings of a date as part of the sex he was buying! He dropped her a text to ask what she fancied  -  she chose dim sum and wan tons - she knew him well enough to choose something he liked too.

Later when he went to bed, he jerked off not wanting to come too quickly the next day. He thought about Tara as he pulled on his cock, imagining her fragrant thighs astride his head. That was always the first part of ‘the usual’  - she had the most delicious pussy and he would always feast on that first before straight sex of some kind. He wasn’t required to specify positions for that, only if there was anything they classified as kinky or out of the ordinary.

The next day, he went for a long ride up PCH to clear his head and kill some time.  Tara was due to his house at 6.30 and the dim sum at 7. He’d got a fine bottle of Chablis, her favourite white and he was looking forward to catching up with her. She was always interested in his work and she enjoyed theatre, movies and books so there was always something interesting to talk about. Best of all, there were no demands. He only had to give what he was willing to and mostly that was wanting to be sure she had at least one orgasm – he derived at least some of his satisfaction from that as well as the obvious appreciation she had for his body. There was no need to keep her at an emotional distance because she didn’t ask for emotional closeness from him, not beyond the session that is. She was good at the whole date night scenario as long as it lasted though and that’s what he wanted tonight.

With the other women in his life, barriers were put up. Sometimes that was in quite a formal way so if he was with someone new, he’d make clear he wasn’t able to commit to a long term or monogamous relationship. He’d usually blame this on work and of course that was a major practical factor, but a voice inside told him there were probably other things in his personality or life experience that prevented him from wanting a long term relationship. He valued his time alone as well – not just the time to pursue his career and help run the Arch business. He wanted to be able to spend a day reading or playing chess against the computer or simply taking off on his bike or to the beach without anyone being pissed off about it.

The other barriers to closeness he put up were more subtle. He was always very guarded about sharing personal information beyond what he liked in the arts and what food he liked, he would avoid introducing women to other friends or family and would rarely go out with them in public, ostensibly to protect them from publicity.

In his younger days, he simply had not been ready to commit to one person and the practical issue of going away so often for filming or publicity had made that impossible too in combination with his healthy appetite for sex - he wasn’t able to go without for that long. Then as he’d got older and more famous, meeting someone who was really interested in him as a person,  not as a meal ticket or a connection to exploit, became increasingly difficult and led him to put up barriers. And then there had been Jen and Ava, a terrible situation filled with loss and angst that had finally closed the door, he was pretty sure, for good. In truth, he hadn’t gone into that relationship with monogamy or kids in mind either, it had been thrust upon him but he had loved her and the loss of both the baby and then her left him feeling like him being in a relationship was a curse that he should not inflict on anyone.

He thought about all this on the ride. He knew his physical needs could not be met without ‘work’ (at maintaining a relationship or multiple ‘special’ friendships) or resorting to calling on Tara or one of the other escorts when she wasn’t free. That need for sex was one of the reasons he had 2 or 3 friends with benefits on a kind of rotation and why he sometimes, against his better judgement usually, embarked on a fling with a fellow cast member, or occasionally there would be a random meeting in everyday life like Anita who had worked as a PA to his mother for a while. Those flings could sometimes be quite passionate for a month or so, sometimes longer and he knew his instincts for generosity and chivalry could sometimes war against those proclamations of not wanting commitment. That had caused some fiery endings  such as with Lynne Collins. He’d even been quite public with her, eating out, shopping, flying up to New York to see her in “As you Like it” and attend the after party as her date – all signals, along with the good loving he always tried to give his ladies, that suggested he hadn’t really meant it about not committing – but he had and she sure did not like it, dropping him like a hot potato when he made that abundantly clear. That wasn’t an unusual pattern in terms of how women eventually responded to his lack of commitment. He was always clear about his position up front, but it didn’t always put off the women who did want something longer term. They probably thought they could change him and those behavioural mixed signals no doubt kept them thinking they would be the one to break him! Eventually though, they would lose interest and the cycle would start again.

He loved sex and exploring women’s bodies, getting to know them – that’s one reason he kept going back to the same friends and escorts. The flings came in for the thrill of the new he guessed, it wasn’t that he was looking for ‘the one’, at least he didn’t think so.  With a few women in the past there had been a real connection and intimacy that had been monogamous for a time but that was a long ago now.

He returned from his ride at around 4 giving him time for a shower, a nap and putting fresh sheets on the bed before Tara arrived in her cab.  He hadn’t seen her for a few months having been away on a shoot  - as she stepped out of the car and came up the drive, he saw she was as slender,  beautiful and well turned out as ever. She was tall with long, wavy chestnut hair and in keeping with his taste, quite large breasts – all natural too, another preference. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and invited her in.

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

[donkey-hyuck]

♫ playlist ♫

word count- 2,378

chapter warnings- mentions of guns/violence | dialogue heavy

series masterlist!

⤷⤷ prologue ➤ chapter one ➤ chapter two ➤ ✵chapter three✵ ➤ chapter four ➤ |you’re here| ➤

𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙇𝘼𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙍: everything that is written is purely fiction and does not depict reality :)

«────── « ⋅ʚ🔥ɞ⋅ » ──────»

prior to his leave— at around ten o’clock— renjun paid his respects to your company ceo, eunha, and of course, you.

subtly, he took you away from a conversation between another one of your interns as he guided you to a secluded area in the lobby. you scowled your eyes at him before sharply asking what he wanted.

“i’d slow down there, princess. i’m the biggest ceo in china, i can ruin your career like that,” he ended with a snap of his fingers, “ but don’t worry, my love. i wouldn’t do that to you. i just came back to say that i’m taking my leave for tonight. i hope to see you around,” he winked and walked off. however, before he actually left the venue, he was quick to snap a picture of you before actually leaving to his car and sending the picture to his team— his other team.

by the time renjun reached his mansion, he sent doyoung the pictures he took and a general description of your physical appearance. the boys were on their way researching right on time.

—

the weekend came by and you were on your way to ‘style studio’ for an appointment with a regular client. she seemed to like you tons and you couldn’t really blame her, you were the whole package.

when you first entered the small clinic, you saw renjun waiting in the waiting room of the lobby. he was reading some magazine— which featured some of his apparels— before looking up to see who entered the building.

prior to your entrance, renjun figured out where you worked within the body and soul inst. and immediately drove his way there after making a few agreements between some of your coworkers just for a chance to see you again. he figured it was all a coincidence and would never be able to see you again, but he remembered who he was. and huang renjun was capable of a lot of things, which made it possible for him to locate where and when you worked, exactly.

clueless as to who was in the waiting room, you greeted the receptionist— hayoon—  a good morning before he told you that someone was looking for you, specifically ceo huang renjun. unfortunately, you were wearing some accessories made by huang&co. which made you regret choosing to wear them in the first place. his company made cute and trendy items, of course you purchased some accessories— though you were to admit that they were a bit on the pricier side.

renjun seemed to notice that you were looking over your shoulder and peering at him so he set aside the magazine that he had in his hands and walked over to you. gently smiling at hayoon and guiding you towards the hallway.

“mr. huang, what a pleasure seeing you here. on a saturday. at eight o’clock in the morning,” you said through gritted teeth. the man only grinned and asked if you were busy. he also complimented your choice of accessories.

“of course i am, i have a job. and don’t flatter yourself, they were gifts,” you snapped back and got your keys to open your office to get ready for the appointment you had today. but before you were able to open the door, his hand covered the doorknob, preventing you from opening it and turning to him. you looked at him with your brows furrowed and eyes blazing.

“are you busy later? let’s have dinner, my treat,” he smugly said. you blinked at him like he was a crazy person and noticed your client walk through the entrance doors. you didn’t end up responding to him and just pushed past the door to start your day. he just had to show up then.

you just closed the door in his face but then there were screams that were heard out in the hallway. frantically, you peeped open the door just a smidge and detected the amount of fans barging into the clinic. huang fucking renjun.

the older client walked into the room earlier than the fans that had barged in. there weren't a lot of people but it was a good amount that made everyone that was in the building freak. even the client herself was shocked to see ceo huang renjun in the building way too early in the morning. to that, you just laughed it off and got ready to start her treatment.

she was actually the only client you were taking that day and the rest is history. you had no other plans for the day but you definitely did not want to make plans with the ceo himself; he was immature, and inappropriate.

it was only about eleven in the morning when you packed up your things to go back home. surprisingly enough, renjun was still present in the clinic. right when you locked the door to your office, renjun appeared from out of the men’s bathroom and looked at his surroundings, instantly recognizing you walking toward the exit.

out of your peripheral vision, you knew he was still there so you silently groaned but still walked out to your car.

but to your dismay, renjun knocked on your car window startling you. and it only took a minute for you to come back to your senses. you sighed to yourself and rolled down your tinted windows.

“mr. huang, what can i do for you now?” you fakely smiled as he discreetly looked around through his sunglasses. he then leaned against the car door and let his sunglasses fall down the bridge of his nose.

“you never answered my request, my love. it’s a yes or no question. but just know that i won’t take no for an answer.”

“so then i don’t really have a choice anyways,” you sighed out.

“nope. text me your address, i slipped a little something in your bag,” he winked again and walked towards his car. before you drove off back home, you searched in your bag to see a note. handwritten from renjun.

‘xxx-xxx — i hope to see you tonight xoxo, renjun. p.s. don’t call me mr. huang! it’s too formal.’

who knew ceo huang would be that much of a flirt.

—

oh, but ceo huang was not a flirt. he just had a natural aura that brought those close to him. renjun was actually the exact opposite of a flirt. whatever girls came by, he just swept them off their feet without even trying. but you; you were a different story. something, some urge or push of his feelings desired you, and he needed you pronto.

and to be completely honest, you were on the same boat, but on a more low-key level. catching the eyes of those who cared, including famous actor— lee donghyuck. the two of you had a little fling, a little something, but it didn’t last very long— only four months— before he just ghosted you. but that’s a different story for another day.

you contemplated for a while about actually messaging renjun. however you just mustered up all the courage you had and dialed his number.

when his phone screen lit up with an unidentified number, he picked up, completely forgetting he gave you his number.

“mr. huang…” you went silent on the other line but he immediately knew whose voice it belonged to.

“my love! are you actually considering having dinner with me?” he gasped, truly aghast that you had called. you were silent for a moment before sighing once more.

“yeah…. i guess i am since you’re too stubborn,” the phrase made him laugh in amusement.

“but i have a few rules,” he hummed, telling you to continue, “i will be calling you mr. huang and if we get into trouble we are just gonna say that this is all business. and i’ll be paying half of the bill.”

his grin was ear to ear and he was jovial to have you join him for dinner.

“okay then, angel. send me your address and i’ll pick you up at eight. dress nicely, please.” the man was stoked to hear you agree and was excited to get to know you.

—

you thought it would’ve been humorous if you were to wear a dress made by huang renjun himself but the more you looked in the large mirror in your bedroom, the more you thought that it would fit the occasion. this dinner was your first time actually wearing the dress, tags on and everything. but it truly was a beautiful dress. the dress was a navy blue satin a-line with an open back, it screamed elegance and simplicity. similar to the ‘face it skincare’ opening party which you honestly don’t really want to think about.

you were actually gifted that dress by none other than lee donghyuck. he invited you to a dinner party with a few costars but never ended up texting you back. but you’re here now, and you’re going on a ‘date’ with one of the most powerful ceo’s in the world.

as you were admiring how the dress looked on you, a text notification dings on your phone. at first you thought it was renjun but it was actually hyunwoo.

‘you free tonight? haseul and i are going out to get blue hill in 20 mins, you down?’

blue hill was a diner in town that was popular for its decorations and attractions plus the food service. blue hill was your home, it always would be. unfortunately, you had to decline the offer with your friends and they immediately called you.

“woah, y/n! why are you so dolled up tonight?” shrieked haseul.

you rolled your eyes and rubbed your face, “mr. huang asked me for dinner tonight. i would love to be there with you guys but that man is so damn stubborn.” the pair have each other a look before looking at your pixelated face and giving you knowing smirks. it made you want to rip out their faces.

“guys, it’s really not like that! he came to the clinic earlier and would not leave me alone! i’m just doing this so that he would leave me alone!” you whined and got another text notification from renjun, “look, i gotta go. i’ll call you guys later.” your friends just laughed and waved you goodbye before ending the phone all. you looked at your reflection one more time and straightened out the nonexistent wrinkles in your dress. it was now or never.

you walked to your front door to see renjun unintentionally wearing a matching navy blue tie with your dress. your heart dropped in that moment. there was no way in hell that you were going to match, and it wasn’t even planned out.

when renjun looked at you he felt as if time stopped again. you were the most beautiful person he ever laid eyes on and he felt like he was home. even after barely knowing who you were, you made him feel safe. and to be quite honest, you felt the same way towards the ceo. just didn’t show it as much.

“wow, you look like an angel,” he unintentionally muttered out. you sucked in a breath, showcasing your collarbone before smiling out and thanking him.

he lent out his arm, to which you hesitantly caved in, and led you out of your apartment complex and into his car. though he was a flirt with you— and he really wanted to— huang renjun refrained himself from holding your hand or your thigh while he was driving to the restaurant.

he ended up taking you to ‘la toque’ which was a lavish european restaurant near downtown. you did not know how you were going to pay half of the bill. silently, you groaned to yourself and followed behind the man.

what you didn’t know, was that you were a part of a mission. of course, he wanted to take you out, from the bottom of his heart, but it so happened to be that there was trouble coming your way.

renjun eyed the place before locking gazes with dong sicheng— the resilient caporegime, lee jeno— the gunman, nakamoto yuta— the vigilante detective, and kim jungwoo— the computer tech. he sent a nod to the boys and guided you to the booth he reserved with a gentle hand on the small of your back, which sent chills down your spine.

unexpectedly, the dinner went smoothly until loaded men shouted through the room of the dining hall. it was all a blur. one moment you hear guns shooting, the next you hear shouting. without knowing, tears trickled down your face and made renjun regret having you come in the first place.

carefully, he cupped your cheek and hid you behind the bar, wiping your tears away and assuring you that everything was fine, but were just left speechless and looked at him with loss in your eyes. this made renjun’s heart hurt but he had to do his job. to keep him alive, to keep you safe.

—

their parents forbid them to never see each other again. but of course, the pair never listened and disobeyed their parents even more.

while violating their parents, the boy and the girl constantly saw each other over the years. they practically grew up together. and in those years, grew not only them, but the feelings they held for each other.

however the boy… well, the boy was being sent off to fight in the war. when he was of age, he told his lover what his family was planning for him. they were both left devastated.

so the two ran away. just like them in the past, they ran away. somewhere far, where people won’t break them apart. somewhere far from their parents and far from the war. because all they wanted was to be happy.

but one night, on one of their adventures; the boy left. he left so as to not let his lover get killed. he left the only other person that loved him for who he was.

they were the same people— rascals— but he did it for her. to keep her safe.

“don’t worry, my love. everything will be fine.”

chapter four ➤ chapter five ➤ chapter six

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @ichigofelix​ @moonbeamsung​ @heavenlyhuangs​ @kisshim​ @lixseu​

[starchildrenofdustand-ashes]

My Six The Musical Review

Once again nobody cares— BUUUT I saw SixChicago yesterday with Adrianna Hicks as Aragon, Andrea Macasaet as Bolyen, Abby Mueller as Seymour, Brittney Mack as Cleves,  Anna Uzele as Parr. Here are somethings I noticed (essentially this is a rundown of everything you wouldn’t get just from listening to the album lol) ((Also im so tired and its 12.28 am and im sorry for any mistakes))

❤️💚💛💗🖤💙

👑 So before the show, they were playing a ton of pop music, but it was on an instrument that kinda sounded like a lute or harpsichord. 👑 When the Queens walked out from behind the curtain in a single file line to take their place on stage, the crowd went crazy. They all came out through a tiny crack in the curtain,, but when they belt “LIIIIVE” the curtain falls to the floor as is dragged off stage. 👑During the dance breaks in Ex-Wives, they go from dancing hip hop, to dancing with each other in a style they would’ve done back then to the beat. It was cute. 👑It was so weird hearing their accents! I’m always expecting “divooced” but it felt like they were almost emphasizing the r “ divoRRced” 👑Before Catherine of Aragon starts singing in Ex-Wives she says “Remember us from PBS??” 👑When Jane Seymour sings her bit in the song she moves Stage Left and when the Queens all say “Hey!” She looks surprised and shrugs, continuing to sing 👑Anna really played up the “JA’s” during her bit and IT WAS SO CUTE (you will find I am partial to clever, bc my gay ass is in love with her.) 👑There is so much dialogue!! After they say “Chicago!! How’re you doing tonight!!” They say we are “SIIIIX” in their harmonies and “Welcome to our divorced, beheaded, LIVE TOUR” 👑Aragon says “WE HAVE SO MUCH IN STORE FOR YOU TONIGHT— WE HAVE THE RIFFS TO RUFFLE YOUR RUFFS” before she does a really sick riff 👑A few of the other queens add on to that,, I forgot what they said but then  Howard says “AND A WHOLE LOT OF HISTORY” and Parr cuts her off and says “OR AS WE SAY A WHOLE LOT OF HERSTORY” 👑then they introduce their band (who are on the stage with then) as their ladies in waiting and I was soft 👑 So then they go on to explain the deal with the show; they are all competing against each other for the crown of the “ultimate” queen based on who had to put up with the most shit from Henry 👑 When they’re going down the line to explain why they say 💛Who lasted longest was the strongest 💚The biggest sinner is obvs the winner 🖤 I have no idea what Seymour said I don’t remember DX ❤️Who was most chased is first place 💗The most glorious will be victorious 💙The winning contestant was the most protestant (but she says it so it rhymes with contestant and then all the queens look at her like ??? And she sighs and says ‘protestant’ with its correct pronunciation 👑Aragon says “How in the purgatory are they gonna choose a leading lady??” 👑”The queen to take the crown will be the one who had the biggest, the firmest, the fullest…. LOAD OF BS TO DEAL WITH FROM THE MAN WHO PUT A RING ON IT 👑There is a reprise of Ex-wives but this time they change the lyrics to “welcome to the show to the coronation” 👑💛lol Aragon cut the reprise off and was like “It doesn’t matter, because I’m the winner” and then she asked the drummer for a beat 👑💛So with the beat, Aragon begins to tell her story, and the bass is strumming the baseline for no way 👑💛”Okay, I’m thinking its… a bit weird they want me to marry my… dead husbands brother”… 👑💛So then she continues recounting the story and she says “I saw lipstick on his collar and I’m like… okAY… so now he wants to annul our marriage and moves this sidekick into mY palace and wants me in a CONVENT” and she’s on a RANT so she pauses and breathes really heavily before smiling really widely and sighing “Now… I don’t think I look that good in a wimple so I said. No. Way.”  And the song starts immediately after that 👑💛Idk what else to say except that Aragon was a total badass and Adrianna Hicks  was a fucking QUEEN 👑💛When she asks him to name when she’s ever caused him pain, she’s all the way upstage on the same platform/semi circle that the band is on, and she’s on her knees kinda begging kinda. She pauses for a LONG time and waits for an answer and her face is smug when she’s like “no?” 👑💛She said “I had the most to deal with AND I hit that high c so that crown is mine,” 👑The other Queens stop her and are like theres another really REALLY IMPORTANT one… the one that overlapped with you who is she?? The famous one that people actually care about!” Then they all start chanting “The one you’ve been waiting for” and the lighting turns green,, while they’re chanting, Anne Boleyn looks really confused and shrugs and walks to the back of the stage and picks up her phone 👑💚The Queens eventually say “The temptresssssss” and they hold it out like a snake “ANNE BOLYEN” and they sing this very choir like 👑💚They all turn to her and Anne is just sitting there cackling at whatever is on her phone and she’s like “ Whoops sorry,,” and Don’t loose your head starts 👑💚Andrea Macasaet has SUCH a high pitched voice she was absolutely ADORABLE 👑💚When she said “get ahead” she smirked and everyone laughed 👑💚Instead of her voice going down on “Pret a Manger,” it got even higher almost In a mocking French accent. 👑💚She is pissing Aragon the fuck off this entire song lol 👑💚When she says “Are you blind??” She gestures between she and Aragon 👑💚 “What was I meant to do?” Is sung like a confused toddler lol 👑💚 So the bit where they play the wedding song, all the queens bow to her and she walks past, smiling and waving and she gets to the end of the line and is like “Hold up,, let me tell you how it went down HENRY’S OUT EVERY NIGHT …. Etc” 👑💚”Bro just shut up!” Instead of mate 👑💚She even asks the band what was she meant to do, and everyone is repeating her and she screams “OH MY GOD SERIOUSLY HE REALLY WANTS TO CUT MY HEAD OFF” 👑💚and then she grins again after a long silence and she’s all smug like “I guess he really liked my head…..” While kinda licking her lips lol 👑💚DEAR GOD HER RIFFS JESUS FUCKING HREHTTLTURHGUEHURL 👑💚And she was like “yeah… that was such a weekend… I like died… and it was so extra! So im clearly the winner. So now, I have to sing a song I wrote when I found out that Catherine of Aragon had died. Its called WEAR YELLOW TO A FUNERAL SING IF YOU KNOW THE WORDS. And the bass came in and Boleyn sings “Catherine was a massive C-” and the other Queens immediately shut her up 👑Aragon and Boleyn start arguing until Seymour is like “its my turn now…” 👑Everyone looks at het before they burst out laughing, telling her ‘bye’ and ‘girl, please’ 👑And Seymour is like yeah,, I was in love and I was really really lucky. 👑🖤 And Seymour goes into this really heartbreaking monologue about how she missed her songs future and how she had a picture of her family. She said that Henry was really sweet and that she loved him 👑Boleyn cuts her off and is like “yeahhhh,, there was this one really cute time where he, like, cut my head off :) 👑🖤Seymour said that Aragon and Boleyn were badasses. Then she said that she promised to always stay by his side and didn’t yell at him back like the other two because she loved him. Then she dedicated the song to him 👑🖤Heart of Stone started and honestly,,, its not my favorite song and I usually skip it. But mY GOODNESS. Abby Mueller is a fucking goddess wow. The amount of control she has on her voice is astounding 👑🖤(fun fact abt me— I have perfect pitch lol)  they pitch changed it into A major and it transposes into B major which was SO BEAUTIFUL. It made me actually like the song lol 👑🖤Its not really eventful,, she just stands in the middle of the stage. 👑Seymour is like,, “what hurts more than a broken heart?” And  Boleyn is like “A chopped off head” 👑Almost immediately  after it transfers to Cleves and she’s like “soo he’s running out of options in England he had to expand his fields and adjust his location settings to find his next queen. We are Heading to Germany where  he got the help of Han….. 👑At some point during the song, the other queens ran off stage to get their glasses and ruffs 👑They all run back on stage in their glasses and ruffs (Cleves still hasn’t said his last name yet) and they all whisper “Holbien” 👑WELCOME TO THE HOUSE 👑lol this song is SO funny… and Cleves is so fucking adorable (she was flossing at some point). The dancing was so… German…it was hilarious. 👑So after the song is done,, the girls still have their ruffs and glasses on and it kinda turns into a mobile app like tinder.. 👑Basically there are two queens before Cleves and they all stand up and walk downstage as they are introduced, they smile and their picture is taken and they wait for about two seconds before Henry swipes left or right. 👑The two in front of Cleves are played by Parr and Howard. 👑After Cleves is selected their is a Holbein reprise 👑❤️The other queens run off taking the ruffs and Cleves is left on the stage sighing comically several times. She’s at the back of the stage sitting on a makeshift stone 👑❤️”Its the tragic story of a princess-educated, savvy, young- deemed ugly by an ulcer-ridden, wheezing, winkled man 20 years her senior.” 👑❤️WHATS A MORE DEVASTATING FATE THAN BEING FORCED INTO A BEAUTIFUL PALACE IN RICHMOND WITH MORE MONEY THAN I COULD EVER SPEND AND NO MAN TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH IT 👑❤️Get down is also key changed 👑❤️When she sings “I’m the Queen of the castle” she is skipping across the stage 👑❤️When she gives her fur to the footman, she actually takes off her coat and hands it to one of the queens. The crowd went crazy and she’s like “guys stop,’ and like acting all shy but secretly enjoying it-she says “Okurrrrrrrrr” . Then she’s like “AS YOU WERE” and everyone is quiet lol 👑❤️the part where it slows down and she’s like “SIT DOWNNN YOU DIRTTTY RrrrrrASCALLL” she opera sings it and I shat myself 👑❤️she uses her microphone as a lute lol 👑❤️YOU CANT (nope) STOP (nuh-uh) YOU CANT STOP ME 👑❤️At some point she squeezes her boob. I love her. 👑❤️after she kills us all by belting that last note she points to a girl in the front row and is like “YOU IN THE PINK DRESS!” and she gestures for her to stand up. And the girl stands up and they bop together with Cleves ad libbing in the background 👑❤️Eventually she says “Okay sugar this is my song, GET DOWN” 👑❤️And then after a moment of silence she’s like “So yeah it was really tragic…” 👑Aragon is like that doesn’t sound difficult at all and Ceves is like “oh… yeah.. I probably won’t win this thing… WELP BACK TO THE PALACE!” 👑the queens argue more and honestly it’s iconic 👑Seymour is yelling at Aragon and her voice is so loud and Cleves interrupts her and is like “guys,… I have the plague” and they all gasp and she’s like “HAHA JUST KIDDING MY LIFES AMAZING” they roll their eyes and Parr is like “our next queen! K HOWARD!” And everyone is like who??? 👑Aragon is like “ The least relevant Catherine,,” and Boleyn is like “Yeahhh i get it and I still don’t care,,,”
👑Howard is like “You’re right… I need all the help I can compete. What happened to you was terrible,, and so were you songs,,” Then she proceeded to roast everyone. She says “Anne you obviously had it worse I mean you lost your head……. Oh wait…..” 👑💗And then she says “but seriously Anna, getting rejected for your looks really sucks…. cant relate…I’m really hot…. So yeah. I can compete like this” or smthing and then all you wanna do starts. 👑💗At the beginning of the song the queens touch her everywhere and she leans into it willingly 👑💗Blowing the flute,, she winks at the audience and when she says C-D she puts her hand in front of her crotch and squeezes. 👑💗 “There was this guy… Francis and he asked me to be his little piece of aaaasssssss…istant! 👑💗The song goes from upbeat to upsetting very very quickly after Francis she starts to become less trusting and she gets more disoriented as the show goes on. 👑💗”Apparently men only hire women to get them into their private chamber… times were different then…” 👑💗When she says “He says  we have this connection,”  about Henry Seymour comes from behind her and touches her stomach — all you can see is her hand touching her sensually. She looks a little surprised and then she’s like “I guess its not so different..” 👑💗By the time we get to Thomas Culpepper she is flustered and VERY uncomfortable. The girls are all touching her now and she looks down and stares at their hand before pushing them away and finishing the end of the song. she keeps pushes them away but they keep coming back. She looks utterly heartbroken and you can see her unraveling. 👑💗THAT RIFF WAS SO GGHRSILGBRLGKJBJL 👑💗she screams “WHEN WILL ENOUGH BE ENOUGH” as they keep touching her and she fails as she pushes them away. 👑💗Eventually she gets them off but she ends up by herself on the stage with her face facing up and a dim pink spotlight is on her. 👑💗There is a chilling silence and then she’s smiling and says ‘YEAH and then I was beheaded and I won this competition!” 👑Then they get into another argument. Boleyn starts talking about how her beheading was more relevant because Henry humiliated her more and Aragon was like,,, um I won the humiliation game and she counts her mistresses 👑Then they start yelling about the miscarriages they had and Boleyn says she has three and Aragon says “You know what Anne BO-LOSER I HAD FIVE” and Parr is like “this is not okay, don’t compare miscarriages, thats hella insensitive” and they push her to the center and tell her to sing her song 👑Theres a random baseline again and Parr looks like she’s about to start singing but she stops and says,,”I’m good,” and tries to go off stage. They all accuse her of being a sore loser because she survived and knows that she had no chance of winning. 👑Parr is like,,, NO its pitting us against each other and the queens all groan  and make fun of her and she’s like okay,, imma sing the song then. And Katherine Howard says “Are you sure?? Are you sure you dont want to stick to backing vocals where you belong?” 👑💙And Parr softly says “Queens take a seat,” before turning to the pianist and saying “Can you give me a Bb maj7, please?” 👑💙Parr shuts down all the queens and says her life wasn’t all rainbows because she survived. And she talks about her love tom, and I never realized that the song is a letter to tom. She starts off “Dear Tom, You know I love you boy,” 👑💙 Anna Uzele was so fucking good. And Tbh,, this is my least favorite song so I don’t remember much about the staging (I’m sorry) 👑💙Side note,, parr is such a badass and an amazing woman 👑At the end of the song, she turns to the queens and is like “without Henry we all disappear ,” and Boleyn is like “I don’t get it” and parr asks “How does anyone know who we are” and Boleyn is like “mY SiX fInGeRs-“ before Aragon cuts her off and is like “Put it away, baby” 👑Parr then asks Henry the 7 and 6’s wives names and nobody can answer. “but, when we get together as a group-“ Boleyn cuts her off and is like “EVERYONE NOTICES THAT JANE CAN’T DANCE!” “NO WE COMPARE OURSELVES” 👑when Boleyn finally gets it she explains the situation like she’s an encyclopedia and it was so funny and fast and oMG 👑”UGH if we had realized this before we started we could have done something else like make a fake competition to show everyone how messed up comparing us is and then we could reclaim our story and all become the leading ladies…” “:/ and they are all saying this dialogue its just split up and I dont remember it very well 👑IF ONLY WE HAD THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE 👑then they look at each other and smirk at the audience before reprising Parr’s song as “We don’t need your love,” 👑Which was so good bc THEY DON’T NEED HENRY’S LOVE YES 👑Then they point out “We might only be remember for marrying the same man,, but why does anyone give a sh- who he is? It’s because of his,,” then they all harmonize ’SIIIIIIX WIVES’ 👑AND WE ALL HAVE A ROYAL HAPPY EVER AFTER but Boleyn cuts Seymour off and is like “But we didn’t” 👑then they go onto explain how none of them had happy endings and they’re like,, but we can rewrite them! So they do and that leads into Six which is such a soft song. 👑Six, actually starts off very slowly. It speeds up after they say “we’re six” 👑It was such an energy ending I was speechless and gold confetti poured down on them and OMG I was shaken to my core. 

[skvaderarts]

Chapter Thirteen: Matronymic

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Note: Thanks for all the kind comments! I loved talking to you guys!

The peaceful sound of waves hitting the shoreline was shattered by the sound of children laughing as Kyle, Carlo and Julio darted about, kicking up sand and generally causing mayhem. Nero chased after them, earnestly pretending that he couldn't keep up with them. It was debatable if he was actually faking it when he stopped mid way and bent over, complaining that he'd hit his foot on a rock. The children kept their distance, not willing to take the chance that he might be kidding and risk being snatched and carted off. After recovering from his supposed injury, the young devil hunter hightailed it after the children again, unwilling to allow too much distance to form between him and the kids. Despite the fact that the two older children could actually swim, he still felt the need to keep an eye on them. And Carlo had to be watched intently. He was thrilled to spend time with them like this for once. Most of the time Nero was so busy that he didn't get to just spend a day with the children without some sort of interruption. No one was at fault in this circumstance, but it still pained him at times that he couldn't just sit and enjoy the children while they were still… children.

From the edge of the boardwalk several yards behind them, Vergil stood with his back to the road. The darkslayer hadn't strayed from his place at the edge of the boardwalk, the shadow of a large, healthy tree of some sort casting ample shade and shielding him from the harsh rays of the sun. It wasn't particularly hot there, but Vergil had spent enough time in the intense heat of the underworld to have grown tired of its influence. He'd adapted to it and accepted it as a reality of his existence, but tolerating and enjoying were two totally different things. He tolerated Nero's slights against him. He enjoyed smiting his enemies. They were different matters entirely.

Just a few feet behind him, V approached. He eyed the sandy expanse in front of him with an unreadable look in his eyes, his soft green orbs casting a shadow of their own between where he currently stood and the water. His eyes lingered longer than they probably should have before he averted his gaze towards his shoulder bag. It was still in Vergil's possession, and he would have to retrieve it at some point in the near future. After all, he'd brought it with him from their hotel room for a reason. His belongings served him no purpose while they were inaccessible inside of their carrying case.

Dante waved at them over his shoulder as he passed by, heading towards the water where Nero currently was. Vergil allowed himself to consider what his twin might be up to given the careful effort he seemed to be putting into sneaking up on Nero, but it didn't take much to come to the conclusion that it was probably something silly and childish. But the more that the oldest Son of Sparda watched his twin carry out whimsical episodes of youthful stupidity, the more that it occurred to him that there was something… hollow about it. It was as though he had constructed some sort of mask or wall to hide something behind. Vergil himself had done so for years, so it wasn't exactly difficult for him to pick up on after long periods of exposure to his younger doppelganger. What he didn't comprehend was the purpose behind it. What could Dante be concealing from everyone, especially from his older twin? It perplexed the blue devil to no end, though he tended to not try and dwell on it. There would be plenty of time and then some to get to the bottom of what was going on with his younger sibling. 

One thing was for certain however.

Something had changed in Dante during his absence. 

He was not the same carefree teenager that he had once been. And the more he tried to ignore that, the more it bothered him. In a way, Dante seemed… tired to him. It was a sentiment that they both shared. But what had happened to trigger such a drastic tonal switch in him. Dante had once been hyperactive and reckless, going so far as to do rash and insane things with little thought or planning. It had always been a stark contrast to how Vergil went about his own goals. But Vergil couldn't help but notice that as they got older, they seemed less and less different. They were closer now than ever, but their minds were miles apart. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but Dante just seemed distant to him now, even when they were close to one another. It wasn't as if he were avoiding him outright, but he was definitely avoiding something about Vergil or something relating to their relationship with one another. For now, all Vergil could do was speculate as he waited for V to join him. And he was determined to hate every second of it.

V joined him a moment later, opting to sit on the bench that was connected to the railing. He faced the road quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the beach behind him. Although he was still near Vergil, he had purposely put distance between them. At the end of the day, the white haired summoner needed his space, but there was more to it than that. He'd spend a considerable amount of time over the last day or so considering what Magnolia had said to him the other day in her home. She had made a valid point. But he couldn't put aside Vergil's past transgressions as easily as he would have liked to, regardless of home much mental energy he spent on it. The harder he tried to move on from his unfortunate history with his father, the harder he dwelled on it. It was as if he were caught on a snare and the only way he could break loose would be to sever the part of him that was caught in the trap, but he couldn't see what was caught in it. He was only capable of reaching out in the dark, blinded and suffering but unable to do anything to fix it despite the fact that he was willing to do what was necessary to rectify the situation.

In truth, it was exhausting.

He felt as crippled mentally as he did physically. 

Perhaps even more so.

A short distance away, Dante sprang his trap. Nero was in the process of trying to wrangle his mischievous children together in one spot so that they would prove less difficult to keep an eye on. As such, the young devil hunter had his back to Dante and was none the wiser that he was present, leaving the older hunter an opening to enact his clever plan. With quite literally no forewarning whatsoever, Dante caught Nero under the arms and he was going to lean over and give the children a stern talking to. The younger of the to floundered instantly, in exactly the wrong position to try and deliver any sort of meaningful counter attack. Dante then snickered and flung him several feet into the ocean water, garnering hysterical laughter from the children. They had seen his approach and had opted not to tip their adoptive father off to his arrival. Although they hadn't spent a ton of time with their new uncle, they were aware that he tended to do things they found funny to Nero. And that was enough to guarantee their cooperation. So long as Dante kept them entertained, they were happy to be his partners in crime. And he was happy to oblige their request. Pestering Nero was truly one of his favorite pastimes.

Nero hit the water with a loud smack, indicating that he had landed less than gracefully. But then again, he hadn't really been given the option to do so in the first place. Dante joined the children, bending over and placing his hands on his knees as he cackled hysterically. Was he fully aware that his beloved nephew was probably going to sneak out of his hotel room when the children fell asleep tonight to skin him alive. Yes. Did he really care that much? Well, there were stupider ways to die. At least it would be at the hands of someone he liked. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if that was better or worse… 

"Dante what the fuck is your problem!?" Nero shouted with as much air as his lungs could scrounge up as he broke the surface of the water. The children might have been impressed with Dante's inhuman display of physical strength and sneakiness, but the younger devil hunter most certainly was not," You just wait! I'm gonna get your ass!"

The more experienced devil hunter folded his arms across his chest and chuckled slightly, raising his eyebrows. He was as unimpressed as he was unworried. At the end of the day, Dante knew that Nero couldn't do anything to him out in the open within the line of sight of so many pedestrians. Until they went back to the hotel, he was totally in the clear. And he planned to capitalize on that.

"Oh, I'm sorry… Kid. You looked a little hot. Thought you might be suffering from heatstroke, so I thought I'd help ya cool off," With much effort, Dante managed to contain the shiteating grin that attempted to spread across his lips as he spoke. One he was sure that Nero's white hot furry had reached a literal boiling point, he turned in the direction of the kids,"Don't repeat anything he just said. I'm pretty sure your mom would like that. But if you slip up, I'll back you up when you blame him. That sound good?"

The children nodded. They had absolutely no reason to rebel against that plan. What child in their right mind, even one who didn't really understand what was going on, would turn down a free get out of jail card with an infinite expiration date? Dante took a step away from the water and was caught off guard as Nero lunged forward and grabbed him, using his redirected body weight to throw them both into the water. The children erupted into another fit of laughter, still unsure as to what on earth was going on. Thankfully, they were too young to be able to identify attempted murder. Nero didn't need any witnesses in the event of a court case.

From across the soft, white sands of the beach, Vergil shook his head. As far as he was concerned, the heat had gotten to his younger twin. Nero had an explosive personality if his experience with him was anything to go by, so he couldn't fathom what had to be going through his head to decide to do something like that. That being said, he wasn't going to condone the murder of his idiotic twin. No. Dante had to continue to live and suffer his presence. It was the ultimate form of punishment.

V let slip a soft chuckle, smirking at the scene unfolding before them. He was starting to see where Nero got his more playful side from. Dante's personality was largely forign to him. They hadn't interacted extensively during the Redgrave City incident, and before that, they had never met. Slowly but surely he was educating himself on the members of his family. But Dante was… challenging. One could only hope that Dante didn't attempt to fling him into the bay like that. Things would take a decidedly negative turn quite rapidly if he did so.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves," Vergil said with a slight shake of his head. He closed his eyes for a moment as his mind tried to refocus on the task at hand," It's truly a wonder that he's managed to live this long. I'm almost impressed."

"Satisfaction isn't in your nature, it seems. I can't imagine that you were always like this," V said as he attempted to scoot over and out of the sun. The light breeze had picked up and turned into a mild wind, shifting the angle of the shade," Though I do advise you against doing something like that to me."

With a slight tilt of his head, Vergil adjusted his gaze. He gave V an unreadable look, but was unsure of how to react when V seemed to dismiss it all together. That wasn't something he was accustomed to. "... I'm assuming that Dante's foolishness isn't what you came here to discuss."

A quick nod of V's head confirmed Vergil's suspicions. The darkslayer gritted his teeth in discontent. Though he was eager to get this uncomfortable conversation out of the way, he didn't feel the desire to do so right now. But he wasn't gaining any points with his oldest son by holding out on him. With an almost protracted sigh, he closed his eyes again, leaning into the rail. "What would you like to know?"

Uncomfortable silence fell over them like a thick weighted blanket as V seemed to ponder the question. There was a part of him that didn't expect to get as far as he just had. As such, he didn't really have any specific questions in mind. The young summoner settled on something he considered rudimentary and uncomplicated. It seemed like a reasonable place to start.

"You can start with her name. I have no memory of her." V's head fell slightly as the words left his mouth. With every word, his tone grew more faint. It seemed that he physically wasn't prepared for the conversation they were currently having. Actually getting answers was something he had always told himself would more than likely never happen. Everything about this conversation seemed… surreal. And he had no idea how finally knowing the truth would actually affect him.

With a long, uncomfortable sigh, Vergil stood up again. The eldest Son of Sparda folded his arms, wishing that he hadn't brought this up so soon. While he never had what he would consider a "good day", today had been better than most. He wasn't sure if this conversation would ruin that, but it was a definite possibility. And the conformation that V didn't know his mother was almost physically hard for him to swallow. He'd assumed that a while back based off of other things that he had overheard V say in casual conversation, but having it so blatantly stated as fact cut him in a way he couldn't put into words. Vergil had never imagined that she'd… 

"... Vivienne. Her name was Vivienne. Though her last name escapes me at the moment," Vergil paused for a long moment, both to allow V to process his statement and to try and recall her maiden name. It bothered him that he couldn't remember what it was, even if it had been difficult for him to pronounce at the time she'd told it to him. That was a lifetime ago now."... I believe it was… Beaumont, but she went by her mother's maiden name, Monroe. Some sort of falling out with her father if I'm not mistaken. It was complicated."

There was a long moment of silence between them as V digested the information that had been given to him. He nodded to himself, unsure of what to say. After a while, he glanced up at Vergil. In a way, they both looked equally distressed to be talking about this.

"Do you think she's… Is she…" V couldn't quite make himself think or speak the words he wished to so that he could finish his inquiry. There was a part of him that didn't really want to know. It was as if his mind was playing tug of war with itself. Luckily he didn't need to. Vergil sighed quietly as he looked down at the ground and then over at him. For a moment they shared a silent instance of consideration, not needing to express their thoughts or emotions out loud. For perhaps the first time, they were on the same page.

"I have no idea… But I intend to change that,'' There was a note of finality in Vergil's voice as he turned towards the stairs that led down to the beach and took a step towards them. It was time that they met back up with Dante and Nero,"  I searched for her once before when she disappeared all those years ago. I think it's time I did so again."

(-~-)

Some big revelations in this chapter! Heck yea! One of the biggest requests was to tackle this topic, and I think we were all on the same page here! As always, I look forward to discussing this chapter in the comments, and I hope you like the chapter! I feel like this will spark some quality conversation lol! It's nice to have this whole week's chapters finished by Wednesday morning for once! Time to get a head start on next week. As always, I hope you had a great weekend, and I hope to see you next week. Take care!

[atthediscowithoutpanic]

Not everyone is as they seem

A/n this was my entry for @sherrybaby14 fall into you challenge. I rewrote this several times as I kept having different ways to approach it. Thank you so much for letting me participate!  this is my first time sharing my writing on here. Prompt is in bold! 

pairing: Bucky x OFC (belle) 

word count: 1384

warnings: a bit of cursing, darkish themes. 

Bucky hated Stark fundraising events with a passion. The small talk with people you may or may not know, who may or may not know the horrid things in his past. While the other Avengers were accepting, for the most part, knowing that what he had done was not him, the public was not as nice. After a week-long mission with the entire crew, this was the last thing he had on his personal agenda.  

Walking through the doors of the Plaza ballroom, Bucky spotted Sam in a corner talking to some other men in stuffy suits. Subconsciously during his stride to the corner to be close to Sam, he realized the glove covering the metal hand was not fastened at the top and stopped in the middle of the room to fit it immediately. Not even a second later Bucky’s suit coat was met with white wine that had gone flying and a brunette shortly behind with an empty flute.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry! Like so sorry!” The brunette was taking the napkin that was in her other hand and dabbing it on the stain. She moved her glance to meet his showing her glossy blue eyes. They looked like pools so deep he could swim in them. Bucky’s eyes wondered down, taking in the sapphire dress that matched her eyes, with a tight plunging neckline. Grabbing her wrist with his ungloved hand, smiling at her all he could muster out to tell her was that it was okay. Whoever she was, she was intoxicating to him.  Letting her hand linger on his arm, “I’m Belle.” 

Belle charmed Bucky all night with sweet words and such small physical gestures.  Sam could tell some of the tension in Bucky’s shoulders were loosening up, the knight in tin armor lost his armor quickly around Belle.  Tony Stark had to stroll into the conversation eventually as another round of men in women dressed to the nine’s went in and out of the group of conversation. It seemed that the charmer was being charmed. Belle kept even Tony on his toes by quick words and smiling glances. Since Pepper was not attending tonight, Tony attempted to get touchy by trying to place his hands on Belle’s soft and petite shoulder to initiate an intimate contact and Belle would shrug him off and continue talking. Once Bucky realized that she was ignoring the advances of the playboy it made him grin and feel the warmth inside. Something he has not felt in quite a long time.  There was something in Belle’s face that he recognized as something familiar in himself. Demons that he fights with on a nightly basis himself, only she could drink the pain and he could never get drunk. The price of being essentially immortal. Bucky could tell in her tone getting louder throughout the night and shakier conversation and steps that she was feeling the five glasses of wine, or was it six at this point… or seven.. He had lost count when he started noticing the fact that her face had developed a rosey tink to them as well as the part of her chest that peeked through the gown. “Stop staring so much at her there moron you are making it obvious.” Sam leaned over and whispered into Bucky’s ear chuckling. 

Bucky made a mental note as Belle had turned her head just right and pushed away a few locks of chestnut hair from her face he could see what he thought was a comm piece in her ear. Strange to be at a party wearing one of those he thought, and tried to tie it to her job but then realized that she had not disclosed what she did for work. A well-spoken, beautiful woman could hold any job these days. As she floated around the room like a gazelle speaking with others, Bucky kept his eyes glued to her. While Belle was turned speaking to a few politicians about advocacy work for the poor with her back to Sam and Bucky, she reached behind her right arm to where the end of the three-quarter sleeve of the gown was and scratched her arm. During this, she removed a small amount of foundation on the back of her arm that was covering a small tattoo of a red star. 

You have got to be fucking kidding me…bucky was yelling at himself internally, his internal dialogue was going off the rails. The anger boiling deep inside of him with a taste of revenge, but then, what if this sweet woman was a byproduct of the wrong place and the wrong time just like he was? He knew Hydra had a long-standing history of corrupting anyone they could force their will upon. Now, he had to find out which side of the coin she stood on. During a lull in the conversation and Sam had not made his way to refill his drink “If I am not back in thirty minutes come to look for me on the roof.” Sam’s furrowed brow it was evident that he was absolutely clueless as to why Bucky would want to be found to the point of telling him. “Yeah, whatever man.” and went to go refill his own glass. Feeling like a volcano ready to erupt with frustration and anger inside, he bounded toward where Belle was standing and proceeded to grab her arm by the gloved, metal hand. Belle cocked her head to the side with a smile, “What’s up, James?” in her enunciation, she had popped the P with great emphasis to show that 

“There’s something I want to show you.”  He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. The hustle and bustle of some catchy pop song blasting, over the never-ending chatter, it felt like the party was deafening. Belle continued to talk with his hand that wrapped around the majority of her bicep, proceeding to pull her with him. Bucky’s voice had lowered an octave, “let’s go, now.”

She played the willing follower, asking him tons of questions along the way about himself, and then talking to others they walked past. Soon as they walked past the door separating the ballroom and the hallway she was all over him. Lips grazing his neck and jawline while hands wandered over to the button on his suit jacket and attempted to unbutton when he stopped her by stepping back away from her. “Not here.”  It felt like they waited for hours to Belle to finally get into an elevator to go up. 

“Why didn’t we take the stairs? Obviously, it wouldda been faster.” She was leaning on him to support her body in the elevator car

His grip on her arm got a bit harder, “Because you are too drunk to climb all those stairs.” 

Once they got to the rooftop with the ability to be out of the line of sight of everyone else, Bucky took the glove off his hand and cornered her. 

His breathing was heavy trying to control his mind and the stirring in his pants as well. Bucky’s voice was still low and gravley “I see through that angel costume, I know the devil inside.” 

Belle’s eyes gravitated toward the metal hand and her eyes became as big as saucers. 

He inched closer to her, his nose buried in her hair by her ear. There was a foreign noise a second later that wasn’t her speaking and he realized it came from the comm in her ear. Bucky knew that thick accent anywhere. “Longing…. Rusted…”

Belle started shaking her head back and forth like she was trying to lose the voice speaking in her head. She starts sobbing, chest heaving. “Make it stop, make it stop.” Her eyes with no life left in them and look like a wounded animal someone left to die. Bucky pulls the piece out of her and brings her to the ground where she is sitting in his lap. Bucky has no soft words for her, the anger is still boiling now at Hydra and not at Belle. The front of him is now soaked with her tears and snot, makeup running down her face. With a shaky voice, she looked up at him, “Don’t make me go back to them.

[jay-and-dean]

Greater Good  Prologue

(Dean x Reader? Sam x Reader ?)

Serie Summary :

            There is a prophecy.

When Lucifer's true vessel will find his one true love, it will tilt the world's scales on the side of good and light. The balance that this love will bring, is to be the start of a new era, where evil will be weaken for the first time in centuries.

            When the Winchesters find out about this, they decide this is the opportunity of their life, the only way to make a difference once and for all. And now they have a way to find this girl, things should be easy, right ?

            What happens when the prophetic girl doesn't fall in love with Sam ?

___________________________

Serie Warnings : Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut, and maybe other stuffs. 

Note : This is the new story I’m writing. This is a short prologue to start. I hope you’ll like it.

Prologue words : 1k

GREATER GOOD MASTERLIST

***WANT TO READ MORE ? => MASTERLIST***

_________________________________ 

***Prologue***

             Sam keeps looking out the window, his eyes jumping from tree to tree has the impala rushes through the land. He doesn’t say anything, why would he? And what could he say anyway ?

            Sam Winchester is used to crazy, to unbelievable. This just might be a little too much for him. So he stays silent, and tries to let his brain come to term with this new kind of weird.

“I can’t believe you’re a Disney princess, Sammy !” Dean suddenly jokes, shaking his head with that wide teasing smile that hides his own worry.

The truth is Dean is terrified. Sam’s one true love, what does this fucking means ? Does it mean fate wants to choose for his little brother once again ? And anyway : What is one true love ? Does it really exists ? Love exists, Dean knows that, he can feel it in every cell of his body, maybe because he’s a love child. But destiny’s love shit… This may be a little too much.

            How is it supposed to work anyway ? Will Sam fall at that girl’s feet the second he’s going to see her ? Will he realize he can’t live without her, take her to the bunker and keep her there, giggling for the rest of time ? Dean frowns. What if he doesn’t like her ? What if she’s a witless little princess ? What if she makes them grow apart ?

            And if she’s so special, where was she all those years ? Where was she when Sam lost Jessica ? When he was addicted to demon blood ? When he went to hell ? During the trials and after ? Why now ?

            Dean won’t admit it out loud, but he hates this prophecy thing, he hates it with every part of his soul… And he knows Sam doesn’t like it either. But this is for the greater good…

                                           *********

            Y/n gets out of the shower and sighs, the heat is killing her these days. She closes the curtains to hide the sweltering sun, not wanting to loose all the benefits of the cold shower just now. This is a good day, she tries to convince herself, if she hurries, she’ll have time to study in the bus. And tonight is pay night.

            She dresses like she always does, simple jeans and oversized t-shirt, even with this burning sun, there is no way she’s going out in a sexy outfit. She takes her books and verifies she has all of them before putting them in her bag. History of witchcraft during the middle age : from healers to heretics, check. A study of demonic pictorial representations in Europe, check. Mythology of the bible, third volume : Michael, the warrior angel, check. Introduction to Hebrew, fourth volume, check. From Abraham Van Helsing to Buffy : History of the monster hunters figures in popular cultures, check.

            She has to hurry, that essay on the angelic symbols in eighteenth century’s literature isn’t going to write itself, and she can’t afford grade below excellent, she can’t afford another year, or she might end up in jail for murdering a guy.

            “Y/n, you’re making the girls freak out with your stupid books” Alan says. “This is not the place for studying, I don’t pay you to be smart, I pay you to be pretty.”

“You pay me to cause boners, Alan…” she sights, putting her books back in her wide bag.

“And you’re so talented” the bald man says, giving her an envelope ful of cash. “If you weren’t so obsessed with college all this nerd crap, you could make a shit ton of money.”

“I know… And hate my body even more” she says between her teeth.

“Come on, don’t be like that you don’t even do specials…” he frowns.

And she leaves the room before he can talk about that again, avoiding a never-ending talk. She just isn’t going to do private shows, or private parties, whatever men are ready to pay ; she knows how it ends. And none of those sick perverts is going to lay a hand on her, their stare is already more than she can bear.

            The music starts. The crowed room is filled with whiskey, sweat and testosterone smells, the silence is heavy, an impatient silence, right before the primal roars ring out… This is it, six months to go, she thinks, hiding the lace thong under her sexy secretary skirt. She takes a deep breath, pulls her stomach in and tries to imagine she doesn’t hate the men in the room.

Show time…

                                           *********

            Sam knows so little about that girl he’s supposed to find. She’s in that town, that’s sure even if the tracking spell didn’t work the first time ; now Rowena is positive. And their life already crossed at least once, she said to him. It means he knows her, at least has already seen her.

            While Dean is eating his burger, Sam’s thoughts drift again. He tries to think about every girls he’s known, is there one of them he could have liked like that ?

“So… Is there anywhere your heart leads you” Dean says with his mouth full.

“Home…” Sam grunts.

“Oh come on Sammy, you’re about to meet future miss Sam Winchester, aren’t you existed ?” he tries to hide his own worry. “I guess she’s boring as hell and has very long hair” he jokes.

“You’re so funny...” Sam shrugs.

“So, where do we go ?” Dean insists.

            Where do we go ? Sam doesn’t know. He’s supposed to be drawn to her when he’s near. Just let your envies and heart lead you, Rowena and Cas said. Yeah, super easy… And it won’t be awkward at all to ask every dawn girl of this town to touch her skin, and see if a little mark appears on her chest.

            Sam sighs loudly again, not even realizing how sulky he his since they left the bunker. And this stifling weather is not helping. He feels nothing special, just the need for air conditioning.

When Dean takes the local newspaper to check on the news, Sam notices a commercial about the town’s library.

“Maybe we could check on the library, you know, to start somewhere” Sam says.

“See ? Boring...” Dean rolls his eyes.

__________________________________ 

                   ***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

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[buckyspetpsychopath]

The Show

David Dobrik x reader Vlog Squad A/N: I know the victorias secret show was ages ago

Masterlist

“You know everyone is starting to think I’m lying about having a girlfriend” David calls out whilst I shower.  “hmm, and who’s everyone?”  “The guys, my parents, Esther, Sara, Toby, even Jasons mum mentioned it!” he huffs coming into the bathroom. I wipe away some of the steam on the glass door. I pout at him teasingly and he deadpans, making me giggle.  “Why do you even care what they think? I am your girlfriend” I sigh as he starts taking his shirt off, his pant following as he speaks.  “Do you not think its a little weird that we’ve been dating 6 months and we haven’t met each other's friends or families?” he sighs, stepping in the shower behind me, wrapping his arms around me. “I mean we’re comfortable enough with each other, that we can shower together and not make it awkward or sexual, so there’s something else wrong” he moans and I huff turning around to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He backs me up into the wall, resting his hand on my hips and his forehead against mine.  “You wanna know why I'm so hesitant?” I mutter and he nods against my head, so I take a deep breath, connecting my hand to his cheek. “Because I love you. That's it. I haven’t had a good history with relationships, my parents got divorced when I was little and my sisters husband cheated on her after having 2 kids together. I guess it just scares me”  “I’m sorry I made you feel that way”  “No its not you. Well I mean it is, I guess. You’re so perfect and you give me everything I ever wanted, I’m just waiting for the day that one of us fucks it up”  “And what if that day never came? What if we’re perfect together? What if I love you as much as you love me?” he whispers. My heart hammers in my chest as I lean my head up to his, smashing our lips together. He pulls me by my hips as close to his body as I can get.  “Are you sure we can take a shower together and not make it sexual?” I tease and he chuckles into my neck, lifting me up and turning the water off.  He steps out the shower and forgets the towels, heading straight for my bedroom. 

The next morning I wake up, David is already awake on his phone.  “Hey Mr.”I grin.  “Hey baby, good sleep?” he speaks raspy, so I know he’d just woken up. I nod, moving myself closer to him wrapping my leg around his bare waist and resting my head on his chest.  “You know I always sleep better with you here” I hum.  “I know. The boys are wondering where I am, we planned to go out today” he hums back.  “Can I speak to you before you go?” I ask and he nods.  “You can ask or tell me anything you know that” he chuckles.  “Well I have an audition today” I start.  “modelling or movie?” he asks, knowing I do both.  “Modelling. I was wondering how you felt about it, its uhm…” I stutter.  “Baby why are you so nervous to tell me” “its for the victorias secret fashion show ok?” I huff. He’s silent for a moment so I sit up turning to look at him.  “You think I’d have a problem with that?” he grins widely and I nod.  “I mean, IF I get it, its only an audition at this point, I’d be on TV and photographed everywhere in only my underwear”  “I have all confidence in you that you will get it! And I can’t believe you think I’d have an issue, when have I ever? I mean you know how cool it’d be to tell the guys my girlfriend is a Victoria’s secret angel?” He laughs and I blush. “None of the other people watching get to touch you like this” he mumbles against my neck with his hand grazing my naked butt.“They don’t get to see you like this” he continues trailing his hand up over my stomach and to my boobs squeezing them.“And they don’t get to kiss you like this” he whispers connecting our lips, him now hovering over me. I smile pulling him closer.“Because you’re mine and only mine” he adds pulling away and pecking my nose. I giggle and slide out from under him. 

“On that note I need to go and so do you” I say and he groans. “I just wanna stay with you all day!” He whines and I roll my eyes. “Me too, especially after last night and this morning but we have priorities baby, we can do something tonight?” I suggest and he thinks for a moment. “Movie and olive garden?” “Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m ready” he nods and we get dressed leaving my apartment.

I go to the audition and it goes really well. About a 2 days later I'm in the office. I had gotten called in for a meeting and when I open our usual meeting room there are poppers and my whole team roar in celebration. My eyes are wide as I look towards my manager.

"You got the VS show!" she yells and I almost choke. "I DID?" I scream and everyone cheers again. I start crying and my manager comes over hugging me and showing me the letter.

The next couple months are amazing but gruelling. There was a lot of fittings and a ton of trips to the gym. The morning I wake up for the show I know its gonna be worth it. I was in a hotel in New York and my boyfriend was going to be there, what could be better? I had gotten David, Jeff, Ilya, Jason, Erin, Carly, Todd, Natalie and Zane invited, obviously it was great to fill the seats up with influencers but personally I’m just happy David will be there.  David had shown me the video of when he had told everyone and they had all freaked out.  The boys were ecstatic that they had been invited, though fairly confused. David and I still hadn't revealed we were dating, as far as they knew we had never even met.

*Day of show* 

I get dressed and make my way downstairs. I go to a quick morning gym session and a huge breakfast afterwards before I make my way to the venue. My hair is put into rollers straight away and then I'm taken to makeup. We go through rehearsals and everything and soon the show is about to start. I'm in my first outfit talking to some of the other models, getting pictures with models I look up to and the friends I had made. I'm posing for a picture when I feel arms wrap around me and a kiss placed to my cheek, before I can react fully the camera flashes with a big grin on my face. I turn around and see David. I smile wide and lean in to kiss him while everyone close to us wolf whistles. We pull apart and I giggle wiping the lipstick off his lips.

"Baby you look stunning" he whispers. "I didn't want you to see me until I went out" I pout and he rolls his eyes. "You have two other outfits to surprise me with" he says and I nod. "I guess so" I smile. "Did you try your new wings?" he asks and my smile immediately drops. "Yeah I did, they're super heavy" I frown. I had amazing wings for my last walk but they broke yesterday in transport to the venue, so in rehearsals I couldn't walk in them. People had been working all night to make a new pair and when I had gotten to the venue this morning and tried them, they were super heavy. Maybe they'd ease off when I started walking. "you'll be ok, you're only out there for 20 seconds" he says and I nod, leaning up to him again. "No, no more kisses. You already ruined her lipstick!" One of the makeup artists run over and we laugh. I peck his lips quickly. "No boyfriends backstage" she tuts poking his face with a brush. He smiles wide and holds his hands up. "I have to get back anyway, I told everyone I was going the toilet and the shows about to start." he explains. "I love you" I grin as my lipstick and gloss is reapplied. "I love you too. What song are you coming out too first?" he asks. "Not telling you, you'll have to keep your eyes peeled" I wink and he groans before leaving. 10 minutes later the show starts and Leela james is amazing. We all cheer Taylor on as she starts the entire show and then all the other models. I wasn't in the first song. 

But in no time, the chain smokers and Kelsie go out and start their song. Candice is first to go out and then a load of other models follow. I breathe out as the model in front of me walks out and I know I'm next.

"Go y/n" they call out and my heart leaps as I start walking out. I immediately scan along the ground for David and see him stand up and yell with his hands up. I grin and when I get up to him I put my hands into a heart and then point at him. The crowd go crazy and I know the camera was filming our exchange. I continue the short way to the end and pose.

When I turn to walk back I find David again and he winks at me as I walk past. I take a glance at his friends and they’re all shell shocked, staring at us. I blow them a kiss and their eyes widen. I laugh and continue my way backstage. 

Daniels Pov* Y/n isn't in the first song and I sigh. "Why're you bummed out, we're watching models!" Jeff exclaims earning a slap on the head by our mum making everyone laugh. I shrug and perk up when the next song starts. Candice Swanepoel comes out first and Ilya is hyped. A couple other models come out and then I see her. My eyes widen and I stand up, holding my hands in the air and screaming out a 'YES'. Everyone is so confused but I don't take my eyes off y/n. She sees me when I stand up and smiles. When she gets in front of me she holds her hands in a heart. I point back at her and mouth I love you. She poses at the end and I'm screaming and clapping loudly. When she's on her way back I wink at her and watch her wave to the crowd. I sit back down when she's passed us and turn to the guys. Their mouths are all dropped.

"What the fuck just happened?" Zane asks. "Dude" Erin says. "That's my girlfriend," I say proudly and they all freak out.  We continue watching the show as I explain to them how we met and whatnot.

Normal POV* I quickly rush to get into my next set. I walk out again while Bebe Rexha is performing. I go out second and start dancing immediately, unable to help myself (if you've seen the show I'm picturing Josie Canseco dancing down the runway haha). 

When I get to Bebe I dance to her and sing the lyrics back to her. She smiles while she's singing and copies my dance moves back until I'm past her. I pose at the end of the runway and then dance my way down the runway again. I catch David's eye and he shakes his head with a huge smile. My dancing seems to amp up the crowd so I shrug it off and clap for the models passing me. I pose for the camera backstage and then hurry again to get changed.

When I emerge in the new lingerie I'm left to watch a couple songs. When Rita is performing a team quickly rushes over and starts securing the wings around my arms and hips. I wince at the weight of them so my manager Elizabeth comes over to talk to me while they’re lacing me up. 

“Hey baby you ok?” She asks concerned, she’s like a second mother to me. I nod and shift uncomfortably. “Yeah these wings are just really heavy” I sigh. “Only a two-minute walk and you can take them off” she encourages and I smile at her painfully. They take a while trying to make them comfortable but its no use. The Struts sound throughout the venue and I gulp knowing its time to walk again. “Okay we’re done here, 1 minute until stage” Elizabeth says and I nod. I go to walk and wince. “Are you sure they’re ok? They’re really sore around my hips?” I huff adjusting them slightly. “It’ll be ok, you can take them off as soon as you get off the runway, we don’t need them again so I’ll cut the ribbon” she nods and I nod back, letting out a breath.  

David’s POV* “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us your girlfriend is a VS angel!” Natalie exclaims.  “She’s gorgeous” Carly smiles.   “She’s got a nice ass” Todd says and I frown. “That’s mine, my ass” I pout and they all laugh. “Congratulations dog, she seems really nice” Jason smiles. “Yeah she’s amazing” I whisper looking over to the models coming out. Y/n comes out next and we all cheer.   “She doesn’t look comfortable in those wings though, they look like they’re really hurting her” Zane comments and the guys nod. “They had some issues with them, she tried to original ones on and they were fine but they snapped on the way to the venue yesterday so they quickly had to make a new pair and she didn’t try them until right before the show. I don’t know what they used she’s too small for them, they’re so heavy. I don’t know how she’s wearing them right now especially in heels” I tell them and they make ‘ooohing’ noises. She is strutting down the runway confidently and gets to nearly the end when the wings get too heavy for her and she falls to her knees, the entire crowd gasps and the people are going crazy backstage I assume. 

Kendall Jenner comes up from behind her and helps her up. She looks like she’s about to cry but poses anyway, making the crowd let out roars of applause. She looks as stunning as ever. The boys hit my back so when she turns around to walk back I stand up and leave my seat, walking along the edge with her. She looks down at me painfully and I smile at her reassuringly. She never breaks out of her modelling pose and tries to amp the crowd up as much as possible. I run forward a little and enter the backstage area with my pass and go around the curtain to where y/n was coming out of. When she’s out of sight of the crowd she lets out a little sob, letting the tears trickle out. She shuffles off stage quickly and people immediately are on her, cutting her out of the wings. I gasp when I see her stomach and back. She sobs louder when she sees the red marks and the forming bruises around her hips and shoulders. I hurry over to her as she looks around frantically. I pull her into a gentle hug and she sniffles.

Normal POV * As I’m waiting to go out I can feel the wings getting heavier and heavier, rubbing against my hips and pulling my shoulders down. I put on a brave face for the audience and camera. It is increasingly difficult to walk in the heels as I move along the runway having the wings weigh me down. I’m nearly at the end when it gets too heavy and I feel myself falling to the floor. I wince as I fall on my hands and knees. My face heats up looking at the crowd who are all staring at me wide-eyed. Kendall comes up behind me and pulls me up.

“Are you ok? They’re really heavy?” She whispers and I nod. She gestures in front of her and I look at her appreciatively, the crowd go crazy as I pose, happy that I got back up. I continue the walk back and moan as the wings dig in further, I try to smile and wave but as soon as I’m out of shot I start crying, hurrying to get backstage so I can get them off. They make quick work cutting me out of them and I wince as the pressure is removed. I look around for David and he appears next to me, pulling me into a hug. I sniffle into his neck as he lifts me bridal style walking me over to a paramedic. They treat the burns and bruises for me, a little on my back it had even cut me open so they clean it up, placing a bandage on it. I huff when they're finished and everyone walks out for the last walk on.

“What are you doing you're not going back out there,” David panics. “Yeah I am it’s the end of the show” “You're hurt” “It’s a little cut and a couple bruises I’m fine” I wave him off. He sighs lets me go. The crowd's applause doubles when they see me, all bandaged up but still with a smile. “Can we give a huge round of applause for our acts, for our crew and for our angels, some injured but still smiling” the presenter says. I dance around with some of the models. We all start exiting the stage and I try to keep in step with everyone in my heels. When we get backstage we all get a picture taken and we stick around a while to get pictures with the other models. I’m not wasting an opportunity, I may never walk in the show after my fall. I quickly get changed into a nice black dress I had brought as we were going for dinner after the show. When I’m dressed and everything I come out of the changing room and David is waiting there. I squeal and run over to him.

“You did so amazing baby” he cheers and I grin. “Omg David I can’t believe this is your girlfriend” I hear and turn to the source. I blush when I recognise his friends.  “Uhm yeah, guys this is y/n and y/n this is Natalie, Ilya, Jeff, Todd, Jason, Carly and Erin”

"Hey its nice to meet you, you were amazing out there” zane says, pulling me into a hug and I wince. “Sorry, were huggers” Zane laughs.  “It’s ok, you just caught my bruises ” I wave off and he frowns. “You should sue them or something for that,” he says and I shrug. “It’s nothing major, just a couple bruises” “You were bleeding” David hisses raising his eyebrow. I shrug it off and he sighs. I hug everyone else gently and when I hug Natalie she’s so nervous.  “I’m sorry this is so weird, I love your movies and your vogue edit last month was stunning. And I mean, now youre David’s girlfriend that’s crazy” she gushes and I blush. “Thank you so much. And hopefully, I’ll be around a while” I smile, looking up at David. He wraps his arm around my waist gently pulling me into him so my hand rests on his chest. “Definitely” he smiles pecking my forehead. 

[raendown]

Soooo this started as just a simple commission and then rapidly got out of control, as seems to keep happening to me lately. xD For you @copyninken for inspiring me with such an excellent commission prompt!

Chapter: 1/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4660 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He's not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he's ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Duality

He wasn’t even a professor. Tobirama scowled to himself and pulled the edges of his cloak tighter in search of whatever pocket he had dropped his warming stone in to. Such a simple rune and yet it was no help to him if he couldn’t find it. Of course, he wouldn’t need it if his brother hadn’t turned those puppy eyes on him and begged with his bottom lip wobbling pathetically, so disgustingly sad that Tobirama had agreed to do as he asked just to make that face go away. He wasn’t even a professor! He should not be out here in the evening chill performing a professor’s duties.

A huff of frustration escaped him and he dropped his handful of cloak, shoving it back so he could pat himself down for other pockets. His habit of misplacing things was the whole reason he’d started sewing extra pockets in to his clothing whenever he remembered to but the problem was that now he had too many pockets to look through and his things still ended up lost.

Fingers closing around something cool and smooth, he fought back the excess material to pull his hand out with a cry of triumph, expecting to see the warming stone he was certain he’d picked up that morning. Then he snorted in disgust when he found half a broken pestle instead. No one was around to watch him stomp one foot in irritation. No warming stone and now he was probably going to spend the rest of the evening wondering which mortar was missing its pestle. Had he taken someone else’s? Had he broken his own?

How was he supposed to properly grind faerie wings – willingly gifted, of course – if he hadn’t the right tools?

Contrary to his predictions, any thoughts of preparing ingredients for his various experiments came to an abrupt halt when he rounded the corner and saw the other person he was meant to be paired with for that evening’s patrol. Madara looked as dramatic as ever, clad in fiery red from head to toe as though his natural element wasn’t obvious in the way sparks clung to his hair and smoke rose out of his fingertips in fits and starts. Standing along one of the outer passages, positioned next to an opening in the wall, his hair rose and fell as the wind howled outside. The idiot would have frozen in minutes dressed down as he was if he wielded any other element.

After a few moments of standing in one place and scowling as hard as he could Tobirama accepted that the other man hadn’t noticed him there. White skin and sharp footsteps should have made him rather obvious in the dark but Madara had always been a little too wrapped up in himself to pay much attention to others.

Tobirama threw the broken pestle at him.

“What the fuck!?” Madara screeched in surprise when stone sparked against stone right next to his face, leaping away and spinning in a full circle until finally his eyes landed on where Tobirama had now crossed his arms with an expectant expressed. “Are you kidding me? I was supposed to walk patrols with your brother tonight; what the hell are you doing here?”

“Nothing pleasant, I assure you. Brother decided that planning a date with Mito on the same night he was scheduled to walk the halls with you was an excellent idea. One would think the security of his own university would be more important than gargling someone else’s tonsils but I have never claimed to understand how his mind works. And so here I am.” He smirked a little when Madara wrinkled his nose with disgust.

“Must you refer to it like that?”

“Have you seen them kiss? That is essentially what he is doing.” Tobirama slid his hands in whatever pockets were closest to ward off the winter chill. “Whatever you want to call it, he asked me to cover his duties while he is otherwise occupied.”

Visibly put off, Madara waved both hands aimlessly in protest. “You’re not even a professor!”

“I know!” It wasn’t often the two of them agreed on much but in this they were of the same mind.

Of course, Tobirama was more than old enough to be a professor here at the school should he have wished to be. He certainly had more than enough knowledge to teach any of several different subjects. Unfortunately for the masses he had very little interest in taking so much time away from his research, preferring to stick with his technical status as student and continue on in the life of a scholar. Nothing appealed to him more than the rush of discovering some ancient scrap of knowledge written by some unnamed mage and finding a use for it.

He did not appreciate errands like this one taking up precious time he could have been using to look more in to the effects of those crystals Touka had given him for his birthday a century or so ago. If his estimations were correct then they might have been formed from a naturally occurring phenomenon that only happened during a massive outburst of dragon magic. Such things had never been recorded!

“You’re off in your own head again already. Great. Well this is going to be just tons of fun, isn’t it? Babysitting you while looking out for students getting up to shenanigans. You know how they get when they catch the first hints of graduation! I’ve had three try to break in to my office in the past week and there’s still a month left of classes!”

“Looking for exam notes?”

“Obviously.” Madara snorted as though he hadn’t done the exact same thing when he was a student, sneaking a peak at his teacher’s notes so he knew exactly which spells he should study up on for the exam.

Tobirama snickered without bothering to hide it. Served the asshole right for being so uptight all the time. He hoped some of those students had got what they came for before Madara caught them. Later he would have to figure out who they were and provide them with the answers himself, having taken the class on a whim a decade or so back. The poor idiot probably didn’t have enough imagination to change his exam from year to year.

“Ugh, let’s just get this over with. We usually start with the western courtyard to make sure no one is trying to perform any summonings under the moonlight.” Spinning on his heel, hair and cloak flaring out with a wholly unnecessary amount of drama, Madara stalked away down the hall without waiting to see if he was being followed.

“I remember my first summoning.” Tobirama sighed wistfully. Ahead of him, Madara twitched.

Before he could get too far in to his reminiscing about the time he summoned a nether beast that took a liking to Madara’s hair – poor taste but it had probably been the funniest thing the university had seen in several decades – their patrol was interrupted before it could even truly begin.

As soon as the alarm went off Madara, long used to having it tripped by miscreant students, pressed one palm against the closest wall and murmured something in a low voice. The wards rippled under his touch and Tobirama could hear them deep down in the parts of himself that had been connected with the world’s magic since his very first breath. He knew as well as anyone else who had been here at the school long enough that the wards were alive in a way he couldn’t explain, although being a student he also knew that they wouldn’t listen to him as they did to Madara. More poor taste. That man had nothing to say that would be even half as interesting as the things Tobirama had floating around in his head.

“What have they to report?” he asked when his companion set off without saying anything, scurrying to keep up.

“The alert came from the northern edge of the property. What anyone is doing all the way out there is beyond me. If we’re lucky maybe they’ll fall in to the river before we get there.” Every word Madara spoke was dripping with offense as though whoever was out there causing trouble had done him a personal injustice by choosing to do so on the night it was his duty to watch over the massive castle housing their university.

Drifting along behind him, not half as worried, Tobirama snickered again at the image of someone falling in to the river. Long ago when the first mages had created this place of learning they had been just a wee bit suspicious of outsiders. History was a little vague on exactly which one of them did it but Tobirama’s theory was that it had actually taken all of them to convince the earth herself to raise up high and set the university grounds far above the rest of the surrounding countryside, sheer cliffs at every boundary line and only one set of stairs carved in to the eastern wall. Just imagining someone stupid enough to topple off the cliff and down in to the northern river left Tobirama smiling. People were idiots. If somehow a non-magic person had found their way to this hidden place and trekked all the way up a staircase that would be invisible to them he sort of hoped they fell back down the cliff just for being so insufferably nosey.

Neither of them spotted anyone on their way to where the wards had been disturbed, not another soul awake or at least none of them stupid enough to be up and about on a cold winter night such as this. Which was strange, actually, unless somehow the disturbance had come from outside the boundaries because if it had come from inside then they should have passed someone on the way to the scene. After exiting the front doors of the castle there was really nowhere for anyone to hide on the wide open grounds surrounding it.

As they drew closer, merely a few dozen feet away, Tobirama began to twitch.

“I don’t like this,” he grumbled.

“What?” Despite the fact that there was no love lost between them, he appreciated that Madara had the good sense to stop and listen to him. He did have his smart moments.

“The snow,” Tobirama pointed out. “It’s undisturbed. And there are no whispers.”

“Whispers?”

Cutting one hand through the air impatiently, he snapped, “Yes, whispers, the water in the snow. I can speak to my own element just as you can. No one has gone through here in the past few hours. If they had then the snow would remember.”

Madara eyed him contemplatively for a moment and then nodded. With absolutely no connection to water himself, he would have to rely entirely on Tobirama’s word for that. Unfortunately the fire in his veins did nothing to make him a cautious man, preferring to bull his way in to a situation while yelling his questions, and that tendency showed itself now. With a decisive slant of his brow he strode forward and stretched one hand out, probably intending to speak with the wards again and ask what they remembered about when the alarm had been tripped.

He cried out with surprise and stumbled back in to Tobirama, sending both of them crashing down in the very center of the glyph lighting up underneath their feet. Completely hidden by snow, diameter large enough that Tobirama could have stretched out completely and not been able to touch both sides, it glowed with a pale yellow light the moment Madara tried to pass beyond the far side and cast him back, trapping them both within.

“I told you I didn’t like this,” Tobirama murmured, already reaching out with raw magic to feel around the edges of the glyph.

“Shut up. What’s happening?”

“Oh, I really don’t like this.” That was all the answer Tobirama managed to give before the light doubled in intensity and the world around them began to warp. Madara screeched in his ear and Tobirama couldn’t help but agree – with the panic, not with the level of decibels he managed to achieve. This was definitely cause for panic.

They had barely a handful of seconds to process what was happening. One minute they lay in a heap together in the virgin snow outside of their beloved university and the next they were transported to what would have looked like an underground cavern of some sort if not for the wind blowing in from one end. Someone had forcibly relocated them to a cave. Someone was looking forward to an early grave when they found their way back home.

“If you even think the words ‘I told you so’ I will rearrange your face.” Madara sat upright just to snarl at Tobirama, covering his discomfort with the usual bluster.

“Now seems as good a time as any to tell you that my dearest wish is for you to someday learn to use your brain for thinking first before the yelling starts.”

“Fuck. You.”

“We may have to resort to that for entertainment, as abhorrent as the idea is. I’m sure you haven’t spent the brainpower to notice but we appear to be sealed in here.” Tobirama lifted one of his eyebrows and gestured towards where the cave twisted out of sight. No visible barrier could be found but he could already feel the muffling effect of some kind of dampening spell.

Not only had they been sent away but they had been trapped here. Wonderful. Tobirama wondered what he had done recently to piss the spirits off so much that he ended up trapped in a cave with only Uchiha Madara for company. Literally anyone else in the world would have been better – except for maybe Uchiha Izuna. Madara’s younger brother was probably the only person more annoying than him. Even worse, he somehow had less social tact than the world’s biggest buffoon.

Both men pushed themselves to their feet and moved towards the far side of the cave where a bend in the path would have led towards the outside world. A few meters before they would have reached it they were stopped, something unseen sizzling in warning. Neither of them were really all that interested in using themselves as a test subject to find out what they were being warned away from. At least, not without knowing who laid the barrier, what their element was, how willing they were to separate limbs from bodies, that sort of thing.

Edging backwards until the sizzling stopped, Madara dropped his face in to what was possibly the sourest expression he had ever managed, arms crossing and shoulders tensing until they were hiked up around his ears.

“This is bullshit,” he declared.

“I hate to say you’re right about anything but in this case I am compelled to agree.” Tobirama looked around for somewhere to sit, disappointed to realize there was nowhere that wasn’t covered in ice or snow. He ignored the offended the mess of huffs and snorts behind him as Madara tried to figure out if he was offended or smug.

After a while the man settled with, “Between the two of us we can find a way through it, why are you sitting down?”

“Because between the two of us I am not volunteering to get close enough to that barrier to make a physical inspection. If you would shut up for a few moments I could gather my concentration to look at it in other ways.” Scraping a small area clean with the side of one boot, he added, “Unless you also happen to have studied for as long as I have and understand how to connect yourself to another person’s magic? No? I didn’t think so.”

“Could you be any more of an asshole?” Madara snarled.

“Probably but they say imitation is the highest form of flattery and I have no intention of flattering you.”

While his companion took a few seconds to work through that Tobirama sat down on the cold stone floor, as free of snow as it was going to get, and turned himself inwards to the power flowing through him. Madara’s inevitable screech of anger went in one ear and out the other as Tobirama let his consciousness gather and then flow outwards, stretching himself until he could feel every inch of his surroundings. The bright sensation of fire-passion-fearless took concentration to think past, as Madara often did, but Tobirama forced himself to push farther towards the warm-forbidding-apology that awaited him at the mouth of their impromptu dungeon. Strange, he thought. Those weren’t the feelings he had expected to get from this little exploration. Whoever set up that barrier felt guilty while doing so.

Carefully brushing along the edges, Tobirama was able to feel for points where the spell was weakest and slip underneath them, filling the proverbial cracks with his own magic and leaving pieces of himself behind like those hidden landmines non-magical folk had been so fond of during their first couple of wars.

Retreating back in to his own body and opening his eyes felt like a loss. It was always a bit of a jarring experience feeling the world in such an intimate way and then opening his eyes to find himself nothing more than human once again. Existing as conscious magic made him feel free and unconstrained while coming back to his body left him overly aware of how cold his ass had become from sitting on frozen rock. Popping his eyes open, he grimaced and clenched both butt cheeks in an effort to encourage some blood flow.

“Well?” Madara demanded. “Did the oh-so-smart scholar find anything useful?”

“I’ve weakened the barrier but it’ll take time to fall apart completely. Until then there’s really nothing for us to do but wait.” Not the best news he’d ever had to deliver, although the irritation in Madara’s expression was at least a small lift to his mood.

“Seriously? We just sit here? And do nothing?”

“I have done something. That something will take time. If you have anything you would like to add to my efforts then be my guest.” Tobirama waited and when his companion gave no response he hummed in satisfaction. Being right was a pleasure all on its own but being right when Madara was wrong? That was always best.

Since it was already quite late his hope was that he could somehow fall asleep or at least doze off to pass the hours more quickly. Madara stomped around trying to find a place of his own to settle down while Tobirama closed his eyes again and told himself very firmly to ignore the cold seeping deeper and deeper in to his limbs with every passing moment. If he lost part of his ass cheeks to frostbite someone was going to pay very deeply for such a transgression.

More than an hour passed in complete silence after the other idiot with him finally settled down and yet still Tobirama couldn’t bring himself even close to dozing off. Water was his element of course but he certainly didn’t enjoy sitting around in the frozen form of it for ages on end. Around the time he realized he had all but stopped shivering he also realized that perhaps losing an extremity or two was the least of his problems, though it still ranked fairly high in his mind. His limbs were fairly important to his ability to perform certain spells.

Curious in a sluggish sort of way, he lifted one hand and tried to wiggle his fingers.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice slurring. “That’s not good at all.”

“What’s not good?” Madara’s voice demanded. Up until he spoke the man had appeared to be sleeping, hunched down with the snow around him melting, body heat raised to keep warm.

Tobirama forced his head to turn and meet his companion’s eyes. It took a few moments to process the sudden cursing, the way Madara scrambled across the cave to kneel in front of him. When large hands enclosed his own he felt nothing.

“Your fucking lips are blue! Actually blue!” Madara blew on his hands. Logically Tobirama could guess that he was heating the air but it appeared his fingers had gone entirely numb. At some point while he sat there and waited for sleep hypothermia had found him instead. Irritating. More so because he found thinking straight incredibly difficult once he actually tried to think about anything.

“Definitely not good,” he said.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Madara demanded.

“As if you would have cared.” Difficult as it was to concentrate on anything, the antagonistic relationship between them was as natural as his own heartbeat and required even less thought.

Predictably, Madara snorted, almost dropping his hands in retaliation. “Fine way to speak to the only one around who can keep you alive,” he snarled.

Contrary to his attitude he did continue to breathe warm air over the frozen digits between them. If they’d had a little warning before getting summarily evacuated from university grounds then maybe one of them might have brought along gloves or a scarf. Well, Madara wouldn’t have because he didn’t need either but Tobirama certainly would have bundled up a little more. Either their captor hadn’t thought of these particular consequences or they didn’t really care and he would only find out which if he lived through the cold night.

For the most part Tobirama sat still through Madara’s attempts to bring feeling back in to his hands, even if that was largely in part due to the fact that he was worried any movements would send him toppling over sideways. Only the fact that he had settle in place seemed to be keeping him upright. After a while Madara gave a frustrated growl and Tobirama blinked up at him wordlessly in question.

“This is taking too long. I can’t breathe the rest of you warm again – also that would be creepy and I hate the images in my head now. I need to warm all of you up at once.”

“So do that,” Tobirama mumbled.

“Well it’s not as easy as ‘just do it’! I could build a flame easy enough but it would burn you before it did much good. There’s…another option. But you’re not going to like it. Hell, I don’t like it.” At Tobirama’s grunt he took a deep breath and absently rubbed the hands between his own. “Open your pathways to me. Your core magic. I’ll merge it with mine and lend you my fire; that should keep us both warm.”

Staring at him in complete shock, Tobirama managed to ask, “Have you gone completely mad?”

It was, by all accounts, a perfectly understandable question. There were few things more intimate that one mage could do for another than allow them to touch their core magic. Not even most married couples would be comfortable bearing their souls in such a manner. To do so for someone he didn’t even like, let alone trust, the very idea was laughable.

Yet Madara was far from laughing.

“There has to be another way to get warm,” he insisted. Madara sighed.

“No. Your body temperature is so low, there’s no other way to warm all of you at once without killing you. I could wrap around you and raise my own heat but it wouldn’t work fast enough and you would burn.” Shaking his head, he frowned. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I thought something else would work, believe me.”

Tobirama closed his eyes for a moment to think and realized a few moments later that there was no longer any time to do so. When he tried to open his eyes again it was a fight, a harrowing effort, and he recognized that Madara was right; he was too far gone.

“Fine,” he whispered.

Without asking he couldn’t be sure if Madara was doing this because he would never hurt Hashirama by letting his brother go out like this or simply because he was a man with enough morals not to let another human die right in front of him. Tobirama considered it but decided against asking. He probably wouldn’t like the answer and it didn’t truly matter. In the end he was still being offered a free ticket to survival, a one-time offer going fast.

At the very least Madara was merciful enough not to be smug about it. He nodded once before shuffling around behind where Tobirama sat and wriggling in between his frozen bulk and the wall to press their bodies together, chest to back.

“The closer we are the better this will work,” he said. “Don’t worry, I hate it just as much as you. One little cuddle and then we never speak of this again.”

“I’ll clam up if you do,” Tobirama assured him.

His companion grunted. With his body now slumped backwards against another form Tobirama found his head lolling forward to stare down at the hands interlocking with his own again to create two points of connection, making a circle of their pathways for their magic to flow along. Clever, he had to admit. Positioning them like this would leave them in a constant state of feedback with each other.

Despite already agreeing to do this, opening himself to Madara proved to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. Every instinct in his body cried out against the first touch of another’s magic where he should feel only his own and yet with sheer stubbornness he managed to keep himself from shoving the other man out. He expected the feeling of being invaded, the most sacred part of him violated when it should have remained pure only until the unlikely day he intentionally invited another in.

What he did not expect was the harmony. Madara’s core and his own merged together as easily as stirring the ingredients for one of his elixirs. Warmth suffused him as promised but it wasn’t quite the warmth he expected, less body heat and more a sort of inner peace the likes of which he’d never achieved in his life.

In the darkness his inner eye was blinded by a light, fire rushing along the rivers of his core magic, cool blue turned to burning gold and dancing in such a way he couldn’t distinguish fire or water.

And he wasn’t alone. Tobirama stared unseeing at the cavern around them and knew only the second presence inside his mind, the hesitant brush of a thought that wasn’t his own. Ever too curious for his own good, he pushed towards it and gasped as he encountered Madara’s mind, faint but there, the edges of that twisted and baffling mind just beyond an ephemeral and very much proverbial wall. He shouldn’t. Tobirama knew he shouldn’t. But his curiosity had gotten him in to trouble many times in his life and this would certainly not be the last.

He pushed. Just a quick gentle nudge, inching a little closer for a better look. What better way to understand a man’s actions and personality than to take a look inside his mind and the feelings therein? For a moment he could feel the edges of Madara’s curiosity echoing back at him and, incredibly, he got the impression that he didn’t so much break in rather than the door being willingly cracked open. It was a thrill until the unthinkable happened. He slipped. He fell in to Madara in a way that would have been impossible to describe to anyone who had not experienced the same thing before but if he hadn’t just given himself entirely over to another he would have had only one thing to say.

They were one.