#also i feel. weird about the concept of henry being in school at the same time as joyce/hopper/bob

[hawkinslibrary]

someone on the hawkins av club subreddit seems to have found some audition tapes for the first shadow. auditions include ‘george��� and ‘betty’ (as mentioned in this collider article), as well as an audition for young hopper 

[fastestloseralive]

tell us more about your au? :)

you mean the au where Barry gets adopted by the Garricks? okay this is going to probably be a lot so get ready. also half of this is on @haljordangreenjedi because katie’s the one I’ve been talking to about it

there’s a lot of backstory I’ll never get into but basically all you need to know is barry, iris, and hal were childhood friends, because I’m obsessed with those three and that concept, but ANYWAY. Barry’s mom dies when he’s 11 and he goes into the system but he ends up with Jay and Joan as his foster parents. they don’t live that far from central, I mean, keystone is right next to it, but in my head they live on this nice big farm. it was originally just that they have less a farm and more a lot of land cause like, it’s the Midwest, and also the entire au is called the “life on the farm au” cause it’s very self-indulgent and I think that it would be lovely to live somewhere like that, but I digress. It’s not so much a farm as it is they have some small animals around the place, like some goats and chickens and possibly a cow, and it’s mostly just that they’re very out of the way without actually being THAT far from keystone or central. Like, Barry still goes to the same school because I said so. But anyway.

The thing about it is that they’ve been alive a long time, and Jay and Joan are lowkey immortal/age slowly bc speed force, and like, idk. Maybe they’ve helped out some kids before or whatever. But they get Barry as their foster child, they end up adopting him somewhere along the line (Barry’s dad got wrongly arrested for killing his mom, and like, idk either he dies in prison or they just work something out bc Henry’s in there for life so Barry can get adopted) although Barry doesn’t change his last name.

And okay okay. Barry lives out there with them, and like their niece Dinah comes around sometimes and Barry’s friends with her but his entire life it feels like they’re keeping something from him. He has no idea what it is. He doesn’t know why Jay gets so amused when Barry rambles on and on about those old Flash comics his mother loved, and like the idea of this is that it kinda parallels Barry and Wally in that Wally was a flash fan and Barry marries into his family and Wally gets to be so happily surprised when he finds out Barry’s the Flash. Anyway, Barry doesn’t know Jay’s the old Flash from the JSA (which is valid because Jay should be like, super old, but still) and for a while he’s convinced that with all the secrecy and weird non-related extended “family” members and etc etc, Barry thinks Jay was in the mob. He tells Dinah about it once day when she’s visiting and they’re out alone feeding the chickens and she totally goes along with his theory despite that she knows it’s the stupidest thing ever cause Dinah knows about the JSA, but Barry doesn’t. Anyway, none of this gets resolved until Barry gets powers himself. and it’s not super fleshed out but like there’s so much I love about it.

ALSO they have two dogs when Barry’s younger named Cooper and Lola and then an essential part of the au (cause I’m me and it’s so self-indulgent) is that Barry gets a kitten named Indy (after Indiana Jones, cause Barry was going through a Harrison Ford phase cause it was the mid-80s and “Han” didn’t sound right for a cat’s name) but yeah. that’s pretty much it

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin​ for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST— 

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse 

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle 

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can 

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear 

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode? 

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion 

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home: 

All hail Incitatus the king 

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts 

oh god is that hamilton 

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven 

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again 

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way 

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj 

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway) 

Me internally vs externally 

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance” 

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit 

?

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different 

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up 

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like 

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap 

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

?

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

?

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

[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.

[lifedrake]

Persona au again. Feat Hyde’s shapeshifting abilities.

The last time I posted something for this au, a couple of people mentioned that they don’t know what Persona is. It’s a game series (Although, I only really know P4 and P5 and only a little about P3 so I’m not exactly an expert on all of the lore so I’m about to try to explain something even I don’t quite know properly.) and the rules change up from game to game but the overall concept is that there’s a second world created from the collective unconsciousness and the main characters travel to this other world through various ways for various reasons. Each game is a stand-alone so you can pick up any game in the series and understand the plot. (Unless it’s a spinoff game because there’s a ton of those)

This au is mostly based off of Persona 4 where the characters had to face off against their own shadows, the living version of the side of themself that they refuse to acknowledge (And when they refuse to acknowledge it, it turns into a monster and becomes a boss battle because this is a game). Usually a shadow is a very exagurated version of a flaw or want in a person and they spend most of their time acting on these wants and trying to get their original to accept them. When a shadow is accepted by the person it came from, it becomes a persona, the physical representation of the person’s outward personality which can be used to fight other shadows. Certain characters, known as wildcards, can use multiple personas and each persona is based off of well known characters or people.

Where shadows are, the location around them changes to suit them and their view of the world. Basically, everything from the environment to the shadow becomes an extended metaphor. For example, a teacher in Persona 5 who saw the school he taught in as his own castle appeared in the other world as a king and inhabited a castle version of the school. Their imagined versions of people in the real world can show up there in various ways, hence cognitive Lanyon.

The au uses the P3 method of travelling to the other world. Essentially, there’s a secret extra hour in the day at midnight that only certain people experience called the Dark Hour. During this hour, certain places in the environment change. If someone is in a changed location when the hour wears off, they can’t return to the real world until they leave.

Sheesh, reading over, this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. The fact that this au is a mix of different games doesn’t really help. I don’t even know if people who know the franchise would understand this au.

Jekyll’s Location is a circus with Hyde, Jekyll’s shadow, being the ringleader. Hyde specialises in illusions and uses these abilities to disguise himself so he doesn’t look like Jekyll anymore. No matter how he changes, his clothes and eyes remain the same, though. (He also uses these abilities to taunt Lanyon. At least once, he turned into Lanyon but with an even bigger nose. Lanyon was not amused.)

Hyde has the special distinction of being the only self-aware shadow in the other world which was unintentionally the result of Jekyll’s experiments. Instead of turning himself into a different person, Jekyll cut himself off from his shadow in the other world. Henry, who doesn’t know about the other world, doesn’t realize this. All he knows is that those weird emotions of his are much quieter now so this “evil side” of his must be gone and the experiment, therefore, was a success.

Hyde is still aware and affected by Jekyll in the real world, just to a lesser extent than most shadows - He begrudgingly cares about Jekyll’s friends and suffers from any dips in mental health that Jekyll suffers. Occasionally, when the link between Jekyll and Hyde is particularly strong, Hyde starts acting like a regular shadow again, blurting out his true feelings on things. He absolutely hates these moments and wants more than anything to be cut off from Henry entirely.

Also, Lanyon gets to meet Mind!Lanyon (Or cognitive!Lanyon in this case who should have a top hat but I can’t draw them. Hyde probably deserves a top hat as well as a ringleader). I appreciate Persona for the only piece of media I can think of with the unique angst potential of “Hey, do you want to meet the physical representation of how your closest friend sees you and how all your advice and attempts to help them have been misinterpreted and warped in their head, making you one of the largest reasons why their mental health has been plummeting recently? Do you also want to fight a representation of that friend while it reveals exactly what your friend subconsciously thinks of you in explicit and soul-crushing detail? Sorry for the loss of most of your friendship.” It’s like a very niche version of the truth serum but worse and I love that.

Most of the people in Jekyll’s Location are either circus performers or little living spotlights and are pretty generally aggressive towards Jekyll and his shadow in some way or another but, luckily, only cognitive Lanyon can see through Hyde’s illusions so Hyde can generally get around without getting attacked using his disguises.

So far, I’ve decided that they have to fight Rachel’s, Jasper’s, Jekyll’s and Frankenstein’s shadows. I don’t know who else yet or what order they’ll be done in. Rachel’s is the first and Jasper will probably be second? That’s all I really know.

I haven’t quite decided yet what everyone’s personas should be or what they look like. I think Lanyon’s will be Sherlock and Jekyll’s is Romulus but I don’t yet have a single clue for Rachel, Jasper or Frankenstein.

Uh, anyway. This is getting long. I’m thinking of changing Robert’s outfit to more of a plague doctor style, my attempts to do so just haven’t turned out very well so far.

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!! 

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish. 

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                           [~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love?  - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

  - What the fu-

 Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

 Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

 “You dye, you buy.”

 Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

 He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

 Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

 But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

 But…

 Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

 Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

 A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

 Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

 It was okay.

 They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

 It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

 Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

 Okay. Everything was okay.

 [~*~]

 Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

 The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

 It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

  CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!  

 [~*~]

 The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

 Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

 And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

 “Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

  [~*~]

 Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

 A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

 [~*~]

 Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

 He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

  It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

 He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

 Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

 ‘The First Step’.

 Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

 “Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

 “That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

 He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

 “Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

 “Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

 “I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

 “How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

 Silence followed his words.

 “Pat?”

 “What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

 “Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

 “Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

 Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

  “I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

 “You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

 “We’re on episode 19.”

  [~*~]  

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

 A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

 Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

 Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

 Or…

 Navy blue.

 Oh.

 He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

 Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

 This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

 No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

 Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

 …If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

 Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

 Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

 “It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

 A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

 “Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

 “Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

 “I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

 “He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

 “A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

 “Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

 “You should go sleep, then.”

 The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

 Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

 “I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

 Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

 Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits?  Does he even remember about him?

 Highly improbable.

 “You can call me Lo.”

 Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

 “Lo? Like Lowrance?”

 “Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

 Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

 …

 ‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

 ‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

 ‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

 His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

 ‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

 ‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

 Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

 ‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

 …

 “Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

 Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

 “Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

 “Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

 “Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

 “Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

 “Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

 Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

 “Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

  “Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

 Then he understood.

  His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

 “Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

 “Hello, Prince.”

 Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

 “I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

 “I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

 “Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

 Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

 “Make me, I dare you.”

 “Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

 “Eleven years.”

 “We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

 “Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

 “Yeah, I agree.”

 Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

[davecall93]

Teddy (6)

“Good boy,” said Coach, as he pulled himself out of Teddy’s ass. He laid back and let Teddy curl up to his side. He stared lovingly at Teddy’s paunch, which was unmistakable. Awash in post-coital contentment, he took his hand and began to rub it. “Maybe I’ll get a wish.”

Teddy smirked and felt, despite Coach’s feelings towards his body, a slight rush of embarrassment.

Coach noticed this. It was not the embarrassment he minded but its suggestion of a place where Teddy remained untouched by him. His day to day assault on Teddy’s conception of himself had halted at a recessed corner in Teddy’s mind. Coach, who hated to feel he was being laughed at, did not like that there was some place in Teddy’s mind could be out reach, that could will itself out of reach, that could be mocking him, that could emerge unchanged by Coach. Dominion, knew Coach, was hierarchical. Man over the Earth and God over Man.

And Coach over  a little boy named Teddy.

“Does Teddy want a midnight snack?”

“Sure.”

“I need to rinse.”

As Coach plodded downstairs in a worn terrycloth robe, the little piece in Teddy’s mind that resisted him stuck out. By the time he had finished assembling a meal for Teddy (grilled cheese, glass of whole milk, brownie drowned in ice cream), the pleasure of sex had diminished, and the same spirit that had made Coach a hot-headed competitive swimmer in high school emerged. For that, he piled whip cream on the ice cream.

As Teddy ate next to him, Coach went on the offensive. “You’re resisting me, boy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re resisting me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s because you have a limited capacity for self-reflection.” Teddy rolled his eyes. However, Coach was correct. He was attracted to that in Teddy’s nature: that things were as simple as he  thought. It was what made Teddy malleable and accepting. It was what made one day’s interior transformation the next day’s most natural order of things. But it also blocked entry into parts of Teddy.

“Would you be eating if I was not here? Who are you?” Coach knew he was being slightly obtuse.

“What do you mean?”

Coach growled. “Don’t answer back with questions.”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“Goodnight.” Coach turned off the light and turned to his side. The room, whose blackout curtains were drawn, was pitch black.

“I’m still eating!”

“I know. There are crumbs in the bed. Goodnight.”

Teddy finished eating in the dark.

“Was that a fight?” Asked Teddy the next morning.

“Was what a fight?”

“I don’t know…you know turning off the light and pouting.”

“That was not a fight. I was not pouting. You were not answering my questions.”

“Oh my god,” said Teddy, frustrated. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I am about to head out; there’s a family lunch I have to go to. I have ordered you three pizzas from that new wood-fired place. Snacks are in the pantry.”

“Can I go out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. I just let you out last week. Besides, this way you can try all their pizzas.”

“Do you like….know the owner or something?”

“Yes, he’s a friend of mine. Also, we own the building. Restaurants are risky because they have a high rate of failure, so I feel I should be supportive.” Coach grabbed his wallet and keys. As he walked past Teddy at the breakfast table, he patted his stomach, “Eat local.” He kissed Teddy on the head and left. “Don’t forget to report what you eat and when you eat it.

A minute later Coach reappeared. “Forget it, we’re going to go eat pizza.”

“That was quick.”

“Go shower and put on some clothes.”

“ But didn’t you already order pizzas to come?”

“Lost your appetite, fatty? You can eat them later.”

Whatever had made Coach change his mind was unclear to Teddy. It was a surprisingly normal lunch, its origins aside. Coach ordered salad and caught Teddy by surprise when he did not order for him.

“You didn’t order for me?” Asked Teddy when the waiter left.

Coach smiled, “I am just being a normal boyfriend in public.”

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” replied Coach. “Absolutely nothing.”

Despite what Coach said, Teddy found the next few days strange. There was a clockwork, mechanical feel to things. Coach appeared distant, all while maintaining the life that they had so quickly settled into: morning Boosts, rough handling Teddy, the teasing, three large meals a day. But in certain, intermittent instants, Coach seemed to pull back as if his actions all sprang from a series of suddenly recalled afterthoughts. While he had ceased to notice that the surprise snacks and stuffings that Coach lived to surprise him with, he now noticed that they seemed perfunctory. When he came ba

One morning as Teddy made extra effort to be messy, Coach simply handed him some napkins, rather than yelling or slapping him, or acting like he had to help Teddy clean up.

“Are you mad at me, Coach? Did I do something?”

“No, baby. Not all.” Coach smiled. “Wipe your face, you have some milk dribbling down your face.”

Teddy had even attempted to test him. “Coach…,” he said one evening, as they lay on the couch. “Do you think maybe we…I…should slow down…?”

Coach put down his book. “Is this too fast for you?”

“I don’t mean us…I mean…” Teddy poked his stomach. “You know…”

Coach looked tenderly at Teddy. “Oh, Teddy, we can go at any speed you want.” Teddy panicked inwardly. He had expected more of a reaction.

Coach then suddenly grabbed his hair and pulled it tight and hissed in his ear. “Slow does not mean stop, fatty. Remember that.” He then tossed Teddy’s head away.

That was…normal enough, thought Teddy.

The next week Coach skipped morning boosts and left Teddy to make his own breakfasts and lunch. They had good sex, pleasant conversation, and Coach tied Teddy up for one dinner stuffing, although he asked very politely if he could before hand. Although Teddy did not say anything, he felt as if Coach may as well have masturbated.

On Sunday, Teddy received an invite for a group brunch the following weekend. Someone had reserved a place at the students called “the good brunch spot.”

“Do you want to come?” asked Teddy. In his mind, the question was something of a test for Coach. Like all tests of romantic partners it was poorly calibrated: Coach would not brunch with college students to prove his attachment.

“No, but I will drive you.”

“Oh.”

Coach laughed at Teddy. “I’ve had you cooped up for a while now. Don’t you want some time away?”

“I mean…I guess so…”

“Did you want me to go?”

“I mean…yes…but no…”

“Oh, Teddy, trust me. They’ll have more fun. You should know by now that it’s a fucking drag when people bring their significant others to these things.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. The whole point of your twenties is to wish your friend’s significant others weren’t there.” Coach pulled him over to cuddle him. “Besides, you’re gonna need all the room at that table. I can barely get my arms around you.”

Teddy realized Coach hadn’t teased him about his weight in three days. Why, he wondered, did each time he try to prove something was off did everything fall back in place?

***

They were 14 at brunch. Teddy knew a fewer people than he expected. The boy who had brought him a plate of food at the part was there. Teddy noticed that he worked his way over specifically to talk to him. His name was Henry.

“Good to see again, man! How’s your summer been?”

Henry had upbeat personality and a warm presence. He was boyish, not unlike in the way Teddy was, but ventured slightly towards having the personality of a brightly colored brochure. However, this was mitigated by a sense of sincerity to everything he said, as well as a certain unmistakable air of sexiness.

Teddy, who was somewhat mopey and confused as to what do with the attention, replied, “Oh, you know…it’s weird to be graduated. I don’t have a job yet.”

At this, Henry burst into a bit of a monologue about how he felt about graduation and life changes. His boyfriend was still on study abroad and wouldn’t be back for another month. Teddy found his positivity disarming. Henry was one of those people who had a way of making people he spoke to feel as if they were a part of what he was saying, even when it was only about himself.

“Yeah, I just met someone,” said Teddy when he took his turn. “It’s different. I haven’t really dated before. He’s a fucking piece of work, and I can’t really tell how it’s going.”

Before Henry could explain to Teddy his philosophy on self-actualization in new relationships, the group was sat. Henry stayed close to Teddy, although they had not known each other before.

As Teddy sat there, his mind, which had been entirely occupied with figuring out what was wrong between him and coach, was forced to settle on new surroundings. He felt suddenly disoriented as his mind was flooded with the realization that this was a world he had been away from for longer than he had realized. Surrounded by people who called him Theo, who knew him as a study partner, partygoer and occasional drunken mess, his mind raced to the little recess where it still kept the remnants of what and who he was before Coach.

Made aware of their own materiallessness by the sudden evacuation of the settings that were his life with Coach, those remnants sparked and sputtered as Teddy blinked and tried to figure out why he felt so strange in a situation he knew so well. It lasted up until the moment that the waitress came by to ask his order.

It came when Teddy began with his usual, practiced order, “I’ll have the chicken fried steak with potatoes and scrambled eggs…” and then added, as the little voice of Coach inside him rose triumphant, “and a side of blueberry pancakes, extra whip cream, and a vanilla milkshake.” Theo had not added that. Teddy had.

Coach could not have known that that day would be the one where the siege of the last two weeks would bear fruit. He would have loved to have been there, and he would have come instantaneously in long, stranding ropes, unaided by anything more than watching Theo surrender to Teddy. Patient and disciplined as erosion, Coach had worn down that final last space. He had not been there, but he had not asked to be. He asked only that it come. He was, as he felt himself to be, remarkable.

As Teddy acknowledged, however dimly, that this marked a change in, he could hear Henry next him saying, “Theo, living his best graduated life!”

“I’m eating for two, now,” he said, patting his stomach.

[nullanythorm-ao3]

Just Some Random Fanfic Concepts

So I was going to wait and see if anyone else was interested in me posting up some of my general fanfic ideas. However, I’m bored and struggling to work with the CiM update I’m working on right now. So I’m just going to do it? Also, a heads up to look out for another post coming later, because I want to share some of my Variro YouTube playlist, too.  BUT FIRST, story ideas. You’ll get some working titles for the ones I HAVE working titles for, but otherwise I’m just winging it cuz there are a lot of them. These are in no particular order. Things being higher or lower on the list doesn’t mean they’re more or less likely to be worked on. 

#1 - A continuation for Land or Sea (title pending)

So a little background on this one. I got the idea for this one at the same time as I got the idea for Trust is Something Earned. I put which one I worked on first up to a vote on the Tangled Amino. 

It’s a mermaid(merman/boy??)!Varian AU that centers on the idea: What if, in Queen for a Day, instead of coming up with a solution that created the amber when interacting with the rocks, Varian creates a different one and winds up getting himself turned into a mermaid instead?

It’ll feature 4 OCs: two created by me, and two created by a friend. The perspective will shift between Varian and an OC that belongs to a friend of mine named Charlotte, Varian’s childhood friend and love interest. 

Without spoiling too much, it takes place primarily during the events of season 2 (and maybe stretches into season 3). It switches perspective between Varian, who’s sent to live in the ocean after the accident and becomes friends with an adventurous merboy named Caspian who helps him rediscover his passion for science and alchemy, and Charlotte, who’s left behind in Corona and is trying to rediscover her sense of self and direction after losing her best and only friend. Charlotte’s perspective will help show how the premise changes events in Corona, while Varian’s is wholly original. 

The other OCs that will be involved in the story will be my OC Adrian Claire, who followers of TiSE will know, and my friend’s OC Henry. 

#2 - Stitched Together (originated from Ragdoll)

Okay so the original premise for this was for it to be a Variro story. The focus was Hiro living a double life: a college student in San Fransokyo who realized the existence of the several magical realms that ran parallel to his home after discovering he had magical blood passed down from his mother (maybe even throwing in superhero and making it a triple life - poor Hiro). He finds what’s known in the multi-realm as a living doll - a doll that gained a soul either through devotion and affection of a previous owner and desire to become more human, or having a human soul literally shoved into it. 

Varian, his doll, is the latter. Due to crimes against his home realm of Corona and his own uncontrollable magical talent, they forced him into having his soul magically “stitched” into a rag doll, until Hiro’s magical talent allowed him to awaken.  However, because of his nature as a living doll, Varian now depends on and is subservient to Hiro, but the two soon grow a bond much closer than expected. 

Now, after working on the lore and world of the story, I’ve grown its scope a little. Rather than simply being a crossover with Tangled and Big Hero 6, I want Stitched Together to be a bigger-scale crossover, including How To Train Your Dragon and the Tales of Arcadia series as well. 

It’s going to be Hiccup/Hiro/Varian, along with Jim/Claire from ToA being close friends with the trio. They’re all going to be young wizards from different realms, with different magic specialties studying in Arcanum, the central realm that connects all magically advanced realms. Other characters from each series will show up as well! You’ll see a bit of all of them, it’s a pretty enormous project.

#3 - Maybe some Hogwarts Shenanigans?

I’d really like to do a short, maybe 7-chapter story on the Hogwarts Headcanons for the OT3 I did a while back. The big issue is I’m still trying to figure out where I stand on posting Harry Potter/Hogwarts content after the whole J.K. Rowling thing. 

It’d be a chapter focusing on each year the three spend at Hogwarts together, some key moments through the years, and things like that. Just a small, random story about some kids at Hogwarts having fun. 

Might do it, might not, we’ll see. 

#4 - Time Travel Variro Fic (title pending)

This is another one sort of meant to run alongside season 2 of TTS, and maybe s3. It also replaces the S3 of BH6 the series. Just cuz. 

Basically Varian escapes after being put in prison, and decides the best way to save his dad is prevent the amber from capturing him all together. Vindictive, feral little villain raccoon decides that if he can’t have his happy ending, he won’t let Raps have hers and plans to make a time machine so he can go back and prevent Eugene from rescuing Raps. 

Unfortunately, a slight user error and hiccup in his plans (namely the fact that Ruddiger doesn’t appreciate being left alone and hops in the machine with him and all the noise and flashing lights of a steampunk-medieval time machine spook him) causes him to catapult into the future instead. 

Meanwhile, Hiro’s dealing with his friends moving on to find work, his own internship at KreiTech while attending school, and being fifteen and struggling with hormones and his sexuality finally starting to rear its ugly head after being dormant for 15 years of being in an ongoing relationship with SCIENCE (aka he’s seeing guys, thinking ‘he’s cute/handsome’, and he’s PANICKING). Then, as he’s on his way home from internship one day, a random af raccoon tugs at his pants leg until he finds a boy in weird clothes unconscious in an alley somewhere

Varian, after being woken up, and unsure if he should bring up that he’s from the past or not, makes up a fake story about running away from a small town. Hiro, feeling there’s something more but empathetic to Varian’s story, invites him to stay with him at the Lucky Cat and introduces him to Cass. 

Varian is stand-offish at first, absorbed in his “pet project”, as he calls it around Hiro. Basically, the machine didn’t time travel with him, he’s stuck, and is determined to get home and continue his plan. Hiro, however, is drawn in by the mysterious boy and tries to reach out to him and open him up.

Varian catches on to modern technology and science pretty darn quickly. He’s a smart boy. He also stays holed up in Hiro’s lab or the room they allowed him to borrow reading all day. Until finally Hiro cracks him out of his shell, he starts attending SFIT, and meets the rest of the BH6 crew.

There’s more to the story than this but that’s all I’m saying for now. Lots of drama, tension, etc, and just a fun time as boys discover their sexualities, learn where they can call home, and all that good stuff. 

#5 - In Someone Else’s Shoes (Time Travel Team Awesome Fic!)

So this one is kind of meant to work in tandem with the Variro fic. While the Variro fic explores Varian failing in his plan and getting catapulted into the future, this fic shows the results of what would happen if the time travel worked.  

It centers around Team Awesome! Varian travels back to the past, and tells Eugene that he dies if he hides in the tower. He convinces him that he’s his partner in his future, by knowing his name and stroking his ego a bit. But inform him that the crown will lead to nothing but trouble and his death (conveniently leaving out the part where he meets the love of his life and gets brought back from the dead because of a magical healing flower). 

The alteration to the timeline erases the former Varian’s existence and overwrites the Varian of the new timeline with his memories - giving him the memories of both the former and current timeline. He wakes up in bed at the palace, being woken up by his personal attendant Flynn (Eugene, who only allows Varian to call him by his proper name when they’re alone) and told to get ready for his coronation as crown prince. It turns out, in this timeline, because Eugene and Rapunzel weren’t there to stop him from his running water experiments, the devastation on Old Corona caused the death of his dad and several others. Since he was the son of an old friend, and they longed for their missing princess, Frederic and Arianna take him in as their son, and monitor his scientific hobby to prevent him from causing more trouble. 

Of course, this won’t do. He confides the truth to Eugene, that he was trying to save his dad by returning to the past (but again, keeping out key elements), and the two decide to work together to rebuild the time machine and alter the past without the catastrophic results. 

Won’t spoil too much, there are some wild twists and turns here. But it’s one I’m really looking forward to, again!

#6 - Maybe some Percy Jackson/Camp Half-Blood shenanigans

I’d just really like to make some Camp Half-Blood AU stuff. It’d be more a series of one-shots, or just a story that jumps around in time in the course of it. 

Crossover with Tangled, Big Hero 6, Tales of Arcadia, and How to Train Your Dragon with a focus on (as usual) Hiccup/Hiro/Varian. 

Not going to say too much about it though, because I want to do an AU Headcanons post with some details on this one! I have lots of ideas.Some you might expect, some you might not. 

#7 - Hercules Inspired Variro Fic (Title pending!)

So this one is wild. Basically, after the events of BH6 s1, Obake escapes. He stays on the run, escaping to Germany, and finds a young boy of genius on par with Hiro, but in the field of Chemistry, and takes him under his wing.

Varian is distraught after his father, who’d contracted an incurable disease, falls comatose. The government does nothing to help him, even though he has friends that hold political power, and Obake uses that to lure him into becoming his protege. 

The pair lie low for a while, wreaking a little havoc in Germany while Varian looks for a cure for his father. The boy dabbles in all manner of fields while trying to help his dad, and before long finds out that the last component he needs is in America, in San Fransokyo. 

Varian, now in his early 20s (which means Hiro is too!), Varian travels to America. He’s currently working as a villain under Obake while daylighting as the head of a German medical research company. 

He meets Hiro by chance. He flirts a little, but tries his best to keep his distance while trying to achieve his goals. Unfortunately, Obake notices how flustered Hiro gets around Varian, and has Varian continue flirting with and pursuing him as a form of distraction, and confides in him about Big Hero 6 and their identities. Varian is against it at first, but goes along with his mentor. 

Varian continues flirting with Hiro, gets in with the group as a friend, and begins distracting Hiro and sabotaging Big Hero 6 while working on a plan to steal the last component he needs for his cure - a solution being stored under high security at KreiTech - where Hiro works, partnered with Krei.

It’s Hercules inspired so there’s a bit more to it, but that’s all you need to know for now!

#8 - Phantom Thief Varian! (Title Pending)

Similar to the time travel one, this one KIND of links with the Hercules-inspired one. It’s not necessarily meant to link narratively or thematically, like the two time travel fics, but it has some similarities. 

Namely the fact that Varian came to America after forming a company to research a cure for his terminally ill father. Whether or not Quirin is comatose in this one, I don’t know. 

But it’s hard for a small company to get the influence or money Varian would need for his research. So, he steals valuables and rare compounds and materials to fund his research and keep him going, under the name “der Waschbär”, which Google Translate tells me means “the Raccoon” so I’m rolling with it.

He meets Varian in a business meeting with KreiTech, or one of those fancy business parties or something along those lines. They become infatuated with each other pretty quickly (as adults that are more sexually aware, I always picture these two precocious kids being pretty flirtatious when attracted to someone so they just kind of click pretty quickly). 

It’s basically the story of Varian, the charming phantom thief who worms his way into Hiro’s life, and Hiro, the superhero aiding the cops in his capture. All while being completely oblivious to each other’s identities and flirting/pursuing each other constantly on the side xD I just like phantom thief stories okay?

#9 - POKEMON!!!!!

Yeah, I still want to do something with these pokemon headcanons

I’m still not entirely sure what kind of pokemon thing I’d want to do. Similarly to the other ones centered around my headcanon posts, it would probably be something I write in short bursts or one-shots and such. 

I’m not sure if I want to do something focusing solely on Corona as a region and the Tangled Characters, or continuing the Hiccup/Hiro/Varian that the headcanons focus on. 

#10 - The VTuber AU

Yes, I’m doing this! I’ve fallen neck-deep into the VTuber pit, and I love the idea of a VTuber Varian. I feel like his avatar is probably a combined effort between him and Rapunzel, who would probably be the artist behind his character. He’s probably an independent VTuber, streaming on his own with his own model - either because he was genuinely curious about the boom and wanted to try it, or due to the influence of his friends (whether a bet or something along those lines).

As stated in a previous post, I feel like his vtuber character is super steampunk, and probably raccoon-temed. There are a lot of VTubers that use the animal-ear look after all. His VTubing character is super chaotic, and tends to fly solo when streaming. 

Hiro is a pretty big gamer himself, but never got big into VTubers. He felt it was just a fad attached to regular streamers, and never really got into watching other people play games, so vtubers make it even weirder really. 

He was looking for help getting past a certain point in a hard game, though, and in his search came across Varian(in the fic, his VTuber identity will have a separate name! I just haven’t htought of one yet) streaming the game, and stuck around to see what he did in that part, and wound up staying because he was chaotic and fun to watch. Before long, he realized he was watching clips from previous streams and catching his streams regularly. The others start teasing him about it. 

Meanwhile, Varian, who’s recently joined in with the group after having started SFIT the year or semester after Varian (maybe Year, since Hiro can be watching it while the others graduate and start looking for work, since he doesn’t really have any other friends in SFIT so he just kind of falls into it to pass time)

Still dunno how he figures out Varian is a VTuber, and whether it’s before or after they start planning though. I just rcreated this one it has work to do.

Anyway that’s about it. There’s probably a few smaller ones I put off to the side of my brain for the time being that didn’t get added here. I forget which ones I start planning a lot and I almost never write them down, I just plan them in my brain as I go and the ones that stick are just keepers. Hope you like these though! Curious to see what everyone things and which of the ideas the, like, 20 of you that follow me like. 

[arecomicsevengood]

“Follow Your Own Star”

Lately I’ve found it hard to shake the feeling that everything of value is being destroyed, but we are being given simulacra in exchange, while we wait, to soften the blow. The relationship between the U.S. economy and what actually has value is basically nil, obviously, and COVID has only highlighted that, but beyond that, being in isolation has brought to light how much of what I consider “real” because it exists outside the bounds of money is nonetheless vulnerable. We’ve been given podcasts to fill our working hours with parasocial relationships where once we may’ve had genuine camaraderie with our coworkers. We’re given desultory political candidates to vote for in the absence of those who would govern in accordance with our actual beliefs. It feels like an elaborate art heist is taking place, where the masterpieces are exchanged for forgeries, and the endgame of those seeking to enrich themselves is to set a bonfire of all that’s made us human, all we’ve invested our true selves into. All this can occur only because our relationships have been made increasingly transactional already. I wondered at the start of quarantine how many couples, with the ability to see one another in the flesh compromised, had switched to having “sex” over Skype, how many intimate relationships were compromised by distance into resembling cam shows. Partly this curiosity was a way of comforting myself, as I came to the understanding that I would not be entering into anything approaching a real romantic relationship for the foreseeable future.

In the context of all of this, reading a book that feels reminiscent of the work of another artist feels like a minor thing, but it slips easily enough into the larger pattern. After reading Roaming Foliage by Patrick Kyle, I thought “Huh, this is very much a CF/Brian Chippendale thing.” Then, after reading Eight-Lane Runaways by Henry McCausland, I thought, “Oh, this is even more like a CF thing.” Both are, I think, appropriate for kids, which Powr Mastrs isn’t, but I also never read Powr Mastrs and felt like the thing that made it good was its BDSM pornography elements. People have been biting CF’s style for years — enough for him to address it with a little note in the third Powr Mastrs book, instructing them to “follow your own star.” Simon Hanselmann admits the similarities between the character design for Owl and a character in CF’s story in Kramers Ergot 5, Hanselmann’s subsequent popularity seems to suggest a moment where something becomes less of a direct influence and more just something that exists generally in the world. It’s art: Inspiration, influence, and appropriation are all part of the game. Reading Hanselmann, I’ve wondered what his work would’ve been like before exposure to his most obvious influences; reading these, I wondered instead if they would still have been made had Powr Mastrs 4 ever come out, to finish out the story and close the system; it feels like, in a transactional relationship between artist and audience, the fact of a work remaining unfinished makes it more socially acceptable to steal from. For instance, think of the debt Alejandro Jodorowsky’s The Holy Mountain owes to Rene Daumal’s Mount Analogue. It feels like an attempt to create something with an ending, to satisfy a desire for the logic to reach its conclusion. The comics fulfill a certain set of expectations, I found them a pleasant enough experience, satisfying on a certain level. However, on a deeper level, I found them completely unsatisfying, because they speak so directly to a sense of unfulfilled potential. They lack the thrill that CF’s comics provide, of totally transcending any expectations placed on them.

Measuring the impact made by CF, Paper Rad, and the Fort Thunder contingent is difficult to calculate, because there were so many radical gestures inside that work, and while some have been metabolized, others have not. The “reclamation of genre material in an art-school context” is maybe the most readily understood. Johnny Ryan’s Prison Pit probably wouldn’t exist were it not for these comics, but that’s such a “who cares” for me, such a dumbed-down and simplistic understanding of what makes these comics good. The silkscreening of covers is close behind, in terms of something that people really ran with. That’s fine, no one owns silkscreening, it looks great. What hasn’t really been reckoned with are the gestures against commodity fetishism. Paper Rodeo is progenitor of the free comics newspaper format, but the work that ran there is so much wilder than what you see in what followed, and most of it was anonymous. I understand why that was a gauntlet that wasn’t picked up, but is still one of the things that made an impact on its initial readership. Similarly, I haven’t seen anyone steal the CF format of the single-sheet xerox, with comics on the front and back. I guess that’s not surprising! But honestly? Sick format.

I’ve just been talking about comics, but Lightning Bolt playing on the floor is its own radical gesture, albeit one with an obvious precedent in the form of Crash Worship. The Forcefield oeuvre is its own thing. Those videos are great! The animation made out of photographing the cutting layers of multicolored clay… I wonder how much of this stuff hasn’t been picked up on because it’s the last stand of working with real world physical materials, before the coming of digital as the default medium for art students to work in. Obviously, the silkscreening has similar roots in physical media, and playing on floors relates directly to how you communicate with people when you’re in the same physical space as them. Real world community has distinct advantages, but many that came after took the trade for the benefits working digitally provides. Anyway. I could write a 33 1/3 book proposal for Lightning Bolt’s Ride The Skies that addresses all this stuff, but I also believe I would not be the best person to write such a book; I suspect those better suited would not be interested.

There is something so exciting about artists whose work feels overflowing with ideas, not just on a level of concept or drawing but also in terms of how the work is presented. That whole Providence/Picturebox crew was so abundant with this creative ferment that when I see others picking up on individual threads it makes sense on a certain level — you want more of a certain thing — but if it’s not backed up by something distinctly unique, as a reader I’m hyper-aware of what’s absent.

These artists also made books, and records, and it was their doing so that brought their work to a larger audience, including me. Not everything has to be a gesture against making money. But at the same time, radical gestures suggest the benefits made in fostering community work out better in the long term than leveraging oneself to be consumed as a commodity does. This is not to suggest that McCausland or Kyle are doing something wrong that will sabotage some sort of grand plan for utopia: I’m really just riffing here. If I buy electronic music mp3s online, I’m not necessarily going to lament the death of live music performance the same way I do when buying the mp3s of a jazz act. Looking at a contemporary superhero comic that feels dire and ugly will make me nostalgic for the Mike Parobeck comics of my youth, but a contemporary black and white zine exists in a completely different universe and might not remind me of anything. Certain things make you miss the world that was more than others.

It’s also worth noting that by all accounts Patrick Kyle has a bunch of people online ripping off his style but I have successfully been able to avoid such people. While Roaming Foliage is consciously modeled after the sort of weird adventure comics of not just Powr Mastrs, but also Brian Chippendale’s If N Oof,  What I am most often seeing and thinking “that’s a ripoff” is the presence of these geometrical patterns which are also similar to design choices made throughout his oeuvre. There’s a chaotic, obfuscatory energy approach to comics that he works with frequently, but so much of his other comics feel dark, melancholy, or paranoid whereas this feels much lighter in its tone. At the same time, compared to the claustrophobia of Don’t Come In Here, having his characters move about makes for an adventure narrative. Watching them wander, interact, and be given quests and goals belongs to this tradition that’s not unique to the Picturebox artists — but the feeling that this fantasy material was arrived at through adventure games like Zelda moreso than Tolkien makes for this sort of… generational level of familiarity, rather than seeming to occupy some sort of Campbellian myth-space, if that makes sense. The strangeness of Kyle’s art, where backgrounds overtake figures, suggests a sort of PC glitching, almost like the Cory Arcangel/Paper Rad collaboration Super Mario Movie, but achieved through photocopier technology of blowing up and distorting images. It is the sensation of a feeling being chased after that makes the book feel less exciting and more melancholy, though subsequently, that darker feeling might make the book slot into Kyle’s oeuvre so much that bigger fans of his might not even notice the resemblance I’m seeing.

McCausland has a list of acknowledgments in his book which includes CF alongside Herge and Otomo. I can sort of see them all, but Herge especially is an influence that’s been so widely absorbed by comics as a whole that I really only feel particularly aware of it in the case of Joost Swarte or something. McCausland’s resemblance to CF is reinforced by things as molecular as a resemblance in the lettering, which is really odd. The figures all have this youthful smallness to them, and I can’t tell if the characters are meant to be young specifically or if it’s just the way he’s learned to draw. I can see Otomo, but it’s definitely approached through the CF filter. Other trademarks, like the rendering of geometric shapes, the patterns of parallel lines, seems integrated, highlighted, by the “racetrack” premise that gives the book its name. However, he distinguishes himself because his work is more constantly busy, with the same general level of detail. There’s also these trees in the background, which seem like they’re rendered as these painted soft grey daubs, a type of texture you don’t see in CF’s darkened pencil work.

His storytelling is different, prone to large spreads, or showing the same character multiple times in a panel as they move across the landscape. (The dimensions of Eight-Lane Runaways are considerably larger than those of Powr Mastrs.) There are nonetheless panels that seem exactly like CF drawings, but with a less cryptic sense of humor. It feels more populist, like it’s based around what a person liked, and in the act of working it out, subtracted the mystery. What would’ve been a detailed “money shot” in a CF sequence is here the baseline level of drawing detail that never gets subtracted from. It’s really fascinating to me how this makes it less good, I think many people would prefer it.

I wrote most of this before learning that Anthology is releasing a new CF book next week. You can order it and see preview images at the Floating World site. You can draw your own conclusions. CF’s on his own path such that you might not even note a resemblance between his new images and McCausland’s. We’re all living on the same planet, orbiting the same sun in an expanding universe, subject to the will of an accelerating time.

[fletchphoenix]

Little OC One Shots

If you’re on the simp discord, you know i have NOT SHUT UP about TV man and his son Jeremy so I decided to post this!! :)  I love these two with my whole heart. Also there are some potentially triggering scenes in here like m*rder and d*ath so be careful when reading!

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He was only six years old when his mother had died. He’d been all dressed up in a black suit and sat in a chair with his younger sister as the priest rattled on about some religious stuff he didn’t quite understand at that point. Tears ran down his cheeks as his sister talked about being excited to see their mother again, of course as a younger child she didn’t understand the concept of death and loss, but he’d grown accustomed to it. He’d grown all too accustomed to the feeling, the sounds of his father’s voice blaming him for his mother’s demise, the constant accusations being a lot to deal with on the shoulders of a six-year-old. That was also when he’d first met the TV man, his arm wrapping protectively around Jeremy’s small body and ruffling the black locks of his hair. He’d held him in a hug for a while, rain ricocheting off the lid of the coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Words of comfort were whispered to him as he pressed himself against the suit of the man, it tickling his cheek.

TV man had scooped him up into his arms and carried him towards a car, the young boy too young to understand as TV man and his father argued with each other before the man got in the driver’s seat and began to drive. His hand had settled on the gearstick as he glanced over and smiled at the boy, whose eyes were still red from tears that left wet trails down his pale cheeks. TV man saw the comparison, the boy almost his splitting image if it weren’t for his eyes. Those were Lydia’s eyes - the same ocean blue, wonder filled eyes that she once had. He missed the woman so much. TV man shook his head, nothing more to say to Jeremy as he kicked his legs and hummed a little tune under his breath.

The boy hadn’t slept that night, tossing and turning in his own room before shuffling as quietly as he could under the covers of TV man’s bed. He supposed he couldn’t help being scared - the boy had just lost his mother and gone to live with a stranger, though the man knew he’d done the right thing by bringing him back to his rightful home. His father, Henry, was an evil man and didn’t deserve any sympathy from him for everything he’d done to his son. TV man had held the boy as tight as he could, refusing to let go to let the boy know he was there. 

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

Jeremy’s hands shook as he poured the milk and hot water into the mug in front of him, stirring in the cocoa powder to make himself some hot cocoa to watch cartoons to. TV man was out at the time, at work in the screen and talking in his loud, happy voice with his big smile, but Jeremy always found his show slightly boring. “Only adults don’t find it boring because adults are boring!” he’d complained as TV man laid him down in bed one night, the man simply chuckling and rolling his eyes as he wished him goodnight. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, and Saturdays meant Jeremy could stay up longer than on a weekday, so TV man had told him when he’d be home and let him stay up until them. The boy settled comfortably on the couch, tucking his knees closer to his chest. 

The bangs began slowly, a few irregularly loud knocks sounding from the door and causing the raven haired boy to set his mug aside. At first he’d thought it was TV man, but they’d been through the secret knock and that was not the secret knock. Jeremy kept his eyes fixated on the door, though he rose to his feet and slowly backed away towards the kitchen. 

“Open up you little rat! I know you’re in there!” The slurred voice of Henry rang through Jeremy’s earsm his chest rising and falling quickly and his heartbeat increasing rapidly at the sound of the banging getting more and more intense. He was sure the man would make it through the door, the thirteen year old rushing towards the kitchen and searching through the doors. TV man always said the knives were in the third drawer down, but he was forbidden to use them for anything. Not even cutting up food. However he was more concerned with getting the man away from him, so he armed himself with the sharpest one, the blade glistening under the beaming light of the bulbs above him. He hoped that TV man wouldn’t be too upset, or at the minimum would understand why he was doing this. Another bang and the crashing of the front door to the floor echoed through the apartment as Jeremy rushed and locked himself in a closet. He silently pleaded for TV man to come home, to not be as late as he usually was. He didn’t want to die alone.

“Jeremy! Where the fuck are you!” the man screamed as he stalked through the house, his heavy duty boots causing the floorboards to rattle with every step he took. Something dragged behind him, only ending as the familiar click of a shotgun sounded throughout the apartment. Oh. So that’s what was going to happen. The boy’s breath hitched as the man’s figure halted in front of the wardrobe. “I can see you, you little shit.” Henry growled, his hand reaching for the handle as Jeremy’s breathing got deeper and deeper, faster and faster. This was it. He was going to die-Where was TV man?! “Hey! Get off me you lanky fuck!” Henry screamed as he tried to fight off...whoever was in the apartment with them, the boy shaking from his hidden location and pressing his forehead against his knees. He wanted to be safe-he wanted TV man back.

BANG

The blast of a shotgun and a thud echoed throughout the apartment as the door opened. His hands shaking, the boy raised the knife and poised it to attack, though he lowered it at the sight of Henry’s body on the floor, blood pooling on the floor from a gunshot wound to the head and TV man standing in front of it. The hat he usually wore was discarded on the floor, showing his black, slicked back locks that complimented his also black suit. Looming over the boy, he crouched and scooped him into his arms, holding the boy as close as he could and swaying with him in his arms. “My dear boy..are you okay? Did he hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should’ve run home…” His hushed words and apologies soothed Jeremy, as well as the narrow fingers he threaded through his hair to calm him down, pressing kisses to his forehead as he moved away from the body on the floor. 

That was the night he had his first biology lesson, the TV man showing him all the different parts of a body as they removed the evidence of their crime together. He’d learnt about intestines and stomachs and hydrochloric acids, pancreas and brains and hearts...it was all quite fascinating to see up close, especially with someone as interesting and charismatic as TV man explaining everything to him in such great detail and never once yelling at him for wanting to know more. TV man had shown him how to clean the blood off the floor as well, shining what he called a ‘black light’ over the spot where the blood once resided on the floor and showing the lack of marks that sat on the floorboards. It was also the first night he’d called TV man ‘Dad’, the sight of a tear welling in the man’s eye and a smile on his face enough for Jeremy to know he’d done the right thing. 

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

The next awkward moment had been a parent teacher conference. Jeremy had insisted that he was fine, that TV man was too busy, that he ‘simply didn’t have the time’, but as soon as TV man caught word of the conference, he dropped everything he was doing and decided to go. In his words he ‘wanted to see how his dear son was doing’, though Jeremy knew it was because he hadn’t been around for a little while at home. So there they were, the odd pair walking, Jeremy on TV man’s broad shoulders, as he was carried to the school giggling from his spot. 

As they entered the teacher’s office, an audible gasp escaped the woman’s mouth, staring up at the 6��10 man in his pitch black suit and tie as well as the boy by his side dressed similarly. She simply couldn’t believe how tall the man was, looming in the corner as opposed to taking a seat due to the tiny size of the chairs that resided in the room. He was a rather handsome man, his hair slicked back and a smile on his face as he rambled about his son with nothing but pride and joy in his voice as the boy leaned into him. The man’s voice was so projected compared to his son’s quiet one, the boy picking at the loose threads of his sweater as he stared at the floor of the classroom and kicked at the carpet. Charisma dripped from every word the man spoke and all she could think of was how polar opposite the odd pair was. 

After the conference, TV man decided to treat his son, taking him along to get some ice cream and carrying him back to the car. Sure, they were a weird pair. But it worked. They were content in their little cycle and family. 

That was the night they found out about the time powers, TV man throwing a teddy bear towards the bear and being surprised to see the bear’s movements slowed as Jeremy outstretched his hands. An audible gasp left his lips as he took his son’s hands in his own once the teddy bear dropped. “How long have you been able to do that?” The man questioned, though the boy never answered, blankly staring at the area where the teddy bear had once been. They decided to never question it again after that, simply accepting it as part of their strange lives, though they never forgot.

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

“Where’s my son.” He declared as he slammed the door to the lab open, only seeing a ginger girl, a blond haired man and another ginger haired woman all gathered around...something on the floor. Pushing them all aside, he crouched by his son’s side and brushed the hair out of his face, scars littering the expanse of skin, his blue eyes no longer full of that childlike wonder and now riddled with sadness and mourning no man should go through. “My dear boy, the years haven’t been kind to you, have they?” 

Tears brimmed in both men’s eyes as Jeremy finally made the move to lunge into his father’s arms, his body shaking as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into TV man’s shoulder, TV man’s fingers threading through his hair as they always did when his son was sad. “I’m sorry- I didn’t want to- they let me go-” the man’s breath hitched as he sniffled and sobbed, desperately stuttering out a profuse amount of apologises as TV man simply shushed his son and glared the trio in the room. “Which one of you hurt my son. I want answers.” He bitterly declared, his eyes switching between each person and scanning their faces for guilt.

[trademarknickersoncharm]

Austin’s spoiler free  ND Rankings from best to worst (with reasons why)

PLS NOTE: There is only one game I actually HATE. Every other game there is something I like about it except my last spot. Keep that in mind.

1) Ghost of Thornton Hall. This game is an absolute masterpiece. It is the best game HeR has made since CUR. It is also the best game I think HeR has put out in recent years. These are characters that you actually FEEL for. Not one of them are unlikeable. The closest you get is Clara, who you wind up feeling for in the end. An absolute work of art (it is also the first game I pre-ordered because from the very beginning I was invested.)

2) Labyrinth Of Lies- Hear me out. I absolutely adore this game. It has Greece, Theatre, and Xenia Doukas. Three things I cannot live without. While I absolutely agree that the whole idea of a rotating set system underground is impossible, this game was a dream come true for theatre kids everywhere. I will never not play this game without listening to Mamma Mia. It’s probably my biggest unpopular opinion of this fandom.

3) Last Train To Blue Moon Canyon- This game breaks my literal heart. Camille and Jake Hurly has always been up there in my eyes with Frances and Dirk from SHA. I have always loved the environment of this game. (This is probably due to the fact that Murder On The Orient Express is one of my favorite books) and this is one game that I always go to when I’m feeling nostalgic. It is also the first time you see the Hardy Boys so that’s a sign.

4) Sea Of Darkness- This is the game that I think has the best graphics HeR has offered. We have a lesbian character which was highly requested as well as a cute dog. The aurora borealis is never not STUNNING to look at and it one of the best games that actually feels like Nancy is “there”. The mystery is also one that I think can be misleading. I always assumed it was Ghost Ship TM but boy was I wrong. Elisabet also has my whole heart.

5) The Final Scene- OH MY GOD THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE SASS FILLED GAME AND I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE FOR IT. I constantly say “I propose you back off!” at every opportune moment. It is the best dialogue Nancy has ever had. Again, it is a Stan for theatre kids everywhere. I have also always thought magic was the coolest thing even though I can't perform it. Solid dialogue and very easy puzzles, which is always a relief.

6) Curse Of Blackmoor Manor- This is not in my top 3 as it is going to be for almost everyone else due to the fact that I think it is a very difficult game. I first played it when I was 12, and it was the only game I could not beat up until that shit show SAW which we will discuss later. Now that I've grown older and wiser, I have really grown to appreciate it more and it is a CLASSIC when looking into this game series. I appreciate the nostalgia value it has and the soundtrack and the characters. Ethel Bossiny FTW. This game also has the best soundtrack of the series.

7) Treasure In The Royal Tower- Another one that will be in everyone else’s top 3 but is not for me, but is still solid. I ADORE this game’s setting and character development- but for me, I never really felt pulled in to the mystery. My time was spent fan grilling over Hotchkiss that the person who broke into the library was on my back burner. HOWEVER, it is still very nostalgic and iconic it is in my top 10.

8) The Phantom Of Venice- Simply put, this game is why I want to go to Italy. I was ALMOST THERE but corona. I absolutely adore the way this game transports you. They included everything they could, even real photos of Venice, which I appreciated as someone who wants to go.

9) Alibi in Ashes- You have to understand how important it is that we finally got a game in River Heights. It was always on the TOP of my list in terms of places I wanted Nancy to go. It did not disappoint. The fact that everyone turned on Nancy so quickly always sends chills down my spine.

10) Legend Of The Crystal Skull- ALRIGHT so another unpopular opinion. This was the FIRST game I every played AND BEAT and so it will always be in my top 10. This is the game that truly got me invested in the series. If it wasn't this, it would not be this high, but it is my number 10 for that reason. Other things I like: Henry, Renee, the setting and music.

11) Warnings At Waverly Academy- WAC’s setting is so amazing. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I have always been intrigued about boarding school mysteries (@ house of Anubis )and this is a solid one. It contains probably one of the best plot twists of the series that blew my mind the first time I played it, and Mel Corbalis is god’s gift to humanity.

12) The Silent Spy- A real tearjerker if there ever was one. This games takes a storyline that has been changed many times (Nancy’s mom) and turns it into something so extremely badass you really wish she wasn't actually dead. Zoe Wolfe is the absolute reason I exist. You also play a cookies mini game which is just about as addicting as crack.

13) Secret Of The Old Clock- Okay, so I feel like this game gets a lot of hate because everyone talks about how weird the time travel is, but this has always been a game I liked. I think personally, that it is the easiest game in the series (if you exclude the dress, which I have never had a problem with) and it is based on the absolute most classic ND story of all. I also highly enjoy this period of time, even though the characters in this game aren't great. Emily Crandall is probably the best one, and even she yells at Nancy.

14) Secret Of Shadow Ranch- Okay. So I’m going to get anon h8 for this. But SHA is... not the best in my opinion. I have talked about this before, but SHA is very tedious in terms of chores and I just do not like that. I wouldn't necessarily mind the chores if they weren't repetitive, but it is the same chores over and over again. With that said, I LOVE the music, the Humber storyline, and the setting, so it is #14

15) Message In A Haunted Mansion- This is probably the only game I have ever pissed my pants over. CUR and GTH didn’t even do that. I think it is bc MHM is one of the first games I played. The hauntings in this game are so AMAZING and when you find out their explanation it totally changes things.

16) The Deadly Device- I love when ND does a Murder Mystery right. This is the time it was done right. The culprit came out of absolutely no where and I loved it. It is ranked this low for me b/c I think some of the puzzles are tedious and hard. Ryan Kilpatrick is an amazing human being and so is Ellie thx.

17) Tomb Of The Lost Queen- Another game which I think gets a lot of undeserved hate. Mummies are badass, especially when the mummy sighting is real and unexplained. Dylan Carter is probably the biggest example of stud you will ever see, and Jamila El-Dine is a bad b****. I am ranking it this high for Jamila alone. 

18) Danger On Deception Island- I absolutely adore this game’s music. But I hate Holt Scotto with all the fire within me. He is why this game is not in my top 10. I love everything about this game except Holt F****** Scotto. I want to put it in my top 10. I do. But Holt Scotto sucks.

19) The Haunted Carousel- This was a game which I vividly remember being bullied in daycare over. I took it to daycare one day and we kept getting our eyeballs poked out by the lathe. Daycare memories suck. Also it is the first game by which we get a literal sexual strut by the culprit at the end, which I have never liked. Pluses of the game? An amusement park. Miles.

20) Ransom Of The Seven Ships- SAY IT OUT LOUD. RAN. IS. NOT. THE. WORST. GAME. The puzzles, although always thrown at your face, are actually sort of fun. I would rank it higher but there is way too few characters in a way that makes the culprit very obvious, but it also isn't at the same time. 

21) The Captive Curse- This is a game by which I thought had so much potential but I think the monster looks very dumb? It’s like? The inbred cousin of Frankenstien’s monster? However, I LOVE THE SONG “girls”from this game and have a huge love for Lukas, so it isn't bottom 10

22) Stay Tuned For Danger- This game is one that would be so much higher up for me, If you didn’t have to look at EVERYTHING to complete it. If you miss ONE LETTER in a magazine, you cannot beat this game. I get stuck on it every time  I play it, but the mystery is amazing and who doesn’t love a good old NYC game.

23) The White Wolf Of Icicle Creek- To begin my bottom 10, ICE. I LOVE ICE as a concept. But, Fox and Geese holds me back from a replay. I absolutely love the idea of a lodge that people are in danger at. The snow atmosphere is amazing and so is Isis. But, Fox and Geese is an abomination.

24) Ghost Dogs Of Moon Lake- I really, really want to like this game because I am a dog lover. However, the insect challenge is such a CHORE to do. I cannot stand to do it. It is so difficult to do in my humble opinion, it requires such a retrace of step that makes it insufferable. Pros? cute doges.

25) The Haunting Of Castle Malloy- YOU ARE LITERALLY THIS LOW BC OF THE END PUZZLE AND YOU KNOW IT. However, not the worst for me because I love Ireland and this game has some of the best music in the series. It is on my top 5 for soundtracks. I love everything about this game except THE END. Fiona is so misunderstood.

26) Secret of The Scarlet Hand- I really like this game, I do, but I am very not interested in the constant phone calls you do in this game. You are on the phone for about 75% of this game and I really didn’t like that about it. LOVE the history behind it though.

27) SCK/SCK2- I really do not like SCK as a concept. School murders are a topic which really turns me off. Not to mention, there is barely a difference between these games but a single character and a puzzle. 

28) Danger By Design- Paris? Yes. Fashion? Heck yeah. But I never have really enjoyed DAN because the mystery can literally be solved by pulling a Phantom of The Opera and dropkicking the mask off. I also HATE the cookie puzzle. The edges never curl upwards for me.

29) Creature Of Kapu Cave- Ugh. Shells and fishing make this game untouchable for me. I LOVE HAWAII CONCEPT and supernatural volcanoes and phenomena. But I cannot stand the big island buck system or the man himself. Sorry, big island homies. Also be proud of me because it took me this long to bring up STUPID FRASS

30) Midnight In Salem- I was so excited for this game. We all were. I really enjoy MID’s mystery and as a concept. But, the new format is not good and neither is the constant talking and only being able to complete the game in one order. I was so excited for nothing (which is my own fault)

31) Shadow At The Waters Edge- GOD. The massive nonogram and sudoko have NO place in this game. I refuse to play it because of these 2 puzzles. However, I do love the scares in it. They are top notch scares. I have beat this game in it’s entirety maybe once?

32) Trail Of The Twister- Internship simulator forever. Chores galore, what a bore. Uncompelling mystery and hateful characters. The only thing I liked was the country music, a sentence you don’t hear often.

33) The Shattered Medallion- I literally played the beta of this game and it was ions better than the actual released product. That’s reason enough.

[an-american-teen-against-crime]

Hi! So I’m conducting kind of a survey/study? Can you rank the games in order from best to worst in your eyes? A simple list will suffice

AHH sorry this took me so long to finally do haha but I finally got it done! (this was. extremely difficult . I struggle) (also sorry some of my notes got kinda long so you can just skip ‘em if you wanna)

1. TRN- it has to be. My list has changed so much over the years and SPY was actually here once, but I’ve realized that this is the one that has stuck at the top throughout the years. It’s just SO. GOOD. from the music, plot, characters, hardy boys, setting, mystery, AUGH it’s amazing

2. SHA- I know this one is quite controversial in the fandom (chores.) but this had always been one of the top for me. It reminds me of my childhood (rip) and I just adore every single setting in this game- the atmosphere is wonderful. I just really adore the plot as well as the Dirk and Francis storyline, as well as the old west feeling (still not over the cliff dwellings or Dry Creek). THIS GAME MAKES ME V HAPPY

3. MHM- this was tough, but this was not only my first game but also it still holds up for me. It’s super old but I just adore the setting and gameplay, the spooks are top shelf and I just adore the feeling of this game from it’s puzzles and storyline. 

4. GTH- I have for sure played this game way too often, but I love it. The vibes in this game are TOP NOTCH, and I will never forget my first playthrough of this game. The story, the charACTERS, setting, music, is all so good. The puzzles tho are a bit of a draw back but I still love this game. 

5. SPY- I felt weird about have two “newer” games in my top five, but I genuinely love this game. It’s moved down since I’ve realized I kinda dislike the puzzles, but the spy aesthetic and the story of Nancy’s mom PLUS the Revenant/Colony Operation is SO INTERESTING to me. Not to mention this game has a unique story structure in the fact that Nancy solving the mystery is actually helping the bad guys which is really unique. I feel like this game also characterizes Nancy really well which I adore. 

6. CUR- So I actually thought this would be much lower on my list because I played this when I was much older than the other ones, so it has less nostalgia for me, but it still has some. (plus a lot of the game was spoiled for me before I played it because I watched a walkthrough of it. Dumb middle school Cambria WHY DID YOU DO THAT) The plot structure and just...the puzzles and how the whole game fits together is so amazing and the music/atmosphere/aesthetic is just SO AWESOME. Genuinely a spooky game and I adore it for that.

7. FIN- I adore this game, the plot, the timer/three days, the characters, setting, everything is awesome. I feel it’s pretty unique to the series which makes it even more special and its just SO GOOD. Plus it has Nick Falcone who is one of the best characters of all time. 

8. DDI- the atmosphere, THE MYSTERY, the whole setting it’s all just. wonderful. I love BEING in this game, and I feel like it’s one of those mysteries that really represents the series as a whole. 

9. TRT- Just like DDI I feel like this game really is a really good representation of these games as a series. It has everything that makes a good Nancy Drew game and it’s atmosphere is wonderful. I also love the history and while it’s way more treasure hunt like than mystery it does have good mystery elements and it’s a very cozy game.

10. SSH- I am shocked this game is so high, and I actually didn’t like it that much on my first playthrough. This is a game that gets better the more you play it because you uncover so much more- I love the museum and all the history, the social commentary, and the mystery IS SO INTERESTING. Like everything with Henrik trying to stop Sinclair and like you know there’s someone bad out there doing this stuff but you’re not sure who, and there’s all this information you uncover AHH. I know some don’t like the phone convos but I feel like tracking down all the different pieces opens up Nancy’s world so much and it makes it feel real. Also just the idea that you have to track them all down is so cool to me. Also the ending is freaky and gives me anxiety to this day.

11. SEA- this game makes me so happy, I adore Iceland, the setting, the story, the ship, the characters, ALL FABULOUS! Some of the puzzles are annoying but that’s a trend for the later games.

12. STFD- it shouldn’t be so high on the list probably but the mystery and plot line is always really fun for me. The whole premise, locations and iconic moments in this game are so special to me. I love just being in the game, it’s so simplistic. Plus, Dwayne Powers.

 13. WAC- this is the game I always fall back on to play. It’s further down simply because the puzzles are a little annoying at times, but the setting is great and I adore the school feeling of this game. It just always has been a game that has stuck out in my mind ever since it came out.

14. CLK- clk is so nostalgic for me, I literally don’t care about the time travel bit because it reminds me so much of reading the books. I love the town, the mystery, and it’s one of those games I can just relax in. You can spend hourS in this game and seriously do nothing but fish, deliver telegrams and play golf. Maybe a game of bard bounce in there too. 

15. SAW- I used to feel medium about this game, but as of my most recent replay, I’ve found I LOVE it. The setting is so freaky and I actually enjoy most of the puzzles. It just has this weird off feeling to it where you’re constantly being told everything is fine when everything is definitely not fine. I honestly wanna make a separate post just for this game, I have so many feelings on it haha.

16. DED- I love the feeling of this game, from it’s Tesla theme, to it’s puzzles, and also it’s a murder mystery which is super interesting. The mystery and gameplay is so fun for me, honestly not sure why.

17. CRY- I love this game’s atmosphere so so much, and a lot of the puzzles are really fun. The whole legend of the skull is fascinating and it has a great spooky vibe to it. However I feel like the plot is a bit weak and I am still salty Nancy doesn’t help Henry more. But also it has Henry Bolet.

18. TMB- I love Egyptology, I love archaeology, and this game is super fun to me for those reasons. the whole idea of the curse is spoopy and the puzzles are pretty cool too. I love both Dylan and Jamilla so that bumps this game up as well. 

19. VEN- I have wanted to go to Venice ever since I played this game, I feel it does a perfect job of making you feel like you’re really there. I love the whole spy aspects, and while some of the puzzles are EXTREMELY annoying it’s a really exciting game.

20. DOG- The vibe of this game is off the charts, I love the history and the mystery is kinda weird but leads you to a treasure hunt which is pretty interesting. I love the puzzles in this game and while the characters are kinda annoying I feel like this game is just so grounded and interesting. 

21. CAP- some stuff in this game is kinda dumb (PUZZLES. WHO PUT THEM THERE I NEED TO KNOW)  but the whole fairytale vibe is great, and I love the fact that Nancy is trying to track down a cryptid. I also kind of hate the culprit motivation, but it is what it is.

22. ICE- this is actually a pretty well put together game, I like the location, and the mystery is nice. It’s one of those that I really question the whole idea of why Nancy is solving the puzzles? Like I get it that she’s trying to get into the needle it’s just...sorta convoluted. Also some of the puzzles are really annoying in this game haha.

23. LIE- pains me to put this game so low on the list, but I freaking hate the puzzles in this game. I like the museum puzzles, and that’s IT. The set has no. reason. to have that weird of puzzles. This is one of those games that would have been better with the treatment of having more practical puzzles like the older games. Anyways, I still love the setting, the characters, and the fact that it’s in Greece, in a museum and has a play about a greek myth makes me really enjoy this game. Plus, I do like the whole villain plot and the ending you start feeling really trapped and freaked out which is exciting. 

24. ASH- I get why people love this game, I really do, but for some reason I always drag my feet to play it. It still is super interesting though from the mystery, characters, bad guy plan, and it has a good classic mystery vibe. I think I just have to be in the right mood to play it.

25. TOT- I actually do enjoy playing this game but the puzzles/chores can be really annoying, and I feel there needs to be more mystery. However I actually do enjoy the setting a lot and there’s something special about it to me. Plus I like to look at the clouds. :3

26. DAN- I like that it reminds me of Paris because it got that vibe, the history and locations are very cool, and I really enjoy being in the game. However the mystery is ditched for Nancy trying to solve the Noisette stuff which is annoying and weird and I feel like this game is a bit unfocused which bugs me. Plus I can’t remember a single puzzle right now other than that horrible wall clock puzzle.

27. MED- Yes, this game is a hot mess and I’m still upset about Sonny, but I actually really enjoy the location and puzzles of this game, it’s just really fun to be in. Also the reality tv show concept is fun. Wish the sheep were alive though.

28. HAU- I like a lot about this game but at the same time it feels very...small? Idk. I just feel like the whole game is Nancy running around on the moors solving random puzzles she just finds in the hopes of finding Matt. It’s weird. I do like the vibe tho and Fiona is a bit freaky. Plus, sheep.

29. CAR- peoplearegoingtomurdermeIwillbethenextjake listen I for some reason feel just meh about this game, idk if it’s just Joy, the location, or WHAT but for some reason it’s mostly meh for me. There’s bits that are fun and I always liked it when I was younger but for some reason it doesn’t do it for me. But I can get why people really like it! 

30. SCK: The vibes are great, the ending is v exciting, and I feel like the school is very creepy and the diner is a solid location. The whole mystery of how Jake was blackmailing everyone and the drug plotline is super interesting to me and while the disk switching drives me NUTS I really like pulling this one out just to feel like I’m in the 90s.

31. CRE- I think this game is fun and has some iconic bits to it, along with the fact I could spend hours at Big Island Mike’s Immersion Excursions, buT the fact is the mystery is freaking weird and I don’t like bugs. But we did get Big Island Mike. 

32. MID- Listen, this game is a good video game, but it’s a bad Nancy Drew game. I liked my first playthrough of this game, I really did, but theres just so many problems with it and it’s so upsetting to see what’s become of the series. You can tell that it wasn’t made by the same people and it doesn’t have the classic ND charm. There are a lot of plotholes and random stuff like the Hardy’s personalities in this game don’t make sense. However there are a lot of stuff that it enjoyable about this game and I will still replay it. It’s just kinda sad.

33. SCK Remastered: Lower than the OG because Beech is dumb and they changed the ending. Also some of the old magic is gone, and all the characters are way less likeable. However it did explain some stuff about Jake so there is that. 

34. RAN- It’s still fun at times and I like the location but the puzzles will be a thorn in my side till the day I die. Also the mystery is just meh. And it needed more characters, that’s just a fact. 

I guarantee that this will probably change by the time we are done with this playthrough, but until then this is my listing. I think it’s really a testament to the games though that there is no game I consider unplayable. SCK could be that game but I am willing to do the disk switching lol.

[queencamden]

The Dead Queens Club Ghost Headcannons!

I’m pretty sure only, like, two of you actually want this but here goes!

-Katie’s ghost is constantly soaking wet, as a result of her having died in the river. She’s also always cold, which works because Anna is on fire.

- Literally. Anna’s skirt has permanent flames on it (George is only mildly scorched- I’m going with he fell from the roof and she caught fire a bit before she did too. Because historically Anne Boleyn was almost burned at the stake before her sentence was commuted.) It works to warm Katie up, but sometimes Katie’s water temporarily puts it out.

-George first found out he was dead when he tried to comfort Parker after the explosion but she couldn’t see him.

-Anna found out when she tried to slap Henry and her hand went through him.

-Anna’s very bitter about the concept of death, and the fact that she peaked at sixteen.

-Katie was initially very scared of the whole thing, because no one could hear her. She’s gotten used to it now, but when she first died she spent the better part of an hour calling to Parker and Cleveland.

-Anna desperately wants to be a poltergeist. She’s just got all this anger and nowhere to go with it. She also really wants to be noticed again. Poltergeisting is very hard, but Anna is an ambitious go-getter so she just THROWS herself into it.

-Katie is the materializing Queen. She’s such an emotional person that she manifests quite easily.

-Anna’s really jealous. The only person she can materialize in front of is Amelie, who just straight up does not give a shit.

- Anna once launched a printer at Norfolk.

-Anna and George had a falling out early on as ghosts, because it was Anna who knocked that wall (I think it was a wall) onto Parker’s back and gave her the scar. Not intentionally of course. She was just trying to get her OUT OF THE BURNING BUILDING by blocking her path but things got messy.

-They made up when their parents were run out of town because they were both devastated. (That was when Anna threw the printer)

-Anna’s just been casually haunting Cleves for like, a year, partly because that’s her house, and also partly because “her dad’s in Germany and poltergeist’s a German word idk”

-That scene in the lakehouse when Henry and Cleves make out while they’re wearing Anna and George’s clothes? Anna was there.

-Sometimes they head down to the lakehouse together, because their rooms are still in order and it feels like they’re alive again.

-All three of them panicked when their rooms got cleared out. With Anna and George it was a long process. Their parents wanted to hold onto them, and the ghosts almost convinced themselves their rooms would just stay up.

-George tried to chase their parents car when they left.

-By contrast, Norfolk got rid of Katie’s room almost immediately, which left her in a weird lurch, as she hadn’t yet figured out ghosts don’t sleep.

-She usually climbs through Cleves’ window and invisibly snuggles her (Cleves doesn’t notice, but does wonder why she’s suddenly sweating so much there’s water stains on the sheets)

-She once tried that for Tom, (with less snuggling) but she accidentally materialized and it freaked him out so much he left the school.

-One time when Anna was practicing materializing in the country club a security guard saw her and straight up fainted (a reference to the Victorian story about Anne Boleyn’s ghost making guards at the Tower of London faint on duty)

-Historically, Anne Boleyn also haunts Hever, her childhood home, and Blickling, her birthplace, which is why she primarily haunts Cleves’ house and the lakehouse (which I guess makes that her birthplace now? Maybe the Boleyns went for a water birth)

-Apparently at Blickling she comes with a hoarde of demons who chase her father around for betraying her, but since Thomas Boleyn in DQC (and probably historical Thomas Boleyn too) is actually pretty okay, and also not dead she just. Doesn’t do that. Some tourists see the fire off her dress and think it’s demons.

-Which also led to people thinking the lakehouse was possessed by a Satanic cult for a while (by people, I mean Eustace and maybe Cleveland looking for newspaper stories)

-George has managed to gain possession of things long enough to ride his Vespa once again.

-It is.... a strange sight, especially since he is still completely invisible.

-Anna can conjure fireballs (another part of the whole demon thing) and for the entire summer after her death, she planned on torching Henry at end of the road (not to kill him- God knows there’s enough rumors about that- just freak him out a little)

-But then when she goes to do it she sees him lunge at Katie to push her off the drainpipe and loses her focus. It’s also raining, so her fire keeps going out. She can only watch helplessly as Katie disappears over the edge.

-It’s a thing in a lot of old mythologies that drowned souls stay trapped in the ocean forever, so Anna and George jump into the river and save her, very dramatically. Extra as possible, Mission Impossible style.

-George spent an entire day mildly inconveniencing Eustace and Henry for fun.

-Anna somehow got Guitar Guy’s adress and absolutely FUCKED. SHIT. UP. No one is clear exactly what she did, least of all Katie (or me) All that is truly known is it involved fireballs.

-Anna keeps trying to leave Cleves, the only other person who knows about Guitar Guy, a message telling her to do the same, but sending messages as a ghost is HARD.

-Anna locked Cleves’ car door when she was in the forest with Henry, in an attempt to keep it away from her. The sound of him unlocking it freaked Cleves out more, leading to her punching him. Anna was very much okay with that.

-Katie doesn’t really like being a ghost, but she’s also scared to move on. She knows if she does she won’t see her friends again, and more than anything she just wishes she could go back to school and live her life.

-Anna’s scared for another reason. After the Lina fiasco many people (football guy Cromwell, Eustace, Hans, Maggie, possibly Lina herself) told her to go to Hell. She knows it was a figure of speech, but it still makes her worry a little bit.

-At other times she is VERY confident in her innocence. After all, she got murdered. That wasn’t her fault.

-George wishes he could communicate with their parents and Parker, and finds the fact that he is bound to the city frustrating. He wants to see the world, and now he can’t.

-Mary went to the lakehouse once, to find closure. Anna decided materializing with all the fire was probably a bad idea, but she and George tried to move some things around to show her they were there.

-They think it worked. They hope she noticed. They hope she told their parents. They hope their families know.

-Katie feels bad for cheating on Henry and Anna and George are all “Okay, well normally I’d agree but considering murder is a thing that’s happening at this school cheating’s not really as big of a priority right now”.

-George claims he’s been to the afterlife waiting room and met Beetlejuice. The girls assume he’s joking but sometimes he just pops off and nobody knows where he went. Plus, he’s got strangely specific details of the whole thing.

-Basically George knows all kinds of advanced ghost shit, but can’t do really simple things. For instance:

-George is really bad at materializing. Like very bad. Which is unfortunate because he really wants to help out Parker.

-Katie tried to help him once and is now Parker’s sleep paralysis demon, so that’s nice.

-The girls keep materializing to Parker at night and talking to her, even if she thinks she’s dreaming. Katie tells her about how George is doing, and Anna tries to convince her to do something about Henry. (I.e, she snarks. A lot)

-Katie gets really bad flashbacks where she goes back to just before her death.

- During a few of these she materializes in Hampton Court (the cafeteria). Luckily no one is there, but Parker saw her once and th: rumors spread (that line where Cleveland talks about Katie haunting the cafeteria is literal- she just doesn’t know it.)

-Katie is very happy that Cleves is standing up for her, but also feels kind of betrayed and scared by the fact that she still listens to Henry.

-That time when Cleves and Henry almost have sex and she hears Katie’s voice? That was because Katie panicked seeing them together thinking Henry was going to kill her too.

-That night, fueled by the possibility of someone else dying, Anna gains control of her poltergeist powers and finally writes a message on Parker’s wall. Tell her the truth.

- Parker sees it and knows she has to tell Cleves about Henry.

-And thus Operation Desdemona is achieved.

-You know that bit at the end where Parker days she promised George she would kill Henry or something like that? She did. Literally.

-Well not really. George can’t materialize still, so really she was speaking to Anna, who was speaking for George.

-It was something like “I’ll kill him George. I’ll avenge you.” “George says that sounds great.” “Holy shit Anna, no I didn’t. My girlfriend’s not KILLING anyone!”

-After they are avenged and Anna’s name cleared, they’re ready to move on to the afterlife.

-They chill with the Queens a bit as they paint the wall. Katie gets into the radio waves to play her phone’s theme song.

-Before he goes George figures out how to materialize, and finally manages to say goodbye to Parker.

-The two of them talk in Cleves’ attic for ages, in their old blanket fort, long after Anna and Katie are gone.

-Except not really. Anna waits for George because she doesn’t want to go alone (and maybe Katie waits too, and they all go together)

-Their afterlife’s pretty great.

-In ten years they look down on the world and watch the Queens meeting up at Homecoming, like Katie had wanted them to.

-They’ve gotten a lot better at materializing.

-The three of them show up, and talk to the Queens for a while.

-The Queens are initially very freaked out by all this, except for Parker, who’s mainly just glad she’s not crazy.

-Cleveland does not understand how, she, a reporter, could not have noticed her house was haunted.And why didn’t Parker tell her? That would have made an amazing story

- She complains about this, often and loudly.

-When she gets home she makes some quip to Amelie about the house of their teenage years being haunted and Amelie’s just like “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

-The goth phase had to come from somewhere.

[neshabeingchildish]

She Knows.

She'd learned a lot, just by being observant, and well, analytical…

Whenever she met those boys in 5th grade, there was already something there. Now she wasn't sure quite what it was because she didn't have a concept of what this was even today. But, she sure knew that it was something. "Is he your boyfriend?" She asked Henry, with a bit of disapproval in her voice. It wasn't like she thought that Henry was some glorious catch, but… he seemed out of Jasper's league, to her.

"My WHAT? No. We're best friends!" She honestly didn't know if that was.any better. But, she had ZERO friends, so who was she to condemn anyone else's.

She had to remind herself whenever Jasper had gross habits, weird ideas and stupid declarations… he was Henry's best friend and Henry was her only friend. 

Sure, people invited her to birthday parties and gave her cards on Valentine's Day. But, she had a feeling that those things were done so that the only Black girl in their grade didn't feel like an outsider. As much as she was included in things, none of the children ever wanted to get to know her, unless it was time to study or something.

Henry had been nice right away. "So. You're… new," he'd said. "Where are you from?"

"Swellview," she'd said, a little shortly, because she was clearly reading, in one of the most secluded spots in the playground, and yet, here he was and he'd brought along conversation that she hadn't ordered.

"But, if you're from Swellview, why are you new?" He sat down next to her. Something else that she didn't ask for. She had one choice to make - either tell him that she's reading and her personal life is none of his business, possibly alienating the only person who had talked to her in days, or play nice and let him move on to leave her in peace.

"I was homeschooled before. The public school system wasn't up to my academic level and the private school was far too expensive. I'm here because my parents want me to learn social interaction." She put her face back into her book, hoping that was that.

"But, if you're here for social interaction, why are you sitting beneath the playground dome reading some stupid book?"

"Stupid book? STUPID BOOK??? I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW…" She was livid and Henry's eyes went wide, but he stayed and let her air it all out. 

"Okay. I still think books suck. All the words are always all over the place. Letters are never where people say that they are. Maybe it's just me, but reading is hard and I hate it."

She was interested in how he described pages, so they talked a little more and she said, "Okay..  I think you're probably just dyslexic. You can be tested for that and there's solutions that can help reading not suck so much for you." And he did. So, not only did she learn a lot from being observant and analytical, but that day, he learned something too, about himself.

Over the years, she didn't make more friends. Jasper was her friend, but in a loose sense of the word. She didn't really get him for the most part and she still was confused about what she was seeing between he and Hen. That wasn't any friendship that she had ever observed during people watching.

Jasper looked at Henry like Henry looked at girls that he was never gonna be cool enough to bag. Jasper acted around Henry like girls acted around Kid Danger. "You know he loves you, right?" She asked. They were about 13 or 14.

"We love each other," Henry had said, fondly. He wasn't being sarcastic or ironic, but Charlotte had a feeling that they weren't having the same conversation.

"You love each other, love each other?" She tried to confirm.

"We WHAT?" He asked. "No. We're best friends!"

"When am I ever wrong?"

"Every time you decide what to wear in the morning." 

She folded her arms and flared her nostrils, "We both know that's not true. I am extremely good as fashion."

"If you like it… there you are…" 

Deflection. That's what this was. She left it alone until they were older. But, she stayed noticing things. She stayed learning and knowing, just by being observant and analytical.

Jasper came to her one day and asked, "So… were you really having dreams about me?"

She looked at him like she was a blend of exhausted already, disgusted tbh, and annoyed by confusion. "I've dreamed about you before. Wasn't pretty."

"No, I mean… when I was plotting the Pudding Prank on Piper.. you said you were. You told her that. I had the chameleon ring on. I decided on Jasplotte."

"Well, decide against it, because I lied. It was Henry and I just didn't wanna say that to Piper." She observed that his face fell and she knew enough to know that it couldn't possibly be because she wasn't dreaming about him. So, against her usual route of saying something to Henry about those two, she said something to Jasper. "Don't worry. I don't want him either. It was just a weird series, probably sparked by Schwoz harassing us about dating. No worries for you. He's all yours." 

Jasper looked a little surprised at the comment, but he also smiled a little, "How did you…?"

"It's what I do. I know things. I've won awards for it." He smiled even brighter. "Now, Hen on the other hand… I don't know if he knows yet."

"He's a little thickheaded," Jasper said. "It's part of his charm." He blushed.

"It's part of the reason he's all yours," she said. "A match made in stupid boy heaven."

"THERE'S A STUPID BOY HEAVEN???" Jasper asked. Charlotte simply looked into the distance. 

[danieledorazi]

Ugly is the new cool, or - the death of the Instagram aesthetic.

“Beauty is, in some ways, boring. Even if its concept changes through the ages, nevertheless a beautiful object must always follow certain rules… Ugliness is unpredictable and offers an infinite range of possibilities. Beauty is finite. Ugliness is infinite, like God.” - Umberto Eco, On Ugliness

Balenciaga changed the game.

From the Washington Post: ‘Ikea bags, ugly sneakers: Balenciaga’s Demna Gvasalia is changing what we consider fashion.’ - ‘François-Henri Pinault, the French billionaire who owns Balenciaga, approvingly sums up Gvasalia’s fashion conceit as “taking the banal and elevating it.” Unlike past designers who have been inspired by mundane objects, Gvasalia quite literally remakes them — using luxury materials. He assigns heightened value to, for example, the nylon totes of the displaced and in doing so directs our gaze — if only momentarily — to people who are substantively ignored. His models are not classically beautiful; they often look preternaturally encumbered and just plain exhausted. And his clothes — at their best — celebrate 21st-century technology rather than 19th-century craft. His work can seem ugly at first glance, but ugly is always more interesting than pretty.

The designer is not just refreshing what historians once considered the greatest haute couture house of them all. He’s redefining luxury and recalibrating status. And in the process, he’s kicking up a storm of controversy and admiration.’

This approach can be clearly seen in Balenciaga’s Instagram account. Weird, beautiful, ugly and poetical.

Who is the person behind this Insta-aesthetic, though? Lotta Volkova. Read more about her here: ‘Stylist Lotta Volkova Is the Secret Genius Behind the Ex-Soviet Fashion Explosion’.

TikTok, AKA the anti-Instagram platform.

‘Vicky Banham, a 21-year-old TikTok beauty influencer with 1.3 million followers, believes that young audiences flock to TikTok’s less-polished videos because the intention is to create “fun and silly” content, as she put it. In her posts, Banham will have a face full of makeup, but she’s also dancing and making goofy faces at the camera.

“While Instagram has grown into a well-established platform, TikTok has a young demographic who doesn’t care about the whole perfect shot thing,” Banham said. “The editing thing, the fake boobs and fake lips. When you are 13, you want to sit with something that’s entertaining. TikTok is making social media fun again. It’s a place where you are enjoying other people’s company online.”

TikTok also gives users an easier way to be discovered with its “For You” feed. While content on Instagram and YouTube typically gets picked up by an algorithm that values clicks and views, anyone can get placed onto the For You feed if they use the hashtag. This has helped users nab huge followings much faster than they could on better-established social media platforms.

“TikTok videos are all about being yourself, so it’s easier to grow,” said Madison Lewis, a 16-year-old TikTok influencer who has over 3 million followers tuning in for her singing and comedy videos (BoF spoke with Lewis after obtaining permission from her mother first). “My followers really enjoy the comedy perspective of it.”’

Source: ‘Gen Z Loves TikTok. Can Fashion Brands Learn to Love It Too?’

RIP the Instagram look.

Says The Atlantic - ‘The Instagram Aesthetic Is OverThe look made famous by the platform just doesn’t resonate anymore.’

‘No one has capitalized on this look’s popularity more than influencers. Some have even started to make thousands of dollars on photo presets that warp anyone’s pictures to fit this mold. But every trend has a shelf life, and as quickly as Instagram ushered in pink walls and pastel macaroons, it’s now turning on them. “Avocado toast and posts on the beach. It’s so generic and played out at this point. You can photoshop any girl into that background and it will be the same post,” said Claire, a 15-year-old who asked to be referred to by a pseudonym because of her age. “It’s not cool anymore to be manufactured.”’

‘In fact, many teens are going out of their way to make their photos look worse. Huji Cam, which make your images look as if they were taken with an old-school throwaway camera, has been downloaded more than 16 million times. “Adding grain to your photos is a big thing now,” says Sonia Uppal, a 20-year-old college student. “People are trying to seem candid. People post a lot of mirror selfies and photos of them lounging around.”

Take Reese Blutstein, a 22-year-old influencer who has amassed more than 238,000 followers in just over a year by posting unfiltered, low-production photos of herself in quirky outfits. (A recent flash photo into a mirror with her dog picked up more than 5,000 likes). She, like many members of her generation, doesn’t stress about posting almost the exact same photo twice in a row, something first-generation influencers wouldn’t dream of. “I’m not afraid to over-post. I don’t think, Oh, will this mess up how my feed looks,” she says. “I don’t think too much about it. If I like an image, I just post it.”

Anything that feels staged is as undesirable for Blutstein’s cohort as unfiltered or unflattering photos would be for older influencers. “For my generation, people are more willing to be who they are and not make up a fake identity,” she says. “We are trying to show a real person doing cool things as a real person, not trying to create a persona that isn’t actually you.”’

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 2: The VR Zone Has a Hell Ton of Trees

Alright guys I am regretting the hell out of this teriyaki ramen bowl I just ate, so it’s a better time than ever to go back into this VR arc. Now that the Big 5 have made their speech, all of them quite fat and one with a cane although he doesn’t even have a body anymore, they are ready to send everyone down a series of...plot-shaped holes.

Like they were JUST in some sort of tropic zone, to go back to here and then go somewhere else and so like--this is still VR I think? Like I’m assuming they went VR the moment they entered this room but it is quite vague at what point they were officially in VR. Was it when their vision went fwisssh and everyone split into RGB layers or was it that they got knocked out with gas quite a long time ago and were just unaware that it happened? Probably a bunch of these things.

With this announcement we find out that everyone--and I mean everyone--has to play cards now, although I’m pretty sure half of them have duel disks and the other’s are like...not equipped? I mean it’s VR, so hypothetically no one at all needs a duel disk anymore but you gotta sell toys, so no matter what, Yugi’s going to be lugging this heavy sharp thing on his wrist, even when he knows he will soon be shot down a wacky hole.

The title of last episode, ps was “VR Nightmare,” but like, it’s actually fairly pleasant, compared to the blimp hell we were dealing with just a few episodes back. I mean I guess people are actively trying to kill us here but when are they not?

The audacity of this show. Every state in the US has huge ass fake castles in it leftover from the Rockefeller era. Where else are our Moms supposed to drag us on Day Trips so we can get our history credit for Girl Scouts?

Americans are hella good at creating fake historical sites--all you need is a 50+ year old house and some turret work possibly made by a reasonably well known architect and it’s like “yeah that’s a good enough castle for me! Can we say it’s haunted, too? It’s hella haunted! Come to my castle B+B!”

(read more under the cut)

Tea landed in some concept art that kind of looks like the underside of a mushroom. I dunno how I’d classify this rock structure.

And then Kaiba landed in his worst nightmare which was being in a normal park with one single straight road but somehow still completely lost. At least Mokuba managed to fall into the same hole as his brother to ensure that Seto wouldn't be lost for like the rest of this arc. Which was actually kind of an unintentionally hilarious animation.

*rare shot of the Kaibas actually taking a break*

Man, this is the closest they’ve gotten to a real hug in kind of a while. Like when was the last time these bros hugged? Pegasus’ castle?

Meanwhile, Noah is admiring his work from this throne room and it would be a whole lot more intimidating if he wasn’t in calf-high black socks.

His outfit is like a white school uniform so what gives with the black socks? Like of all the things to complain about on Yugioh (especially since I see Yugi’s hair looking right at me in the next cap) those socks though. Those are pretty inappropriate with this outfit, Noah. Especially matched with this God Throne you’ve got going on. Did not see socks like that matched with a chair like this.

Meanwhile Yugi is all by himself but that doesn’t matter at all because he is 2 (3) people. This strategy to isolate everyone only really worked on Serenity and Joey, TBH, since Tea is also accompanied by slightlylessevil!Marik (who hasn’t really said anything since the VR started).

I knew Bakura would be out for a while, but I didn’t realize it meant everyone else wasn’t even going to once acknowledge it, it is baffling. I mean I get they’re super distracted right now but your friend is DEAD.

Honestly I would not mind if the big 5 succeeded and we had to see some old men try and work with Yugi’s hair and alt rock clothing, deal with Pharaoh sassing them from a brain labyrinth, go to Yugi’s school where people get savagely beat up like every other day, deal with Bakura and Marik trying to body snatch and other magic assholery during class breaks, and through all that watching the Big 5 attempt to take over the world with their megacorp that no longer sells guns but actually sells like...children’s entertainment supplies which include the dueling roombas from S1. How on Earth do they actually think that getting a body would help them at this point? They would be Yugi Muto and that is the last face anyone would ever take seriously.

Pharaoh pops up and is like “I guess we’re doing this right now? Really wish we weren’t doing this right now.”

Anyway, because they don’t physically exist in this digital world, neither do God Cards, or any other card in their deck. So, now they have to make new decks out of a pool. Very convenient for the writing team, bad news for Kaiba’s intense and vaguely romantic relationship with his Blue Eyes. Really glad we spent a full season talking about how much these cards meant to all these people, from the magicians, to Joey’s Red Eyes, and then that one card that was Mako Tsunami’s Dad or something--really glad we learned all of that to just completely erase it this arc.

I sounded sarcastic just now, I actually wasn’t for once, I am so glad to just purge my mind of all those card memories for a little while. Just allow myself to forget. Ah. My mind is already so much clearer. It feels so good. I am very much ok with this soft reset, I kinda needed it.

Since Yugi is supposed to choose a Deck Master from his set of cards for this particular type of duel monsters duel, he goes right for the dark magician--since that’s his MO, but for some reason Kuriboh chose himself? Like this greasy thing just hopped out of the card and played himself.

Anyway Kuriboh is now their new Pikachu and well...this show has done worse cute-character-that-does-literally-nothing-else type things to me, speaking of, lets see what Serenity is up to.

This is a digital hellscape, Serenity.

Serenity, you are going to die here.

Serenity.

So because I just realized just now in Season 3 that Duke’s necklace is a hot, over designed disaster (much like Duke himself) I figured I should like...see what this necklace is supposed to look like. So I typed into Google “duke devlin necklace” and guys, turns out there is a LOT of Yugioh jewelry--and I don’t mean like fanart (which there is also a lot), I mean like officially, a lot of people in this show wear a lot of jewelry and so it was sort of hard to find a good pic of a Duke Devlin specific necklace--especially since it feels like most people just go for the dice earring because that’s way easier.

But what’s interesting about the Duke Devlin necklace, at least from my quick search, is that when we bring it to the real world, it gets a little lost, like a game of telephone.

Cuz I assumed that was a clown on his necklace--and there’s quite a few clown necklaces, but I’m also seeing skulls, I’m seeing gothic crosses, I’m seeing spikes and knives instead of crosses. Bro thought it was a flower for some reason--I kinda blew his mind just now when I pointed out it was a clown. Some people think it’s made of silver, other people think it’s sort of painted? (I assumed the cross was entirely blinged out with rhinestones--my honest assumption) No one can actually agree. Especially since Duke apparently changed his necklace for the movie. I know that because it looks a lot like the Legend of Zelda emblem, and some people had the actual Legend of Zelda emblem mis-tagged as Duke Devlin. Which sucks a whole lot for their SEO, and sucked a whole lot for me in my search to find a real actual Duke Devlin necklace.

Like, feel free to attach a link to a reply -- is there an official physical Duke Devlin necklace that Yugioh inc sells? Like I just want to know--officially--what the hell I’m looking at.

Anyway, back to the show, much like everyone else, these two are hopelessly lost.

Kaiba seems to keep forgetting that his Dad is clearly behind all this and would obviously have his old tech but like...Kaiba forgets so much I can forgive him this.

So, faced with roads that lead no where, Tristan decides to do his tried and true method of solving all of his problems.

And at the other end of the VR zone Tea is getting kidnapped after...being kidnapped by Noah while she was already kidnapped by Marik. This is three levels of kidnap, yes?

OH SHOOT IS THAT A ONCE DOOR. DID SOMEONE DO WHAT I HOPE THEY DID? OH SHOOT.

I will read their fanfiction start to end I swear to you I will do it if it exists and I will report back to you who dates Captain Hook and who is related to Henry Mills.

OMG It didn’t exist.

You have got to be kidding me.

I am beside myself, this is the only property known to man that has not been turned into a OUAT fanfiction.

Incredible.

That or I’m just really bad at searching for fanfics since I haven’t actually read any since my LiveJournal days. Like, when you’re basically immune to shipping, as I am, you just really lose the desire to read about 90% of fanfiction.

Anyway, the closest we have to a OUAT Yugioh fanfiction, to my knowledge, is that cap I made just now right there. Your welcome, Once community.

This is absolutely made of load-bearing drywall. Why do none of the sets of windows line up with each other and how many stories is this? Like 2.5? And you can stand on the roof I guess because it has handrails? It’s super weird.

Anyway, I just made a OUAT joke and maybe it’s because I knew shortly after we were gonna get--that’s right--an orphanage flashback. OUAT was basically 6 seasons of effed up orphan flashbacks so I feel pretty well prepared. Like bro was worried how I’d handle this filler but y’all, I watched the Lily arc in OUAT. I can do anything.

*slaps hands together*

Totes ready for these boys to have been given up for adoption via a magical tree and a memory curse, only to find out their real parents are 3 years younger than them because of a time loop. Make it weird, Yugioh!

Anyway, as always, if you want a link to read these from the beginning in Chrono order and without any comments and all that jazz here’s a link