#considering its a new team idk if its even intentional

[warriorcatnamedbugbear]

I haven't read any of ASC, but I've been thinking about this AUwhere Nightheart is the kit of Lionblaze and the spitting image of Hollyleaf.

Make his struggles being not orange being tied to his half (well i guess quarter) clan heritage (I know it's used a lot but here me out)

Your dad's this big, important senior warrior, well respected, but he can't even look at you for too long cuz you look so much like his dead sister. He's also this big hulking mass of a warrior, but you've got a skinny little body that screams WindClan blood.

And your uncle is the clans med cat, but every time he treats you, his paws shake, and every time you ask about your aunt, his sharp tongue gets even sharper.

Have older ThunderClan cats who knew that Hollyleaf killed Ashfur whisper behind his back about how they wished he had been born a year or two earlier. How he's such a spitting image of Hollyleaf that surely he could take Ashfur down.

And even after, while the clans try to settle down, the tension and stigma around codebreakers still simmers in the air. And here's this ThunderClan cat who looks like he's Breezepelt's kid instead of Lionblaze's.

Nightheart who just wants to be a part of his clan but can't shake the feeling that he's an outcast. His dad looks at him with sadness and grief in his eyes. His clanmates who spin wild stories and tales about how Hollyleaf seemingly died and then came back. Nightheart who actually experiences being compared to other cats who look like him, specifically cats who are still alive, and being told he could do all of these great things.

Nightheart who alientates himself and believes no one knows what he's going through, when his mother, Cinderheart, was seemingly/rumoured to be possessed by a cat she looks similair to, was named after, and suffered a similair injury to.

Nightheart who flees his clan because of this, but then realizes his aunt Hollyleaf did the same thing. ThunderClan thought she was dead. ThunderClan must think he's dead. Hollyleaf came back and took down an evil that threatened StarClan.

i dont know where else to go from here but nightheart could be cool if the erins could just break away from their favorite toxic couple's bloodline pls. and explore cross clan relationships beyond just the two lovers and their immediate offspring

[voldheart]

How comes Ghost gains a likeness towards Godseeker? (I wanna know mooore about the AU sorrynotsorry)

In Game Godseeker at first was very arrogant towards them and just started to show interest in Ghost, when they reached higher Pantheons. She doesn't strike me as the Kind of Person that would be interested in Rebuilding Hallownest because the Bugs there are no Gods. But feel free to change my mind!

Yeah, theyre not gods to a "Higher being" degree, but she considers them "holy" in some way....? you can actually see statues of vengeflies and husks in the hall of gods Which is kind of funny knowing how lowly she thinks of the knight at first lol

my interpretation is that the "holiness" these bugs possess comes from being under the influence of a higher being, be it Radiance or pk in Hallownest's case (mantis lords being the exception for being cool as fuck), which would explain why she doesn't want to have anything to do with the Knight, as it probably has its own thing going on that she did not understand at the time.

In this case she probably wouldn't care much for the bugs at Dirtmouth since most are new to the kingdom. But now that tk ascended into "godhood", maybe she wouldn't mind them much for being it's friends…? idk

As to why Ghost ends up liking Godseeker, i think that her call for powerful beings might have unintentionally pulled it into godhome, getting it to complete pantheons and, subconsciously, getting interested in her. even through all the insults and everything. i mean who doesnt like a big mean woman am i right  haha *SWEATING*

THOUGH, as to why i believe it feels affection towards her i'll be talking about that below the cut (post got a bit too long sorryy)

ok just to be clear, the knight barely gets any sort of indication of personality in game, this is all just me overanalyzing Every single little crumb of possible person(bug?)hood I could find. which is kind of nothing honestly since all of this could be intentional or not, but i'm feasting on that shit like crazy

1: One thing (and its kind of the main thing that funnily made me descend into this rabbit hole) is that canonically, you can only gift her a delicate flower AFTER completing p2, which by this point it very much knows what she is like. Now i am aware that this could mean literally anything, but i highly doubt it would gift her a flower out of hate or indiference. That shit is hard as hell to deliver.

2: So a while ago i made this gifset about its walking animations. Something that, as I've noted in the post, it normally does when confronted with something important to it... For some reason TC felt compelled to program that for whenever it encountered Godseeker in between pantheons, despite the slight inconvenience it might cause for gameplay, so it was probably not added for that. at the very least i assume that theres a sort of respect it has for her

3: this post team cherry made promoting Godmaster which i find very funny

4: ok i know this sounds like reaching too hard but im just so obsessed with how despite falling down so violently, it still holds her so very gently here . it's almost as if it puts in the effort to not hurt her in a way. i mean shes standing there on her goddamn bug tippy toes and she barely even budges ? like 🏳️‍🌈?

5: shes hot asfuckkkkkk i rest my case

[brandwhorestarscream]

The Cybermorph forbidden friendship has me real interested! 👀

I'm lazy and have been sitting on this ask for like a week so I'm just gonna transcribe all the backstory set up from discord!

So, let me set the scene. Way, waaay back on Cybertron (I'm envisioning Aligned or IDW or maybe G1. Idk exactly, it doesn't especially matter). The southern half of the planet has been quarantined and there's a great big wall all around where the cybermorphs designated zone is.

There's a research team nearby, on the civilian side. An encampment maybe 20 or so miles from the wall: it's clearly in view but they're not close enough to it for it to be considered a hazard

The research team is investigating some brand new crypt or old cache that was discovered by miners: its so old it's thought to date back to the era of the Original Primes. Naturally, Alpha Trion keeper of the Archives is spearheading the excavation. It's been so many billions of years since he's laid optics on their find, he can hardly even remember what it is. He and the rest of the team are busy busy busy, oh so carefully excavating it one shard at a time.

Along for the ride is Trion's little adopted mechling/mentee, an ex-feral sparkling he found out in the wilderness. Orion can talk now and is probably 7 or 8-ish, developmentally

With the adults busy, there's not much for him to do. They brought him some storybook datapads and toys and study material, but eventually he runs out of stuff to do. Asks Trion is he can go play in the nearby crystal shrubbery, and gets the ok, with only the rule that he mustn't get close to the wall.

Little guy folds down into his altmode and peels outta there as fast as his wheels can carry him. He runs around in the field for a long time, chasing tiny mechanimals and doing donuts, picking crystal flowers and just having a grand time. At one point spots a fluoro fly and eagerly chases after it, and doesn't realize he's entered the wall's shadow until he nearly runs into it.

Stumbles back and falls down, little neck craning all the way back to stare it. His optics light up with wonder: it's *huge*! So big even a combiner couldn't get over it! It blocks out the sun!

He pushes himself back up to his pedes and bumbles closer fearlessly (listen. Bb Orion has pedes that are a biiit too big for his little body so he has a clumsy waddly little walk). Presses his palm against it and walks beside it, running his fingers over the surface. It's smooth and cold to the touch, and when he presses one audio receptor closer, it's silent. Built sturdy. What *is* this...?

He knows Trion told him not to come too close, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong. It's quiet. Peaceful even.

As he's walking, eventually he comes to a grate. A tiny one barely wide enough for a scraplet to fit through, only as tall as his palm. It looks like it's for acid rain drainage, and is barred off. Huh.

He gets down on his knees and as he's leaning down, hears a soft... shuffling. A rustling, and clicking. Down on his hands and knees, he presses his cheek to the ground and peers through. He can see light on the other side, and more ground, but nothing else.

"Hello...?"

Nothing. He listens intently for a moment, optics flickering around. It's so *still*. Unnaturally still.

"Hellooo...?" He calls again, a little louder. "Is anybody there?"

Another beat of silence, then there it is, unmistakably: the soft clinking of someone's plating. He watches legs appear, then little clawed hands, and finally, a pair of red optics stares back at him from the other side of the grate.

"Um... hi."

Orion lights up like a firework. Another sparkling! And they look about his age!

"Hi!" He bubbles fearlessly and waves as well as he can crunched to the ground. "I'm Orion! Who're you?"

The other mechling stares at him for a long moment, optics wide and surprised. He's mever seen anyone on the other side of the grate before! He comes here to look at the outside world, and to spy on the local fauna. There's none on his side of the wall. And now there's a person here, another kid!

"Uh..." Orion tilts his helm. "I said, what's your name?"

The other jumps, and something on his head twitches. Orion can't see him well enough to make out what it is. "I'm, er... m-my name is Megatronus."

"Like the god of war?"

"Uh..." he looks *so* lost. "Maybe?"

"Cool! Orion beams at him. "Do you wanna play with me?"

Basically baby Orion meeting baby Megatron through the wall and they become fast friends. Megatron explains that he's "in quarantine, which means he can't go outside the wall."

Orion pouts that that's stupid and says, "Well *I'm* not in quarantine, so I'll just come over there."

Aa for how they get on the same side: Megatron starts digging out a tunnel. He may be small but he's got sharp and sturdy claws! Even little morphlings can break the planet's crust

It'll take awhile for him to burrow his way under, cuz the wall goes pretty deep, so Orion decides to go get snacks to keep him energized.

He comes trotting back to camp saying he made a friend, and he's named after the god of war! Isn't that neat? The researchers all just chuckle and pat his helm, cuz he's so creative. An imaginary friend is a great way for him to entertain himself and not be mucking around near the delicate excavation site. He takes the entire tin of energon sweets and heads back out with a cheerful wave

It probably takes several megacycles for him to dig it out, and they have to talk by shouting cuz there's like 10 feet between them. Megatron occasionally resurfaces and Orion pushes a treat through the grate. He's never had energon goodies before, so this is really exciting and yummy!

Finally, eventually, Orion sees the ground start shaking and pushing upward, and then the crust of the planet blooms outward like a flower. Staring up at him is possibly the *strangest* mech he's ever seen, spitting out a strip of metal and stretching his arms.

"I did it!" He looks so proud of himself. "Now we can play! Come-"

"Wait!" Orion reaches down into the hole to grab his servo, and Megatron jumps as the other squeezes it tight. "Nice to meet you, Megatronus!" Bonus points if his new griend gets all bashful and giggly and yanks him into the darkness to lead the way

They get to the other side and Megatron scales his way up no problem: morphs are great climbers and can scale vertical surfaces with ease. Orion... not so much.

Peeps for him to, "Wait! Waaait!" cuz he can't get iut by himself. Megatron's face appears above him, staring down from the surface and asking what's wrong. He doesn't know that non-morphs can't climb. So he pops back down and tells Orion to climb on; he'll give him a ride! They skitter up the other side no problem and just like that, Orion has entered the Quarantine Zone

Orion is really confused by what he sees on the other side. The quarantine zone is the bare minimum, a giant circular wall with an energy dome over top preventing escape, and it's incredibly barren. The zone has only 5 houses, all in a row at the very center of the compound. But there's nothing else. It's not a city, not a town, not even a village. There's no medic station, there's no store, there's no *library*! There's *nothing* but the 5 little houses. He'd been hoping for a playground, maybe, but the surprise of that is nothing compared to his new friend.

He's never seen such a weird looking mech. This is the first time he's seen Megatronus's whole body and he has no idea what he's looking at. Backwards digitigrade legs that make his stride rather bouncy, a slender and ridged cable of a tail snaking out from the base of his spine, a strange crest that branches out almost like antlers on his helm, clawed fingers and hollow dorsal tubes jutting out of his back. His jaw is elongated, and when he talks, he can see that his glossa isn't a normal glossa: it appears to have a second set of teeth capped on the end!

Blinks and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind without thinking, "Are you a monster?" then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth like omg im so sorry!!!!!!

Orion explains that he didnt mean it like that, he's just! Never seen a mech like him before.

"What *are* you, 'xactly?"

Megatron just says that he's a cybermorph. Orion asks what that is and his new friend says it's just what he is? That's that, then they run off: Megatronus grabs his servo and leads him to his house so they can play. They spend maybe half a megacycle together before Mamatron finds them, and about drops dead from shock and horror seeing his precious only child playing with a civilian sparkling.

Quarantine must never be violated. Not ever.

Their playdate ends in tears, unfortunately, Galvatron rushing to haul them both back to the wall and shooing Orion away, scolding them both and telling them in no uncertain terms that they can't be friends and can never see each other again. He collapses the tunnel they dug and tells Orion to leave once he's back on his side of the wall, warning him not to speak of what happened before dragging Megatronus kicking and screaming back home.

They're going to have a long talk about this

I'm going to cut it here, but! Yeah. That's the general gist of the set up, cute bb Megs and Orion meeting waaay earlier than in canon. Don't worry, this isn't the last time they get to play together 💖

[fictionfixations]

part 2 of the new book 7 update cause i have more mystium

spoilers of course part 1

part 3 the final part

the way i just got the widest smile at this

anyway i forgot to mention it last post but knowing that they were just kinda left alone while everyone went to nrc makes me really sad. like first silver and sebek without lilia and malleus (they have sebbies family tho)

and then silver left next year. sebek all alone. he has his family still but like. man. gone for a year.

and in that time he was alone he got his signature spell and worked hard on it not wanting any of them to know about it until he got better at it, but it also meant that they never knew he could do that because they werent there and im just sad :( and it sometimes makes me wish at least silver and sebek were the same age so they couldve gone the same year and sebek didnt have to be without their company for so long

fshuidf i clicked past it like a dumbass but heres anther instance of baur saying he'll swallow them whole similar to sebek's battle start line

going to cry now because what the fuck 100k hp i hate myself my strongest units are really low hp BEAT THEIR ASS GEN LILIA oh my god they do so much damage im going to cry good news is i dont think theres another battle after this so this is.. fine.

and this time i didnt head straight to it and miss all the buffs from like the camps and stuff 💀 also i actually have more built cards this time before this i only had like one other casualty, that being the dorm sebek they give you (i only managed to have him duo off of gen lilia once and then i never got the spells to line up after that and then he died). so now its my whole team + dorm sebek thanking myself for leveling the spells of the other riddles i got that i did for no reason other then cause i like riddle (no intention of actually using them considering i already have a perfectly fine dorm riddle) LMFAO also thank battlemap for letting you bring a shit ton of characters. i havent used epel in forever 😭(rook is also VERY underleveled lmfao)

also im a dumbass i kept using the healing spells first turn.. ..but it didnt even do anything because i need to take damage first so its like. why did i do that. did i think id get my health lost in a previous battle back..?????

😱

aww the sparkles bruhs accomplished his lifes dream and i am here for it 👍

NOO GUYS LISTEN TO HIMM

he gave us his cloak 🥺

know i said id set my homescreen to sebek but... this feels more fitting

i wish that you didnt have to complete a book to get the backgrounds. i want my book 7 backgrounds with the music :(((

like i want. the the the. yknow when silver is confident in lilias love for him again and in the background you hear like i think once upon a dream? or i saw a prince(?? idk the other name for it its just what ive heard) and i. i want that. it also played when we see the dawn knight in the the the area where you travel across dreams where he smiled and then faded away

i dont have lilias room so silver will have to do

i need two more mystium aghhhhh the wait is insufferable but since im almost finished im gonna wait before posting

i watched someone go through the story on jp and i just remember stressing out so bad because holy fuck what happened what do we do. like i was feeling that stress of AHH GOTTA GET EGG AWAY and worry over maleanor but now i know what happened so im a little less stressed. im still stressed in the sense of FUCK YOU FUCK YOU BATTLES but like.. im not hanging in suspense anymore

anyway i think im gonna end it after battlemap is finished and do another post for the chapters outside of battlemap. especially because i dont want to hit the image limit. i cant remember if theres another battlemap but i dont THINK there should be.

anyway questioning why im making another post when i ended first post pretty early and couldve edited it? because people whove already seen it wont see it again 💀 and i mean if they wanna see book 7 stuff when the update only happened like 3 hours ago then ok ill show you what i can and make it visible enough for you to notice in the event youve already seen the other post

anyway while im waiting for one more mystium im warning you that if you cried the last update, to prepare to cry again. book 7 is just really sad man.

okay im gonna stop it here on THIS post (i will still be playing) and keep an eye out for part 3 with the rest (assuming theres not more story then i can make images of)

[malika-carnelian]

Idk if the 💗 prompt is open to ocs aswell, but if it is: Thalia from @thehumanhalf (if its not PLEASE IGNORE THIS IDK HOW INTERACT WITH PEOPLE)

Malika 🤝 Thalia

(Cute) girls who work with robots

|| Hello to you @thehumanhalf ! First of all, don't you ever worry about being an Oc or a Canon character ok? I give possibilities towards all muses, and if their bio is interesting then why not giving a shot? As for the heart meme! I gave a look to your infos and it kinda inspired me in more than just a single verse, so I'm gonna reply this with more infos about what I personally think (it's gonna be a bit long tho lol sorry not sorry).

Drop me a character name and I’ll reveal my muse’s heart...

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks) ��💗💗💗 : She is a beautiful girl in all verses where they can be both involved, plus, Malika loves her hair!

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: (how close a friend they consider them) [ TFPrime ] from 💗💗 to 💗💗💗💗💗: On a personal note, at the very beginning Malika it's not very trustful of Thalia, specially if she is a co-worker of Agent Fowler and the government, or the so self-proclaimed second in command. It is true that even Malika work under the Agent orders strightly coming from the government, but as an engineer (and even a tricky one), her mind is more settled into her personal point-of-view regarding the Autobot's and Humanity's safety than making the government or any other highterindividual happy. Although, after some time and knowing more about Thalia's real intents and projects for the future, she accept her and be a powerful ally whenever it's needed, specially after the war is ended and they want to preserve Cybertronians technology out of dirty hands. As for friendship, I see them be very close friends that speaks to each other in more than one occasion about real matters or silly ones, both at work and outside.

[ TFEarthspark ] from 💔 to 💗💗💗💗: She doesn't feel safe into meeting someone from G.H.O.S.T, even more when it's about the company asking her to work along with them. Malika is a mechanical and technological engineer, a very good one that even had private lessons from ratchet himself about cybertronians beings and how they work, only for the sake of helping them out, so how she could even share those informations with humans from the Government? Breaking in half the promise she made to the Autobot medic. Betray him? Never. She pretend to know nothing, refusing to be involved with them, even if it hurts her to not see Optimus or the others anymore like she did in the past. So meeting up with someone like Thalia could settle her in a very concerned mood, specially after a Terran has been created because of her: Silverblade. Malika tries to be more invisible than ever, but it will happen, sooner or later, that they would both end into dangerous situation where their terrans will fight along for protecting the girls, and then… everything will be more clear, realizing that they are from the same side and finally get along together, till the friendship will be formed.

[ LL/MTMTE meeting Icharibaxcode ] from 💗 to 💗💗💗: This is one of those situations where both sides are kind of confused as hell and very doubtful. More Thalia than Malika and her team, but they both have good reasons. Thalia is from her own universe, where Cybertronians being and Humans are very well known and Earth is still a safe place, when instead from Malika side it is not. Not only Malika came to the Ichariba's ship from her own universe (The TFP one) through a space-bridge where something happened during the process, but had found out that it was a human-ship protected by AIs ( Artificial Intelligent robots ), few survivals after that planet Earth got destroyed. By itself is really a difficult story to believe, but after some proofs of reality and a request of help, Thalia and Malika will finally have a meeting, telling each other their stories and try to help those few survivors to have a new home, which is the Earth where Thalia comes from.

SEXUAL DESIRE: (wanting to have sex with them)

[ TFPrime-TFEarthspark ] 💔: She isn't interested, plus has a crush on a guy.

[ LL/MTMTE-Icharibacode ] 💔: Even if it's an AI and not properly a human, Malika is very loyal to Sid and will never have the desire to seek such a thing from others.

ROMANTIC INTENT: (hoping for a romantic relationship)

Same answer of the previous one applied here!

[itwasrealtome]

Summary: After her first breakup, Y/N finds herself in chaos with a broken heart.  Her father-in-law tries to help her, but he ends up calling the black widow actress for backup.

Genre: Angst – Fluff

Warnings: Idk if it’s considered warnings, but… an untimely coming out, some angst between the characters, reference to that specific moment after a break up when we’re feeling bad

A/N: This is not a request, but a personal idea. I hope you like it.

(Picture from Pinterest)

Feelings come and go, at least love does.

One day, you feel at the height of the world, your belly full of butterflies, your heart beating very hard in your chest. The next day, you are in the depths of a dark and silent abyss, empty, your heart shattered to a thousand pieces. That’s when you realize that everything we tell the kids is wrong. There’s no fairy tale, no love at first sight, no promise forever. Life is only a chain of moments, of experiences. People come and go in your life, just like you do in theirs.

You love, and then what? No hatred, no anything, just nothing, forgetfulness. So that’s life. You keep going, constantly, again and again, no matter how bad it hurts. Even if everything hurts.

As soon as the bell rings, my bag finds its place on my shoulder, and I get lost in the crowd. Every step I take only strengthens that feeling in my chest. The one that everything is about to fall apart. And I’m about to succumb.

It only gets worse when, by slamming the door of my locker, I come face to face with the only person I want to stay away from as much as possible. I can’t help but gaze at her, at her captivating hazel eyes that I loved so much, that I love so much, or the way her lips seem even softer than I remember. But then, as her new sidekick from the football team wraps his arm around her shoulders, I snap out of that lying dream. I walk as fast as I can, or rather I run, to the nearest exit. I decide to walk home, even though the road looks long and endless.

A prisoner of my own mind, I allow myself a moment of freedom, far from prying eyes or ears in my home. Tears that I thought were no longer present flood my eyes, and find their way down my cheeks, as they have too often done in the past 48 hours.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder how it is possible to play with people the way I was played with. How many times must my heart break for me to finally learn the lesson? To learn that every word they say is fake and meaningless?

The world I grow up in is not without its dangers. The greatest danger is to get lost in the lies around us. And even though my mother brought me the greatest support and security possible, I can’t help but feel like I’m drowning. I can’t stop myself. I can not help myself.

As I slowly find myself again, and close the door behind me, a small body hits my legs. My hand automatically sneak into the little girl’s blond hair, to apply gentle caresses. I look at her from my height, and let a faint smile stretch my lips at the sight of her childish face. Having the role of the elder in the family isn’t always easy, but with Rose as a little sister, I’m the last one to pity. She’s always been the little sunshine of the family, while I was the rainy clouds. If you’re looking for the glue that holds this family together, it’s probably her or my mother, when she’s here.

“Y/N, we need to talk.” Colin appears in the room, papers in hand. “Rose, princess, can you go play in your room please.”

The look on his face leaves no room for negotiation. Rose gives me one last look, full of vulnerability. She climbs the first steps of the stair, unsure if she had to obey, but run after my slight nod. I’m following Colin all the way to the living room, dragging my feet. He sits on the couch and smiles at me with the intention of appearing reassuring. But I can see his jaw freeze in its motion. 

Here’s the thing with Colin, no matter how hard he tries to connect with me, something always seems to be stopping him. This new life we share had not been easy to accept. But we were doing fine. We had found a common ground, my mother’s love. Until then, that was enough for all of us. He was trying, and I was too.

“Can we do this quickly? I have an algebra test tomorrow that I’d like to study for.”

He must have understood that I wasn’t going to sit. Arms crossed against my chest, I stare at him, waiting impatiently for him to start talking. 

“One of your teachers called earlier today. She was worried about you, and was wondering if everything was okay.”

I huff slightly, a smirk on my face. It was predictable. I should have known. Mrs. Green has always been the kind of teacher who cares too much for their students. Unfortunately, I was no exception. She was looking after me since day one, just as she was looking after any of her students. And while I wanted to be left alone, she was just trying to dig a bit more into my shell.

“It’s my senior year, Colin, I’m just nervous, is all. Nothing to worry about.”

I’m starting to go the other way, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible, but he’s stopping me

“We also received a letter from the school informing us that you were having some difficulties with some subjects.”

I drop my bag on the ground and walk towards him again. 

“What’s your point?”

“Y/N, sweet, I’m just worried about you. I just want to make sure you’re doing alright, with your mom being gone for almost three weeks now, and-”

“Oh, stop the bullshit, Colin! We were doing fine, you stayed in your corner, and I stayed in mine. What has changed?”

He stands up, surprised by the brutality of my words. All the anger I’ve been holding back for days is poisoning my veins. I can feel my blood boiling at this simple altercation. The poor man is about to take all the pain of a broken-hearted teenager.  

“Your mother is counting on me to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“You’ve been acting differently for the last few days Y/N, I’ve noticed. You don’t come out of your room unless you have to, you don’t eat that much during meals, and your teacher told me that you’re completely off in class when you don’t fall asleep on your table.”

He takes a deep breath, now standing in front of me. Unlike him, I can’t bring myself to breathe normally. I’m out of breath, shaking, sadly aware of what’s happening. A slight gust of wind would be enough to blow away all the pieces of my heart. My pretty broken heart.

“So I’m going to ask you one last time, what’s wrong?”

“Everything.” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear it.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, he forces me to face him again.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?”

His tone is soft, weak, vulnerable. For a moment, I regret my words and actions. I regret that I’m not open to him like Rose or our mother. But -

“You’re not my father and you never will be, Colin.”

Several days have passed since then. I spent most of my time hiding in my room, rejecting everyone’s approaches, even Rose. My phone became the receptionist of what I would call unsuccessful attempts at communication. The worst part was ignoring my mother, who I knew couldn’t work peacefully knowing I was in such a state. But that didn’t stop me. This guilt hasn’t changed anything. I started sneaking out, not wanting to come face to face with my worst nightmare again, the girl that I so deeply loved, in the arms of someone completely different from me.

So I found a way to stay in my bubble. I was leaving early in the morning, long before Colin knew anything. Then I would come back, once I was sure the house would be empty when I arrived.

But today, it was different.

Everything was going as planned, until I got to the front of the house.

Eaten by curiosity, I sneak inside my home. Voices, which I recognize as being those of my mother, Scarlett, and Colin, are being heard from the kitchen. I’m hiding behind the wall, my heart beating ten times too fast. 

What I’m doing is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t listen to them yelling at each other.  

That’s wrong.

Gosh, it’s so wrong.

The level of their voices rise a little more each time they speak. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out what they’re fighting about. I’m the subject of every conversation.

“You let that happen? Gosh, are you even sure she’s in school, at least?” 

The anxiety in my mother’s voice is twisting my stomach. She knows I’m not there. She knows exactly what I’m capable of. I’m her blood, her flesh, she made me who I am. And as much as I’d like her to know me fully, she can not do it if I don’t give her a chance to do it.

“Enough, stop arguing, please!” I step into the room, voice raising with fear. “I’m begging you, there’s no reason to do this. Please.”

The screams are fading out, as the actress turns around to face me, shock all over her face. She runs towards me, and wraps me in her arms without giving me enough time to escape from her, not that I want to.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I should have come home sooner.”

I hide in her embrace, exhausted and ashamed of the behavior I had. For the first time in days, I find comfort, a little peace that soothes the pain in my chest. A first sob breaks the silence.

“It’s okay, I got you, Y/N. It’s going to be fine.”

“No it’s not, I’m really sorry.” I say looking up at Colin, hoping he gets the message. “I was so selfish, it was lame of me.”

I let her take a step back and frame my face with her hands. She wipes my wet cheeks with her thumbs, and frowns. She only has two words to say before I crack and tell them the whole story.  How the party Colin let me go to last week turned into a nightmare when I found out my secret girlfriend, they didn’t even know existed, cheated on me with a football player. How my heart broke into a thousand pieces, and how I tried to deal with that new feeling. Every word that leaves my lips takes a weight off my shoulders, and when I finish my monologue, I’ll swear I’ve lost a few pounds. However, a burden comes upon me when I realize what I have just accomplished. I just unwittingly did make my coming out to the two people who probably care the most about me.

“I beg you, don’t throw me out.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, why would we do such a thing?”

I don’t answer and keep my head down. If I didn’t say anything about that girl, it’s because fear would stop me every time I tried. Fear of not being loved, of being rejected, of not being the girl my mother dreamed of.

“Y/N, it doesn’t change the way your mom loves you, or I- I love you. We’ll always be there for you, no matter what, and you’ll always be our daughter. You don’t have to worry, kiddo.”

Tears fill my eyes, once again. Colin sends me a faint smile, a little embarrassed to have admitted that he considered me as such. I throw myself at him, and surround his body with my arms. My head finds its ways on his torso. I look at him from there, a sincere smile on my face.

“Thank you, Colin.”

He puts a kiss on my forehead before hugging me back. I close my eyes, and probably miss the ridiculously cheesy smile the two adults throw at each other, but the feeling of being loved and safe comes first.

In the end, we found another common ground. 

Love of women in general.

[gubler-me-up]

Heavy Lifting

Request: Okay for the Spencer prompt thingy? Reader has been at the BAU for a few years and has always been dorky and nerdy like Spencer however something comes up (idk what, maybe a group trip, some training thing, Moving house, I’m not sure) where reader rolls up their sleeves and picks up something super heavy with ease and Spencer is just in awe and bright red and Morgan’s probably pissing himself laughing in a corner whilst Spencer is  looking respectfully

A/N: I hope I’m writing your description properly and I really hope you like it! Thanks again for submitting your request, I appreciate it a ton :)

Category: Fluff, cuteness

Content warning: Nothing tbh maybe a mildly inappropriate joke idk

Word count: 1.8k

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

Spending the last few years with the bureau had been a wonderful experience for you. You got to work with amazing coworkers who were pretty much family, got to help solve crimes before they turned tragic and also allowed you to break out of your shell a bit. The greatest perk of all was it paid you enough to move into a better apartment.

Your new apartment was everything you could ask for. It had a gorgeous kitchen, a bigger bedroom, no leaks in the roof and definitely no weird neighbours. Well, you were just guessing, but hopeful everyone in your apartment complex was nice.

With a new apartment came piles of boxes and furniture to move.  Good thing you had a strong friend like Derek Morgan to help you out and someone like Spencer Reid to be there for moral support. If you were being honest with yourself for once you were just glad Reid offered to come along. You had originally asked Morgan for his help since he knew about home renovations and the moving process. It so happened Reid was in earshot of your conversation and quickly turned around to offer his assistance.

As expected Morgan bellowed a laugh half the bureau could hear. Reid quarrelled with him, stating how beneficial it would be for him to help and went on about how lifting boxes wasn’t a tough skill. To break up their disagreement you interjected and told Reid you would love if he came. He instantly shut up and his cheeks became a noticeable red as he asked if I was sure.

You had never really interjected your voice between an argument before, not even the smallest of ones like this. Morgan definitely took note of it as well as he stared intently between you and Reid. You nodded and reassured him you wanted him there.

This was planned two weeks ago and every day you were anxiously awaiting to see if Reid would change his mind. It wasn’t his thing to do heavy lifting all day and you were worried you had gotten him into something he wasn’t comfortable with. Even though he offered, you felt as if he only did it to prove himself capable of heavy-duty labour. Was he proving himself to you?

You waited on the driver’s side of the moving truck. You checked the time on your watch since you felt as if you had been waiting for a while. 11:45 a.m. They were supposed to meet you outside your new place 15 minutes ago. Had they changed their mind?

Before you could overthink their tardiness, you saw Morgan’s SUV pull up across the street. You smiled as you opened up the door to hop out. You saw Morgan and Reid step out of the car. They were having a little dispute as usual with Reid looking annoyed and Morgan casually brushing him off.

You waved. “Hey, guys.”

Reid gave a quick wave back. “Hey, Y/N. Sorry, we’re late, but Morgan decided he needed an extra half an hour to sleep.”

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s okay, I should have known asking for help at 11 a.m. on a Saturday would lead to something like this.”

“See, Reid, that’s what you call someone who’s understanding,” Morgan said as he walked to the back of your moving truck.

Reid rolled his eyes. “Again, I’m sorry Morgan made us late, Y/N. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.”

You shook your head. “Not for too long. I’m just kinda glad you didn’t change your mind.”

Reid widened his eyes in shock. “Why did you think I’d change my mind?”

You shrugged and put on your famous awkward smile. “I don’t know. Since you volunteered and you were running late, I just-”

“First of all, Morgan’s the reason why we’re late. If I wasn’t waiting for him to pick me up like we planned I would have been here on time if not earlier for you.”

You blushed at what he said and he soon did too as he realized what he said. Before you two could engage in a stuttering, rambling mess of speech, Morgan called you both.

“Hey, nerd one and two, a little help would be appreciated,” he said.

You and Reid glanced at each other, awkwardly smiled and then hurried over to the moving truck. Morgan shook his head as he chuckled to himself. He opened the truck and was taken aback by the amount of stuff you had to move in.

“Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you to have so much stuff,” Morgan said.

“I got rid of half my stuff before moving, so all of these things are near and dear to me,” you explained.

Reid pointed to a random box. “What’s in that box?”

“Geography textbooks. Mainly geography of the U.S. and I believe there are some rare ones covering Europe’s geography if I’m not mistaken.”

“Wow, those are keepers,” Reid said in amazement.

“Geography textbooks? Why do you even have those? For fun?” Morgan joked.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “I think you forget I had a double major in Geography and Criminology, Derek. You know, one of my many specialities I bring to the team.”

Morgan playfully put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, alright, you and pretty boy have the same unusual kink for geographic criminology, but what explains that?”

You looked at the box Morgan pointed his finger to. The label for the box was facing outward to read “Doctor Who figurines.” You nervously giggled.

“What can I say? I’m a huge fan,” you said.

“You told me about your Star Trek figurine collection, but you never told me you had a Doctor Who figurine collection. You’ve been holding out on me, Y/N,” Reid said as he looked at you in amazement.

You felt the fiery blush come back to your cheeks as his big, hazel eyes stared longingly at you. He always stared at you with such amazement, but this time around seemed as if he was almost hypnotized. His gaze made you think he was fascinated by more than just your extensive Doctor Who and Star Trek figurines.

“Dork’s who flock together, stay together. How about you two stop drooling over figurines and let’s start moving some of them,” Morgan commented as he picked up the Doctor Who figurine box.

Reid broke his gaze as you both refocused on the task at hand. Even though you didn’t want him to take his eyes off of you, they were there to help you move in. You saw Reid pick up a box labelled kitchen pots and pans. You were pretty impressed considering it was a pretty heavy box and he lifted it with ease.

You reached for the box filled with your geography textbooks. Before you could pick it up you heard Morgan and Reid trying to stop you.

“Whoa there, Y/N. Let’s trade boxes," Morgan said as he gave you his box and grabbed the box you were about to grab.

“You don’t think I can carry it?” You questioned.

You looked at Morgan, to Reid and back to Morgan. They both had a weary face on. Yes, you stood at 5’3 and weighed about 130, but they didn’t have to look at you as if you were fragile.

“Put the box down on the ground,” you demanded.

“But-”

“Now, Derek. Please,” you said in a slightly demanding tone.

Morgan had never heard you say something with such base in your voice before. He had no choice but to follow your command.

“Thank you,” you said.

You got into a squatting position in front of the box. You made sure your back was straight and your knees were bent at a 90-degree angle. You grabbed the box at its sides, took a deep breath and lifted it with no issue.

You looked towards Morgan to see if he was surprised at you lifting the box. He didn’t seem surprised at all. He was too busy holding back laughter. For a second you thought you made a weird face or you had looked stupid while lifting the box until you realized he wasn’t laughing at you, but behind you.

You turned around to see a red Reid trying not to look you directly in the eyes. You looked back at Morgan with a confused look. You wanted in on the joke as well.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

“Nothing, nothing. I just think Reid wasn’t ready to see you drop it low like that,” Morgan said while letting out his laugh.

You looked back at Reid who seemed even redder. You gave him a shy smile as you didn’t even realize you were squatting in front of him. You just hoped your shorts didn’t ride down to expose your thong.

“Is that true?” You asked.

Reid shook his head. “No-I mean-yes-I mean, I was just very impressed by your form. It’s the proper physiological position to prevent muscle tears and slipped discs in the spine.”

You giggled. “I know. I’ve been powerlifting for a couple of months now. Who do you think loaded this truck up?”

Morgan was taken aback. “You power lift? I would have never guessed miss shy girl. Next time I’ll let you kick down the door as Reid watches you from behind.”

Reid let out a sound to try and silence Morgan. Well, that’s what you guessed the sound was anyway. You laughed at the both of them as you started walking towards the apartment entrance with the two of them trailing behind. Before all of you reached the entrance, you stopped and turned around. They both abruptly stopped in their tracks by your sudden halt.

You turned around to look at Reid. “You know if you want we can both go and work on our physiological positions at the gym.”

Morgan let out a laugh as Reid stood there completely dumbfounded by your sudden proposal. You don’t think he had never seen you propose a concept so boldly, but you thought it was the right time. You looked keenly into his eyes and he sheepishly smiled.

“Uh, of course,” he responded.

“I’m glad you’re both getting your “physiological positions” in order,” Morgan joked.

You rolled your eyes at his joke. You truly didn’t mean it in that way, but if it led to that direction who were you to say no to the universe. You turned around to start walking again.

“Maybe you can get your physiological position to be better. I saw your arms shaking as you picked up those figurines,” you said with a giggle.

“I think I preferred the shy, reserved you better, Y/N,” Morgan said.

“Don’t listen to him, Y/N. A good few gym sessions will give us enough strength to defeat Derek Morgan and his bad jokes once and for all,” Reid said.

“Bring it, kids. My fists will be waiting with your names on them.”

—–

MASTERLIST

[leileisa]

pretty [iwaizumi hajime x reader]

pairing: yandere! iwaizumi hajime x reader

warnings: idk slight mention of sex, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of bondage

word count: 2.9k

a/n: my weakness for handsome, pure daddy material boys is immaculate. 

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He remembers the first time he saw you as clear as day. A new transfer into class five, who came in almost as silent as the night. The teacher didn’t introduce you, unlike how they normally would, and instead just glanced at you as you entered the class silently. Iwaizumi met your eyes for just a second before you headed towards the only empty seat in the room, right next to him. 

That was when he fell in love with the sight of you: absolutely stunning in your looks, yet silent in your movements; a real life goddess. And he was the first person to see you. 

“Hi,” you whispered, trying to pull out the chair as quietly as possible. You were so cute, so considerate, with a slight grin on your face. “My name’s (y/n), what’s yours?” For a second, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to make eye contact with you for a second time that day. He could just tell you were looking at him so gently, and he had a hunch there wasn’t a malicious bone in your body. 

“Iwaizumi,” he said, his voice matching the same hushed tone as his eyes met yours. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Iwaizumi. Let’s have a good year.”

He watched you a lot, after that. He couldn’t get you out of his head. He didn’t even want to— you sat right next to him, and it was so easy for him to observe you. He noticed you used pens for the math and science classes, and pencils for your writing and languages (he realized that meant you were more confident in the classes you used pens in-- how convenient, because he was better at the latter classes). And that when you were confused about something, you bit the inside of your cheeks before letting out a sigh; after that, you’d confidently raised your hand and as for clarification.

Iwaizumi wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight. He’s seen people fall into its deadly grip one too many times with Oikawa. He always thought it was stupid, how girls fell in love with his friend so easily. Maybe just because he’s been with Oikawa since childhood, but there wasn’t anything exciting about him— besides the fact that he knew how to play people. But Iwaizumi thought it was an obvious act to see through. Now, though, he could totally understand falling head over heels with someone at first glance. 

It only took one second, a singular moment in time, a barely registered eye contact for him to know that you— you were the one. 

It was like a message from God, for you to sit next to him. An opportunity that he couldn’t let slide past his fingers. So he sat next to you, for as long as he could, and just observed you. He knew your studying habits from when you would ask him to study with you, fifteen minutes before class started, just as a precaution. He noticed you always ate the fruits in your bentos before anything else, and you seemed to have an extra bottle of water in your backpack. You weren’t in any sports, but he liked that you tried to keep yourself healthy. 

“You’re in the volleyball club, right, Iwaizumi?” You had asked him once. You looked a little different that day, a little less tired, but you still slide next to him with a lazy grin on your face. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi responded, setting down his pencil. “Why do you ask?” 

He remembers the way your grin turned more enthusiastic, more eager, after his response. “I went to your game last weekend! It was amazing watching you play!”

Watching you play.

You watched him play! Not the other third years on the team, him, Iwaizumi Hajime. For a second, he feels foolish; he didn’t see or hear you in the crowd. How did he miss someone who shines as brightly as you in the crowd, cheering for him, watching him play? 

He quickly put those thoughts behind him, because that doesn’t change the fact that you were there. That you watched him play. Iwaizumi couldn’t help the giddiness that spread throughout his body. Is this what Oikawa felt every game when he knew that people watched him? The pure, unadultured excitement that coursed through his veins, a slight shiver to go up his spine that causes goosebumps to explode across his arms? He loved it. He loves you.

“You’re the ace, right?” You’re as gentle but precise with your words as you usually are when you interrupt his thoughts. “Watching you hit the ball so hard was unreal. I had no idea you were that strong! I knew you guys practiced a lot, but I didn’t realize it was a lot a lot. I mean, you guys communicated so easily out there it was like you were telepathic!”

“We’re a team, we have to work together.” God, Hajime, don’t sound like you don’t care. “With the amount of time we spend together, we’re like a family.” 

“That’s so sweet, Iwaizumi!” You gushed, giving him a goofy grin with your hands pressed against your cheeks. “You’re usually so composed, but it’s always nice to be able to rely on people like you do.” 

“You could become our manager.” It was an honest offer, and it came out of his mouth without thinking. I want to see you more.

“I couldn’t,” you sighed. “It’s our third year, and I don’t know anything about volleyball-- me being around would just be a waste.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste,” Iwaizumi was quick to shut you down. “We could always use the extra help with practice. I could teach you the rules— I can help you. You can be part of the team.” We can get to know each other better. 

The words came out of his mouth easily. They were honest, determined. He wanted nothing less than to spend every waking moment of the day with you; if you joined the team, he would have more reasons to talk to you. He could spend more time with you, and he would get to know you more. It would be perfect.

Keeping eye contact with him was hard. Iwaizumi’s full focus was on you, and his eyes were so intense as they stared into yours. You were determined to keep eye contact with him, though, and you just stared back. A sigh, then, “I’ll think about it.” 

Iwaizumi couldn’t wait for your response.

He got his answer a couple days later, when he saw you talking to coach Nobuteru with papers in your hands. Coach had his arms crossed as he looked down at you. You were nodding as your delicate fingers shifted through the papers, taking in every word that coach said to you. He couldn’t believe it— you were there, you took his advice. You were joining the team!

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa said, slinging an arm across his shoulders before Iwaizumi shrugged it off. “A little birdy told me this cutie is in your class, Iwa-chan! How’d you do it?” 

“Back off, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi growled, harshly shoving his childhood friend out of his personal space. “I just asked her to consider it.” There was no way Iwaizumi would tell Oikawa how he felt, despite them being friends for ages. He knows Oikawa would make a big deal out of it (a way bigger deal then it needed to be, anyway), and there was no way he would risk any potential embarrassment around you. Things were already going so perfectly, and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin his chance. 

A knowing glint shone in Oikawa’s eyes as he just placed his arm back around him. “I’m not stupid, Hajime. You don’t talk to just anyone.” 

“I talk to you,” he retorted quickly, glaring. He made no move to move the eccentric males arm. He would never, ever, admit his feelings to Oikawa. But he couldn’t help the intensity in his eyes as he watched you from across the gym, or the pure elation that spread throughout his body. You were just in his reach, and he could almost taste you. 

“Iwaizumi, hi!” You shouted as you ran across the gym, papers still in your hand, and your gorgeous, illuminating smile on your face.

“Hey,” He said, a fraction of a smile on his face. It was genuine, but he couldn’t be too expressive with his best friend right beside him. 

“I— uh, I took your advice,” you grinned sheepishly, showing him the papers. “I’m joining the team. As your, um, your manager, of course. I don’t play volleyball.”

It was so cute, how timid and insecure you were when you talked to him sometimes. You had no reason to worry, he thought, nothing could change how beautiful you were to him. 

“I can see that,” Iwaizumi grinned at you. He felt his hands twitch; you were so close to him, and you were starting to share likes for the same things. Can’t you just see that you were meant for each other?

“Welcome to the team, Manager-chan! I’m Oikawa, the captain of this team.” As annoying and inconvenient as ever, his enthusiastic best friend (he cringed as he thought of that), interrupted their moment. 

“I know!” You chirped, waving the papers in your hands. “I went to some of your games. You’re a setter, right?” Instead of looking at Oikawa, your face turned towards his dark-haired friend instead. Iwaizumi nodded, and when your attention went back to his friend, he just let out a grin. Iwaizumi’s way of dominance, his way of saying she’s mine. 

It just showed how perfect you were; that you were such a good girl, asking for his confirmation. He could just imagine you asking his permission for things— asking to hold his hand, your soft eyes looking into his with overwhelming adoration, or the desperation as you cry out to him, begging for him to let you come, that you’ll be his good girl if he just doesn’t stop.

After becoming the manager, you and Iwaizumi immediately grew immensely closer. He taught you about volleyball, and you listen intently. You stay late with him when he feels like practicing late with the other third years, and he can’t help the flutter in your heart when you ask to join. You’re not that great— but you’re trying, and it’s just so cute to see you try your best. 

The more he sees you, the more he hangs out with you, the more he falls in love. It’s an endless spiral of devotion, he realizes, every time you cross his mind. He’s absolutely, undoubtedly, in love with you, and just thinking of having you be his makes skin erupt into excited goosebumps.

He never thought that it’d only be a few years later before he could get the real thing. He has you in his grasp, the love of his life living with him, looking just so perfect and exactly how he wants. 

“See, baby? Such a good girl for me,” he coos, his fingers twirling in your hair. “It’s not that hard to just do as I say, you know? If you keep being so good for me, I’ll give you a reward. You want that reward, my sweet thing?”

Your back is aching from sitting upright in the chair for hours on end. The soft pink leather that binds your wrists and ankles to the edges of the chair were tied just a little too tight, the slight numbing in your hands, though not enough to distract you from the bathroom mirror that you were facing. Soft pastels, pinks, blues, and even yellows surrounded you. The only thing standing out in the reflection was the black shirt and pants that Iwaizumi was wearing as he stood behind you, gently combing your slightly damp hair. Your body shook as tears threatened to spill across your waterline, bottom lip shaking.  

Iwaizumi pulls at your hair. “Answer me, baby girl. Be good.”

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes never wavering from your reflection. He wanted you to see just how perfect you were in his eyes, with soft hair that was styled the same way it was in high school. The last time you shut your eyes to try and escape the visual nightmare, you hadn’t seen anything for days. Iwaizumi locked you in a dark room, chained to the bed with a metal collar and chain that allowed almost no movement, and had barely fed you anything until you were a sobbing mess, telling him how sorry you were— that you wouldn’t make that mistake again, that you would be good. 

You still have the bruises around your throat as a reminder. 

“Yes, what?” He spoke, voice stern and commanding. His body went straight and rigid behind you, grip still tight on your hair, as if he was showcasing the ring of purple and blue around your neck as a suggestion to not test his patience. 

“Yes, sir.” You repeated, voice trembling. You swallow the lump in your throat in an effort to not cry, but you couldn’t help the sob as a few tears flood down your face. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” his voice lowered into a soothing whisper as he released his grip on your hair to rub your scalp. You watch as he brings his face close to yours. Iwaizumi pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, an action that would make your heart flutter and swell with adoration if the situation had been different, and his lips trail until they reach your ear. The closeness of his face and the warmth of his breath does nothing to help you calm down, and you cry harder. “You’re so pretty, see? So perfect for me. My perfect girl. There’s no reason to cry.”

“I would have said yes,” you say quickly, eyes looking at him in the mirror. You can see him pause, so you continue. “If you asked me out, I-I would have said yes.” His body shook slightly in the mirror, and you could hear his deep chuckle from right beside you.

“I know,” he said. “I watched you for months. I saw everything you did, you think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me?” Iwaizumi moves from his hunched over position, and you can see him move directly behind you.

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes immediately meet his in the mirror, and he just grins at you. He fists your hair, painfully, and pulls your head back until you feel the cramp in your neck. 

“No, baby. I said look at me.” 

Your eyes move from the mirror and look into his. It was always scarier, when you looked at him face to face. The mirror made it feel like there was a barrier between the two of you, some form of protection, but looking into his eyes was so much more painful. The pure, uncontrollable, raw passion that shone in his eyes like an untamed fire that refused to die out was what scared you the most. It scared you how much he cared for you.

“Still so pretty for me, even when you’re crying.” His thumb gently wiped the tear stains from your cheeks. He brought his tongue to the edge of his mouth, the appendage slowly peaking between his beautiful lips and delicately wiping the salty tears he collected away. “You know I love you, right? I’d do anything for you.”

Your heart is racing, neck still cramping in the uncomfortable position. Your head stings from the painful grip Iwaizumi still has on your hair, but you refused to avoid eye contact. 

There’s still a part of you that thinks that there’s still the Iwaizumi that you met years ago, your old seat mate, the first person you felt close to at a new school, is still there. The first person you considered a friend in the most stressful year of your life, and the one who invited you into his boisterous, overwhelming volleyball family when you expressed your jealousy. The one who just looked out for you when you felt like nobody else would. 

“Then-then let me go,” you plead, eyes begging him to just listen to you. “I’ll be good, you know I will. I’ll be your good girl if you just let me go.”

“Oh, my pretty baby.”

You can see his brows furrow, but he lets go of his deathly grip on your hair. You follow his figure as he goes to sit on the bathroom counter in front of you, his forearms resting on his thighs with his broad chest slightly hunched over. His tongue shoots out to lick his lips, and he clicks his tongue. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Ple-please, you know I won’t do anything to upset you. I’ll stay with you, just please let me out. I hate these!” You say, trying to move your hands and feet. All you feel is the rawness and resistance against them. “They’re too tight, a-and they’re uncomfortable. Please take them off,” You’re begging at this point, full-blown tears falling across your face. You have enough mobility to reach your head to place it on his thigh, and you look up at him from between his legs. “Just take them off, Iwaizumi, please!”

He just sighs, and you feel his fingers lightly trace across your face as you close your eyes. Iwaizumi holds your head between his hands as he lifts your head off his thigh, and he presses a tender kiss right between your eyes. You hate it, but you can feel the love and care he puts behind it.

“I can’t do that,” he whispers, pressing two more delicate kisses on your eyelids. “You’re just too pretty.”

[whaleofatjme1920]

🌹 Elsie! Elsie! I say your requests were open!

So write something extremely self indulgent with your Cicero, because you can and you deserve good things.

Also unclench your jaw.

But yessss-

Have fun :3

Why Do You Look Like That?

[Dr. Tjme x Agent Cicero]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: this is SO NICE OF YOU omfg thank you!! Something short and sweet, slice of life in the hallways of the Foundation. idk how many words I wrote it on tumblr lol. <3]

The two of them have known each other long enough that when they meet after he's been gods know where out in the field, there's really no such thing as a grand reunion. Instead, Cicero will look down at her strolling into the large lobby of Site 17's ground floor, Dr. Tjme will look back up at him, and someone will open their arms and hug it out. It's a quiet conversation that doesn't need any words to begin with.

From there, she'll walk him back to the site's MTF dorms. He has his own room, and she's usually in the lake, but they have every intention of spending the time he's there together when not working. Cicero tells her all about it - he knows she stole the clearance for it - and they laugh about the small things that only make sense to them.

Cicero is back again. He's just let her go, and he can already feel his heart seizing even though she's still within arm's distance. Tjme is right up against him, the two of them about to head out to the site's dorms together and decompress from the mission. She always helps him get all the gear off despite him being more than capable to do it himself.

"Did I miss anything while I was gone?" The tall, dark haired man asks, his gun raised upwards and resting on his shoulder as he walks alongside her.

Tjme shakes her head slightly before her ear fins perk up. "They threw a car into the lake." There's a slight twinkle in her eyes as she tells him it.

Cicero snorts and shakes his head slightly. "They what?" He's been scuba diving in the lake before, mostly to see what she's up to down there. He's seen lots of things. Full office spaces, research labs, even dwelling places for aquatic staff. The Foundation often likes to consider itself compliant to the wills of its nonhuman workers.

"Apparently it caught fire on one of the roads passing by," she began barely sparing her lover a glance, "run by some new hires, of course, and instead of using like, a fire extinguisher or something they drove it into the lake," she explained with a small laugh. "It was one of the nicer ones too. The hummer-"

He groaned. "They drove a hummer in there? The fuck were they doing with it to even catch fire?"

"No idea, but it ended up falling into one of our office spaces and we're half considering not moving it because it looks cool," she chuckled as the two continued to walk together. It was a peaceful late afternoon. The sun would be setting soon and the Foundation felt busier than ever. There was the buzz of other agents about to head out, cars and some golf carts moving around, planes across the site taking off and landing on the strip, other staff moving from their on site dorms and so on. The Foundation is always busy, even when it doesn't seem like it.

"Guess I'll have to come down there and see it," Cicero mused as he flashed a smile her way.

Tjme returned the smile. "So, what happened to you while you were out?" She's always loved hearing him talk about his missions. Cicero isn't a team leader, not yet, but she knows he and his team get on like a well oiled machine. She'd tell you that her real answer is that Cicero has a knack for storytelling. He's funny. He's never failed to make her laugh even when they were at each other's throats in denial about clear feelings that they had for each other.

He's neck deep in one of his vivid accounts of life as an agent from Epsilon 6. Cicero's voice is excited, but it's not the type of excitement just anyone hears, but rather the excitement of a man who feels he can hardly stay still when in the presence of someone he loves. He likes telling her about all the little things his teammates get up to because he knows she knows them well. Perhaps not to the level of him, but he's let her into that part of his life.

"And there was this witch-" Cicero's words fall suddenly when they step right outside the MTF dorms. He's looking at this smaller women with a quizzical expression, trying to gauge why she looks so love sick all of a sudden. "Why do you look like that?" He laughs softly, reaching his hand up to wave in front of her eyes and then gently tap at her nose. He pushes her glasses back up for good measure, making both of them giggle.

"Like what?" She inquires.

"Like you really like listening to me."

She snorts and pushes him towards the door. "Because I do."

[gospelofme]

47 Thoughts While Watching Part 1 of The Bad Batch season finale (spoilers ahead!!!!!)

“They’ll still come for you”. Ugh that sounds so sad. He’s confident about it too.

How did Echo get so good at ship repairs? Unless basic ship crap is mandatory for sudden repairs. Which I guess if you hang with Skywalker, that’s a requirement.

Aaahhh, the Kamino theme is memorable.

So I wonder if Rampart planned to leave Crosshair on Kamino all along?

I love the fact the Kaminoans kept secrets from the Republic/Empire. Like using their credits to fund their own projects.

I wonder how Omega knew about that platform….I didn’t think she’d ever left Kamino. Unless she went there with Nala Se for whatever.

Damn, I’d hate always getting wet when I go outside.

So the pad and lift are proximity sensor based. Not weight.

So the tubes aren’t documented on any schematics. So none of the blueprints that Tech has access to have them on there. That means one of two things:

- there are “official” and “unofficial” blueprints. Like some the Republic were given and the actual plans.

- Nala Se had the tube system built specifically for her.

Private research lab doesn’t mean secret…but still, why did she get a private one? Was it just to create the enhanced clones? Or was it used for more “off the records” projects?

And if there are other tubes that run throughout Kamino, and they’re all secret, WHY!? Like why do they exist? Surely the Kaminoans know they can just go wherever they want whenever they want because they fucking live there. Unless….they became prisoners in their own home….

About how uncomfortable Omega is having to go to the lab…

“why would I be?” He sounded like he rolled his eyes there.

The amount of salt that is being sprinkled by Crosshair right now.

“We didn’t have a choice?”

“And I did?”

Okay so when I first watched this episode, I thought that meant he no longer had his chip. But now I see it as Crosshair not having a choice because Hunter had committed treason by what his orders were telling him.

Also, I love the colors used in the control room. Idk why. They just all work. I think it’s because the rest of that place is so blinding with white light.

So how did they build the tubes under water….

“Most in Tipoca City don’t know about it.” So some do.

Omega sounds so sad. Honestly since I’m certain there were more than just five enhanced clones, since Nala Se said that that was all that remained, I wonder if Omega saw the clones that didn’t survive the experimentation.

About how Tech always looks like he’s texting. I’m waiting for him to take a selfie with Echo or something.

About Hunter still trying to convince Crosshair that this is all influenced by his chip. I think Crosshair knows he’s being used, but he (like the others in Clone Force 99) want some sense of normalcy. Like Echo said earlier, “we’re soldiers, what other path is there?”

Okay the alarm reminds me of the purge siren.

And the indoor alarm sounds like an airport alert.

About Echo taking charge, although I think he naturally is the next in command rank-wise. Do we even know the rank of Tech and Wrecker? What was Crosshair’s rank before?

Omega should’ve gone and tattled on them to Rex. Like “and then they just ditched me!! Again!! I know I have no combat training but still…”

Its pretty clear that Crosshair knows how the team is going to act. Like what tactics they’d use and decisions they’d make. Like on Bracca, Crosshair knew immediately the scanner frequencies were being jammed, because he had seen Tech use that trick before.

“We’re running out of time Commander” I have enjoyed that guy’s voice. It’s soothing.

The way Crosshair spits out “the Republic” makes me think there is something more than just the inhibitor chip at play. I wonder if he’s always harbored ill feelings towards the Republic. Cut had issues with the war that were so strong, he deserted. I wonder if Crosshair had similar feelings.

Wow he is really hurt about being left behind. And I can understand that. But Hunter did have a responsibility to Omega, Wrecker, Echo, and Tech too. He couldn’t risk them being shot and killed while trying to reason with someone who is shooting at him. Of course maybe if he had made more of an effort to get Crosshair to come with them…..of course I do think the Empire has done some brainwashing of Crosshair as well.

“I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you, what you never gave me. A chance.”

I think there is more to this than face value. It could very well mean he’s giving them a chance to join the Empire. But that whole conversion always used the term “choice”, not “chance”. “Chance” is used more as “an opportunity to do something”. That “do something” could be making a decision though. Like “I’m going to give you a chance to join the Empire.” But it could be “I’m going to give you a chance to get out of here.” Hunter didn’t give Crosshair a chance to prove he was loyal to them either. Plus the way the rest of Crosshair’s team reacted tells me they weren’t aware of their Commander’s intentions.

I love how Tech, Wrecker, and Echo are standing there like 😐

I thought it was interesting Crosshair decided to send Omega on a shuttle off world. Of course where would that have been? Just pick some random coordinates and say “good luck”? How would that be received by Rampart? Of course I don’t think he cared about Omega. That was just Nala Se and Lama Su really. And honestly, Crosshair was sounding like he’d actually thought about this. Like if Hunter wants to keep Omega safe, then he needs to realize that she won’t be safe with them. Especially if they’re being hunted. However there may have been an ulterior motive here too. With Omega out of the way, It will be like “old times” when it was just them. He probably feels like he was replaced by a kid.

The change in music though. The emotional, sweeping theme dropping down to a more sinister theme when Crosshair mentions their superiority over regular troopers.

“This is what we were made for.” What if, and hear me out…what if the enhanced clones were created specifically for the Empire. Their deployment during the Clone Wars could’ve been a testing phase. They may not have been prepared for the chance the inhibitor chips didn’t work. Crosshair had mentioned that Hunter couldn’t see the bigger picture. What if that is the bigger picture. That all of them were created to serve the Empire. Not the Republic. Which would explain Crosshair’s sudden disgust with it.

That reflection shot of Tech staring into the mirror. I like that shot. That’s really beautifully animated.

I have a feeling Crosshair knew his new squad wouldn’t listen to him. The “stand down” sounded like he was just saying it to say it. I don’t think he ever had respect for them, not after what happened with Saw’s fighters. They weren’t following him out of loyalty, but fear. And loyalty is a big deal to Crosshair. Honestly I think he had planned all along to kill his new squad. Like from the beginning. Which is why he was trying so hard to get his old squad members. The sooner he got them and convinced them to come to his side, the sooner he could shoot his new squad.

I have a feeling Crosshair know’s the reason why they were all created. Granted that could be brainwashing by the Empire to gain his compliance and loyalty. But something tells me that they were created specifically to become an elite squad for the Emperor.

Crosshair has some serious Anakin vibes when he’s telling Hunter to not become his enemy. And Hunter has some Obiwan vibes with the whole “we never were” line.

I do enjoy the weight they give Crosshair when Hunter flips him. Like the sound of him hitting the floor. He’s heavier than he looks.

Lmao that one TK trooper like “nope, imma get the fuck out of here.”

“Let the clones die together.” Yeah that bitch always intended to leave Crosshair on Kamino. Rampart never actually considered him important since he was the one that pitched the idea of an all conscripted trooper squad. He only had Crosshair as a part of it because Admiral Tarkin still liked the idea of clones. I think Rampart is going to try to climb over Tarkin on that Empire ladder. He didn’t mention to Tarkin that Crosshair was still on Kamino.

Aaahhh now the subject of the chip. Does he or doesn’t he? I think he does. The Empire wouldn’t remove it and take that risk of losing that compliance and blind loyalty. Plus the “does it really matter?” tells me he doesn’t know when, which he would if it was recent. He did have it in the first episode though. It showed up on the scanner and he did the whole “good soldiers follow orders.”

So I don’t think he was going to shoot Hunter. I think he feigned movement to make Hunter shoot him. He may not have thought Hunter’s blaster was sent to stun even. He may have intended to have Hunter kill him.

I do like how Hunter doesn’t hesitate to not bring Crosshair this time.

Damn the shots of the empty facility kills me.

Okay, so I know this was sad BUT the bombardment of Kamino was beautifully animated. Honestly. The underwater shots of the bolts hitting the support pillars. And it reminds me…Omega asked Tech about these the war was like and now she kinda knows. She’s never seen explosions like that.

Get ready for part 2

@jgvfhl @leias-left-hair-bun @escapedthesarlacc @halzore @eyecandyeoz

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing #81 Review

i swear i actually thought no one was interested so i didn’t write one but a grand total of two (2) people said they wanted to read it, so here it is. honestly, my opinion’s been going a bit downhill, but the art is really cool and there are some decent parts so. holding out i guess? i really hope taylor has an end goal or at least a cohesive plan, otherwise i don’t see this series going anywhere i’ll particularly enjoy

the cover is very straightforward in its imagery, this villain has nightwing in the palm of his hand, easily manipulated, easily controlled no matter the action dick thinks he’ll take. 

what i find interesting is the colour: both previously and heavily in this issue, the colourist has chosen to make pink this villain’s main colour, with different shades of pink as accents. so why the red in the cover? possibly to just make it more eye-grabbing, though one could argue that pink is even more eye-catching than red. maybe to convey a sense of dread or fear that pink won’t fully get across. either way, it’s definitely a decision i’m curious about.

so melinda zucco is in a high enough political position within bludhaven that she is next in line to become the mayor after the previous mayor died and dick just,,,,didn’t have any idea she existed? dick didn’t know anything about her? forget dick’s own brilliant detective skills, forget his doggedness at anything zucco related, you’re telling me bruce never found her and told dick about her? maybe he wouldn’t have now, but back when dick was a young kid, he definitely would have at least made dick aware of her existence, to let dick know and ask if he wanted to interfere with her life or anything.

i have a thought about zucco’s facial expressions. she is very much stone-cold poker face throughout the entire issue. the only time i see her pull a different expression is near the end when dick corners her against a wall with an arm around her throat. 

this is most certainly intentional, what with the varied and intense expressions we see on other characters, dick most prominently. i’m wondering what exactly is the creative team’s reasoning behind this. in these panels, zucco is meeting with the most dangerous, powerful, near-bloodthirsty man in all of bludhaven and becoming the mayor of the city respectfully. in both of these panels, there is barely a hint of emotion in her face: no fear, no determination, no satisfaction. it’s just odd, considering the circumstances she’s in, regardless of any training recieved.

just spitballing here but. like. from what i’ve read so far, dick doesn’t really seem like bludhaven’s guardian angel. more like when peter parker first put on spandex and blindly stepped out into new york.

dick, how exactly can you underestimate someone from one move. so he caught your escrima. anyone with enhanced reflexes can do that. you still don’t know how he can actually fight, and this is shown in the next set of panels. 

i just don’t like the wording here. dick’s “underestimated” him, but beats him up easy in the next page. in addition, i don’t know much about combat, but i would assume it would take more than one move to determine exactly what an opponent’s skill level is, made even more complex when you add physical enhancements and metahumans and aliens into the mixture.

idk my first thought when i saw that he caught the stick was “ah ok he’s enhanced” because obviously he couldn’t have reacted fast enough if he wasn’t (as there are few people trained enough to catch it on human reflexes alone.) then the wording in the next panel, i’ve underestimated him, made me think “oh no ok so he’s not enhanced, he’s just a really good fighter and can give dick a run for his money in a fight.” then, it turns out my first assumption was proven correct in the next panel. it just comes across as misleading to me.

(also sidenote but his curls are cute.)

have i praised the art enough in this series? no, i have not.

i adore the way this is laid out and illustrated. without even having to read the text, the action sequence is visually engaging and intense, and easily followable from one panel to the next. dick’s physical expertise comes through quite efficiently, and i love the special attention shown to draw our attention to dick’s escrima in the bottom right corner.

also that move in the middle row leftmost panel that’s the mcu black widow move to get up off the ground it was the first thing i noticed and it made me laugh; thought it was worth noting

i’m really loving dick’s escrima sticks in this run. they’re just so multipurpose, it’s hilarious and exhilarating. kinda reminds me of bruce’s belt, the way the button in the middle does eevveeerrryyytthhiinngg. 

got a problem? don’t worry! dick’s installed a feature into his escrima that can fix that! (i like thinking dick helped make them it makes me happy and makes my engineer!dick side satisfied)

yawn. your big heart is your one true weakness yadda yadda the fact that you care will be used against you blah blah we get it. jesus can the villains please find a different weakness to exploit, this is getting old.

i need dick’s capacity to empathize and care and love to stop being a weakness that villains sneer about. bonus points if dick saves everyone anyway, either because of or despite his great big heart and the villain is surprised by the goodness of mankind or some shit like that.

i need it to be a strength, right from the get-go. the fact that he cares so incredibly much should be an asset that dick has and will use. he’s a very complex character with years of background, it can’t possibly be that hard to find another weakness of his. 

ooooh this is cool, gosh i absolutely love this.

because what exactly is the reader doing? we are seeing the fear in dick’s face, just as this villain intended. even better, we’re seeing the reflection of it from the villain’s glossy mask, telling us exactly what we’re seeing and exactly what he likes so much about it.

dick’s standing up straight, shoulders drawn back, looking up at this villain’s face with determination and resolve, but his suit is tattered. one eye looks to be swollen. his hair is falling limply around his eyes, as opposed to the curls from earlier. his escrima aren’t even part of the main focus, instead blending into the side of the mask in the outer corners of the mask’s eyes, which tells you exactly how big of a threat they are to this villain.

poor bitewing’s quite alarmed.

also on second thought why would you bring your puppy out like this, when you know you’re gonna end up fighting someone in the suit. a) how many grey three-legged adorable little puppies live in the bludhaven area dick? and how easy will it be to connect the doggo running around with nightwing with the doggo that dick grayson owns? and 2) is this puppers trained? does she have fighting experience? how exactly can you ensure she will survive this highly stressful situation?

dick take better care of your dog 

you know what? i was with tim on this one. why exactly is dick so optimistic and trusting about the people of bludhaven? bludhaven, which has been described as gotham’s smaller, smellier, more corrupt sister city once or twice. it’s not just the corrupt people in power, the entire system needs to change and people need to have faith and hope in order for them to come together, espcially if they’ve been living in conditions like how bludhaven has been described. from how clueless dick is about his own goddamn city, i can tell he hasn’t been here long.

it was a nice moment of hope, i’ll admit. but it was a tad unrealistic for me.

also it was in a weird place in the comic. this sort of confrontation and big get-together of the people to rejuvenate hope in each other feels like it should come near the end of a run, if not the end of an issue. certainly not in the first third of an issue. the pacing’s a bit off to me.

loyal little puppy patiently waiting for her human to wake up. i love her so much.

no it’s not. it’s bitewing.

living for this t-shirt honestly. do comics of dc characters exist in the dc universe? they must if the mug and the shirt are any indication

(now i’m imagining the first batman movie that came out in the dc universe and bruce just. being so offended at who they chose to play him.)

well, yes. but when a group of people are put through hellish conditions over and over again, they soon become desensitized to the pain and terror of their everyday lives in order to both stay sane and keep their life relatively stable, and part of that becomes ignoring or blocking out anything that isn’t directly important to you or your loved ones. having a bleeding heart will most likely get you killed in a city like bludhaven if you don’t have the same skills that vigilantes have.

and of course, people are more than capable of coming together and rallying under their city’s vigilante after seeing the good they’ve done and how they’ve helped the people, but that sort of trust takes time and effort to build. dick also had the whole ric arc and was gone for a while, which has been referenced several times in this particular issue in fact. that’s not going to make bludhaven’s citizens any more likely to trust him.

maybe i’m being a bit harsh but this comic is comic off as a bit too idealistic for the amount of change nightwing can do in a city given the present and past circumstances as well as nightwing’s own abilities. even dick grayson can’t pull off everything.

ok seriously this needs to stop this needs to stop.

right now, dick reminds me of oliver queen in the few episodes of the cw’s arrow i watched. he does the punchy-kicky-fighty and occasionally has smart insights due to the skills he gained from his past that he certainly definitely totally has but only ever exhibits once, while his team does all of the background research and information gathering and actual work.

this is dick’s city. if he has the same intelligence, worth ethic, and stubbornness in this run that he’s been shown to possess all his life, then he knows this city inside out. he’ll have meticulous notes organized in a ridiculously efficient system, he’ll have scouted out zucco long before this started, he’ll have known when anything big happened in the bludhaven political landscape in an instant.

i’m really not liking exactly how much dick’s relying on babs and tim in this series. sure, he loves them and cares for them and likes working cases with them. but he always pulls his own weight, has always been a mentor figure to tim instead of what’s weirdly becoming the other way around, and takes point on the cases in his own damn city.

what kind of weak-ass oracle is this?? redacted fbi files are child’s play. babs used to hack into the fbi for fun. this one particular picture is so out of character i want to laugh.

reading this series has unfortunately made me confront that, despite the tiny fluid acrobat dick that lives in my head 24/7, canon dick is impossibly 5′10 and muscular at that.

mmm. titties.

tim said hydrate or die-drate bitch

love how dick’s doing all this intense brooding and stuff meanwhile bitewing is curled up in a soft comfy post having the time of her life.

you don’t understand i would legitimately kill myself for her.

also the lighting in this one scene is cool. the blue tones come off so well.

they’re just. so multipurpose!! they can become a bo staff. they can cut glass. they can become a grapple hook/line. they can electrify someone. they’re a funky colour. i’m becoming really attached to these things. absolute solid choice in weaponry.

if you’re gonna write up every rookie mistake dick has made during this series to head trauma, then dick shouldn’t be out and about at all, much less in costume.

see this? this is just straight up wrong. dick most definitely should have spotted her, and would have immediately moved to take her down.

scratch that, dick would have done a full check of the building, because he knows not to break into places uninformed, especially if the owner of the apartment was raised by the maroni family. someone as highly trained, experienced, and competent as dick wouldn’t have done this.

and if you chalk it up to head injury, (which is probably true), than his ~love interest~ and his little brother should have done a much better job making sure he stays in his house.

zucco looks so awkward it’s fucking hilarious

are those shadows that mimic a domino mask, to both reflect and hide the fact that his mask is missing? are those bruises around his eyes, to show how, despite what good he’s doing, being nightwing is hurting dick right now? 

(isn’t his domino mask supposed to have an electrifying feature that keeps people from removing them?)

it’s a little odd how the three known villains of this series are all coloured in warm shades, more specifically pink. meanwhile, in earlier issues, dick’s fondest memories were in pink, memories of him and alfred in particular. why has the colour pink changed from signifying something benevolent to something malicious? idk i hope this gets explained later.

this i did like. either it’s just a display of brute force in anger, or dick slipped the ties and pulled them off once untied. both ways, it’s an unintentional display of power, and i think that’s kinda cool.

again. dick is,,,tall? sort of? weirdddd

i’m so glad most readers are unified in the notion that this was the absolute dumbest fucking thing.

i’m hoping this gets disproved or something soon. and i hope dick doesn’t fall for it, because he definitely knows better than to take something as important as this at face value.

what exactly is taylor trying to accomplish here? why is he trying to go back on what we all knew was a happy, loving childhood and throw strife and disharmony and (what i’m assuming will be) infidelity? this will not end well at all.

---

,,,,,this review got way longer than expected lol. and i realize most of it just became me ranting. i guess i didn’t realize how ticked off i was originally. fingers crossed it gets better.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer

[sukirichi]

if you have the time, pls answer this ask! i’d really appreciate it.

im late but i just finished broken records and i just wanna say your writing is so amazing. i am very sad tho, i really wanted yn to end up with suna. while i agree that the ending was very realistic, it still just hurts.

i believe they definitely could’ve worked things out. i saw you mentioned how yn and kita’s love is very calm and mature. easy almost. and yn and suna’s love was very wild and reckless. i don’t think wild and reckless love is necessarily a bad thing (except if it’s like toxic like cheating and stuff). i think yn and suna’s love was that giddy just like over the moon, butterflies in stomach type of love.

i do see why we ended up with kita tho. he had the dedication and the maturity that we needed. however, it does seem like yn settled for the easier route. ik that you mentioned how yn did actually like kita and eventually did fall in love with him, but it never seemed like it got to the level of love yn and suna had. perhaps bc of the timeskip?? idk, but maybe something easy was what we needed after everything with suna.

that being said, i just can’t seem to be happy with the ending. i understand a lot of people are team kita and love him, but it seems that the world was just unfair to suna and yn, but their love was real (not saying yn and kita’s love isn’t real). it just seems like they definitely could’ve tried and been together. especially after nigasa, her parents, and mari out of the picture.

when i say that im not happy with the ending, i dont mean it in a harsh way like i hate your writing or something like that. your writing is wonderful and even though im not satisfied with the ending, i would read it all again because it was beautifully written. im just simply not happy with the ending because it just wasn’t the happy ending i wanted. but ig that’s just how it is sometimes, sometimes you don’t always get what you want, like in BR. yn and suna did want each other, but they knew they couldn’t have each other.

i still really really want them to be together tho. that’s just how i feel. ik you said you probably wouldn’t write an alt chapter with a different ending, but i hope eventually you’ll reconsider. or perhaps write a chapter with another timeskip of kita and yn’s life, maybe they have kids or something? and maybe show how suna’s doing. perhaps a new love interest for him. he deserved to be happy after all.

all this suna angst is hurting my heart lol. i was really hoping they’d end up together, and i still stand by what i said that yn settled and they could’ve definitely worked it out. yes, they had a lot of problems, but they could’ve worked it out.

i feel really bad for suna. dude lost everything lol. i really want some form of a happy ending for him. and ik you said as long as yn is happy, he’s happy. but idk i just feel for him.

even though im sad about the ending, i want to thank you for taking the time to write probably one of the best fics i have ever read. it was tragic and beautiful, just like how life is. just like how suna and yn’s story is. GAH IM CRYING I JUST WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHERRRRR

and im gonna sound real desperate here, but pls, i beg, pls pls pls pls plssssssssssssss consider writing an alternative chapter where suna and yn are together. please. i will literally do anything. please lol. just a sliver of them together. even in afterlife idk haha. but seriously, if you don’t want to that’s is perfectly fine and i completely understand as you said it’ll take away from the last chapter’s effect, but i really really do hope you’ll reconsider.

again ik im late but i really hope you’ll answer this ask. i hope i didn’t offend you with anything i said. not my intention at all whatsoever. and again, thank you for writing such an amazing fic.

HELLO OMG IM JUST,,, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK??? its been a while since I received asks about broken records but the feelings are still very much there so I’m so happy to receive something about it again !!

also I agree with you that wild and reckless isn’t a bad thing at all. imo, suna and yn’s love were actually honest and passionate. their feelings for each other were raw and unfiltered, maybe yn’s feelings were somewhat heavily influenced by her fears and issues, but honestly I don’t think she loved suna any less. her feelings run rampant. they loved each other the same but suna was more willing to express it, but about them being the giddy type of love over the moon, that’s totally right! they were young, carefree, and they were just a bunch of young adults enjoying their life to the fullest and finding love along the way. there’s this thing called the three types of love you have – the first is the happy puppy love, the second is the intense one that hurts you, and the third is the unconditional love where everything settles down.

I think both of them were the same as those three all at the same time because in the end, you could tell they still loved each other, but things didn’t go their way and YN prioritized her growth more than suna’s feelings.

hmm for yn and kita’s love, it was implied that yn was attracted to kita even from when they met. he was mature, simple, and he was everything yn ever wanted. the stability and the security and how much he was loyal to her – she was truly thankful and wanting of that, but compared to suna, kita really is the easier route. yn’s family approves of him and there’s nothing standing in their way, but I wouldn’t say YN would reach a level of ‘passionate’ love for kita as she did for suna. her feelings for kita are more mature and just quiet. there’s no more arguments – just a few easily solved misunderstandings – and if her feelings for suna were similar to a raging ocean, kita would be a calm sea, but both of them had the same depth.

I AGREE WHOLEHEARTEDLY THOUGH. the world really was unfair to them and I do believe if they worked it out, they could’ve been together and lived happily, but YN chose a different route, and suna didn’t want to hurt anymore so he let her go :((((

and thank you so much for the kind words, seriously, you have no idea how happy this made me <33 and no worries, I perfectly understand what you mean by not being happy with the ending. a part of me still wants YN and Suna to be together because they’ve been through everything already. what’s one more problem along the way? what’s one more heartbreak when they’ve suffered through a hundred of them together and worked it out in the end? however, it was her breaking point, and I think YN has also gotten tired of their cycle.

suna does deserve to be happy !! I want the best for him, especially because in the end I said through asks that suna was no longer playing volleyball, and his future was so dedicated to meeting YN again that we didn’t get to see a glimpse of how he’s been living. tbh I did want to write a bonus chapter and I can write it, but here’s a little fun fact – BR was inspired by people I’ve met and loved and left so when I was finished with it, it was like a huge weight off my chest. I needed time to reflect on the events of the series and also try to fix my heart from the angst bcos it was just so personal lmao, but now that I’m feeling better and I feel like I’ve had my emotional closure thanks to BR, I could write a bonus one for it.

and no worries at all, I’m not offended by anything. if anything, I’m extremely grateful that you took the time to send me your thoughts on it. as a writer, nothing makes me happier than hearing how or what people felt about it, and knowing my work had this much impact on somebody, my heart swells both with pride and joy. I feel like I’d done something right lol. so yeah, thank you so much for this too and take care always !!

[char-lotteral]

I agree with Kishimoto never trying to use the girls. The hate they get is not fair. I used to defend Sakura back in the days because I hoped kishi would do her justice. When shippuden started I WAS SO HAPPY because I thought this was the start of something great for Sakura and the girls but NOOOOO. Every time, Sasuke showed kishi turned her brainless. If you compare Naruto's actions and Sakura's actions to sasuke, you'd see they're completely different. What's up with that weird fake love confession scene 😭? It makes her look like she was manipulating Naru. JEEZ.

Also he literally had badass Tenten and Temari with cool useful abilities and he didn't use them ?! TF ?! Thank god for modern authors who treat their characters with respect :)

okay2 you know how i am with these longass rants so click readmore and brace yourselves

The way I see it, Sakura's character development in shippuden was always one step forward, two steps back. She gets this really badass scene (like her fight with Sasori and those cool ass medical skills) but is then regressed back into a pining girl in love every time Sauce is on screen or Kishi just throws her in the background YET AGAIN.

I love Sakura's abilities actually. Her brute strength, intelligence, vast knowledge and skill as a medic nin. But what I dislike about her character is how kishi handled her feelings for Sasuke. Naruto and Sakura's obsession with Sasuke was so???? huh??? it was so damn toxic and i never once understood why both Nardo and Sak were so obsessed with him. They were a team for one year???? I mean its great that they care about him alot but Sauce's feelings were kinda valid. His freakin clan died. Id go batshit crazy against my own village too. BUT BESIDES THAT. Both Nart and Sakura's Sasuke obsession was so annoying. 80% of shippuden was literally Keeping up with the Uchihas or Naruto yelling SASUKEH. BUT what irks me so much is the fandom's double standards with both Naruto and Sakura. "Oh Sakura shouldve gotten over her Sasuke obsession" but then turn around and call Naruto's obsession cute and gush about how he's so in love with him!!

Hot take but the only reason why sasunaru is "the most developed ship with the most chemistry" is because theyre both male characters.

I guarantee you if Naruto was a girl and SHE would be the one to have this unhealthy obsession who was chasing around Sasuke, the fandom would shit on Naruto just as much. And if Sasuke were a girl, Sauce would be sidelined like the rest of the female cast and Naruto would have another male character to have a "brotherly bond" with, because thats the only bond Kishimoto is actually good at developing. Yey for male characters having all the screentime and cool assets <333

And about that confession scene, I get her intentions. I really do. I understand that she did that in order to bring him home and that she cares about him but honey, w-why?? Why lie to him about your feelings?? Supposed he DID believe her, then what? then what kishi???? huh??? Some of her fans point the blame on Sai or whatever but I personally dont see why that scene was at all necessary. Maybe to establish Naruto's feelings for her wasnt all that serious? or his maturity? idk man. That scene was such a clusterfuck.

In the end her development in The Last and in Boruto was immaculate. She had one of the best glow ups in the old gen and ironically enough, her character wasn't butchered in Boruto. She got badass scenes she was cheated from in shippuden. I also love how she's finally getting the spotlight she deserves. Unlike the other konoha 12 :,)))

Okay onto the next female character that Kishi completely wasted. My baby. My light. 🙈 AAAHHH HINATAA.

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN OKAY2 DEEP BREATHS.

Let me just establish this real quick. Hinata's goal was to get stronger because of Naruto, her goal was never to be with Naruto. She wanted to become someone who is worthy enough to stand beside him, someone whom he can consider as an equal, as a partner. She NEVER once said "marrying Naruto-kun is my all time goal UwU" (if youre one of those weirdos who interpret her character that way, youre immediately invalid, go take a hike)

I personally dont have anything against their crushes but to the point of making their personalities revolve around these guys every time theyre onscreen is so fucking frustrating. And with the way he writes their dialogues is so.damn.cringey. Like that one scene in the war arc with Tsunade and Madara

"I mAy bE a WomAn but I aM nOt WeAAKKKK"

BAAHAHAAHHA WHAT?? Everyone else gets coolass monologues and one liners but thats the best you can come up with Kishi?????? Hilarious.

If im being honest. Hinata's character is actually kinda well written. Not well executed. Dear God no. But with the way he set her story, her personality, her chracterization. She's honestly one of the best written female characters on the show. IMO. By Kishi's standards of writing women ofc. She's hands down one of the most complex characters. Her shy personality wasnt out of the blue, it wasnt a cutesy waifu trait. Her abusive upbringing made her that way. Her trauma turned her that way. So yeah, sue her if she looked up to Naruto as an inspiration when everyone else in her family treated her like dust. Shit on her for having Naruto's love light in her dark when her own damn father wouldnt even look her in the eye and her entire clan shunned her because she was "weak." She doesnt owe her family shit so idgaf what they do with the Hyuga clan. Neji and Hanabi aren't included btw

Im not gonna deny that her role in the show was only as the love interest but tbh for a love interest, Im glad her character wasnt so one dimensional. It just pains me SO MUCHHH how fucking wasted she is. Every time she's with Naruto, they always make her into a damsel in distress. They always feel the need to turn Naruto into the heroic prince. How cute.

LIKE THAT ONE SCENE IN THE LAST WHERE SHE'S THROWN IN THE CAGE?? WHY??? LET NARUTO AND HINA FIGHT THAT FREAKING ALIEN GOD TOGETHER. QUIT WITH THE TOXIC MASCULINITY. WE GET IT. NARUTO'S STRONG. GOOD FOR HIM. NOW LETS SEE HINATA THROW HANDS AND PUT NARUTO IN THE CAGE GODAMMIT

Hnggggg dont get me started with her role in Boruto. She's as relevant as a damn houseplant in the manga. They made her into an invisible trophy wife and "the mc's mother" and we all KNOW what happens to the shounen mc's mother once mc is in need of character development :) Quit putting her in the background. Give us that scene where she won against Hanabi DESPITE being retired for years. Give us that scene where she trains Boruto. GIVE US ANY FIGHT SCENE OF HER WHERE HER POTENTIAL ISNT WASTED WTF?¿

Now if you say that Hinata didnt have development. YOURE INVALID. She came from an abusive household, the shyest girl in her class, her insecurities got in the way of her own confidence, had difficulty of standing up for herself now became a loving mother of two, has the guts to kick her husband out of the house(with whom she couldnt even keep eye contact with when she was a kid) became the strongest hyuga, most supportive wife and mother, and has given her kids the comforting childhood she never had as a kid.

She has one of the most beautiful stories in the show and if you think her personality is only Naruto-kun and big boobs, then im sorry that you cant appreciate such a heartwarming story.

And I agree, killing her would honestly make me feel more at ease than continue to see her suffer because of godawful misogynistic writers. But at least let her die in an epic fight. Please. PLEASEE. She got nerfed so bad, i feel a physical pain every time i think about it

Okay what else. I think Ino got pretty good development. Another wasted potential in shippuden but she's doing good for herself in Boruto. I dont know what Temari is up to. They basically made her into another classic angry mom who beats up her husband for comedy trope. Haha very funny and original! Im not sure with her career, im not that invested in the anime.

Tenten??

oh G O D Tenten. The dirtiest of all. Her jokes about her screentime is so mean and i hate that its true ahsjhs. She was the only female character in OG who's goal wanted to be as strong as Tsunade but what did Kishi do to her?? Sidelined. Forgotten. Irrelevant. Like every damn female on the show :D

Konan shouldnt have died. I blame plot armor. I know in my heart that Konan wouldve kicked Obito's ass if it weren't for Kishi's boomer mindset.

Tsunade had so much hype when she was introduced but died down in the war arc. Madara wiped the floor with the kages. Holy shit. Not only that, but yipee! Naruto is there to save the day AGAIN!!!!

AND UGHHHH If the female characters were given proper treatment then maybe MAYBE all the endgame couples wouldve made fucking sense????¿¿¿

I think that ends my rant. Im not sure how the female characters in Boruto are handled. Except maybe Sarada (she's pretty well executed in the manga imo). But arguably they are sooo much better handled in Boruto than how the old gen girls were. And thats because Kishi isnt anywhere near the new gen female cast. I cant formulate a solid opinion with the other new gen female cast since im not entirely invested in the anime. Not ashamed to admit that I only watch it for the sunshine moments and for Hinata :DD

[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.

[it-sy-bit-sy]

The ending of Attack on Titan: a shallow analysis

(I don't think I should have to put a spoilers alert on a blog about the ENDING OF AOT, but in general if you mind being spoiled on a series, I advise you to refrain from attending discussions about the body of work until you've finished it in its entirety/come up to speed on the current chapter/episode. Screw hype dude, do you like being hurt? Also for the TLDR, it’s that Attack on Titan explores the cycle of hatred (Eren’s journey) AND love which is why Mikasa and Ymir become relevant at the end of the story.)

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PREFACE

Since the newly added panels of AOT’s ending have been likened by some to the ending of Naruto, I'd like to say that Naruto's end truly hurt me; the way it flows into Boruto is so contrived it burns. A story that's always centered around powerful ninja bloodlines fighting political wars suddenly introduced aliens that harvest planets for energy as the super antagonist, and additionally they're the source of all our characters' powers as well as the jinchuriki and tailed beasts themselves. Then when you look at the plot of Boruto which heavily relies on the Otsutsuki clan as an antagonistic force, their whole existence feels like the transition from Dragon Ball straight into the first DBZ arc with Goku learning he’s really part of an alien race that was meant to destroy Earth.

I didn't detect so forced a role in the ending of AOT, but it's absolutely plausible to speculate that the alternate ending was influenced for this reason, as we know Attack on Titan wasn't produced through Isayama's involvement alone. Certain compromises are made when operating as a team, though it would be wonderful if the original intent of authors were more absolute in the world of production than they are known to be.

And as much as I don't enjoy half-hearted continuations of series for a royalty check, I ALMOST can't blame them for doing it...it creates (many) happy fans, more jobs, and Isayama gets his royalty check. The rest of us suffer but hey, artists need money I guess... 🥀 Moving on. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#1. Eren's development as a character

I never saw Eren's goal steered in the direction of breaking the cycle of revenge or hatred. He was acting wholly in his own interests. He's intensely selfish, doesn't want to change his views, and exists in the story to further the cycle itself. According to me, Chapters 129 and 131 perfectly explain his motivations for the rumbling.

Now before I go on, I'd like to bring a particular scene to mind. I do remember him saying this once (to Historia who had just told him killing the rest of the world is unjustifiable and wrong):

Yes, he said that, but I don't think that is what he ever intended the rumbling to be used for.

After he stated that 80% of humanity was wiped out so Paradis will be safe for the time being, he neglected to answer Armin's questions in 139: "Did you really need to go that far? Are you sure you did all of this for our sakes?" We may also consider the thoughts he chose NOT to share in chapter 131:

That combined with this excerpt from 129 is pretty much all there is to Eren's convictions.

Those are the same words he said in Chapter 2 after his mother died.

So despite his brief period of self-loathing when considering 1) the countless lives in survey corps sacrificed for his sake, 2) being confronted with his and his father's involvement in the Reiss family, 3) everything he learned about his enemy--that all titans are formerly human, that the titan shifters were just children deceived by their world--he even admits to Reiner during Tyburn's speech (Chapter 100) that they are indeed in the same boat--and on top of that, admitting that the rumbling will do nothing to fix the course of history, he settled with the same conviction he held the moment he decided to do something to change the world.

Again, here's his words from 139 showing us just how angry a boi Eren was.

This was Eren Jaeger...he didn't even really know what he was doing.

As a human being, Eren was very much in the cycle of revenge as much as everyone else was. His course of action never deviated too far from that path. He knew better, but he lashed out at the world to protect the few people he cared about anyway. He took freedom away from the ones who threatened him. He was a mass murderer, and so were the other soldiers in this series fighting for their own reasons, since titans were people. Survey corps were always slaughtering these people whom they saw as monsters. Marley viewed Eldians as monstrously and with as much hatred as Eldians viewed the titans. Eren did not try to justify his actions to everyone. He simply stopped seeing the value of life in others not important to him, as humans often do.

So what did he sacrifice 80% of humanity for? From 129 again:

Them meaning his immediate friends.

No, he didn't care about their children's children and beyond because there's no way to control what happens when you're gone from this world. It wasn't his problem. Eren had 4 years at most left to live, and he wanted to do what he could to ensure his friends were happy before he left.

And as jarring as it was to see Eren become undone in the last chapter, I didn't find it completely out of character, because for one he was talking to his closest friend moments before his own death, and secondly, Eren was just a stupid human like the rest of the people in this series. Obviously, most people just want a normal life that they can spend with people whom they love. Eren was the same way, but was denied that future (and happened to be able to do something about it). Very selfish goals, but those chosen few were his world. Along with a general distaste for humanity, that's how I understand his character motivations.

*Which is to say in relation to the extra pages, Ymir's curse returning a generation or two after the events of AOT doesn't entirely void his actions. I’m assuming the power of Ymir apparently exists as a force of nature on this version of Earth period, so I suppose this points us to an endless cycle of humans eventually finding the power and using it as they see fit *

#2 Why is Romance Relevant to Attack on Titan?

I wasn't expecting a romance factor to be relevant at the end of the story, however considering that Mikasa's affection for Eren WAS her most prominent personality trait as a character, then the events that followed, I was forced to look back to a few moments in the series that could lend light to why, in the end, a romantic subplot ended the curse of Ymir. My conclusions are as follows:

1. Quite literally, the cycle of hatred never ends. Humans will always have a reason to be unkind to one another. We are animals after all; this trait cannot be reasoned through with logic, bred out, or defeated. We are a self-aware species (Eren's even aware of his own hypocrisy in Chapter 131). There will always arise those who take what they want for themselves because they decide in the end they don't care about others as much as they care about their own interests.

2. To make this second point, I'm stealing these words out of a certain machine lifeform's mouth, but bear with me here:

"But the humans...? Now THEY are interesting. Because they are an enigma! They killed uncountable numbers of their own kind, yet loved in equal measure! It's fascinating, don't you think? What could possibly drive such behavior? We have dedicated ourselves to unraveling this riddle of humanity..."

--Adam from NieR:Automata

AOT uses Eren and Mikasa as a case study of humanity. Humans hate and love in equal measure.

In Ch. 129, Zeke's piece here foreshadows the significance of those two for the story, I guess?

Now everyone reading this series as well as the characters in it had noticed how much fondness Mikasa always had for Eren, and how aloof he always was towards her in return...that's something for them to work out.

Despite never really reciprocating Mikasa's feelings, Eren told Armin at the end of the series that yes, he enjoyed receiving her attention; he would have liked to live a happy life with her. So, Mikasa just liked Eren, Eren liked her... And similar to Mikasa, Ymir just liked King Fritz. It doesn't matter whether we think these feelings were sound or not; they did what they wanted with themselves. I suppose that explains the reason she was a mega simp for Eren in the whole story. Yes, this turn in the story reads like a different plot now, not one about war and killing monsters, but I'm pleasantly surprised that this trait taken as a flaw of Mikasa’s actually served as a necessary condition to end the conflict of the titans.

Eren wouldn't let go of his hatred of the world for his own satisfaction, Ymir wouldn't let go of her love of King Fritz for her own satisfaction, and Mikasa is the only one who decided to let go of her convictions in the interest of someone other than herself. That's what moved the curse.

I think Isayama used the characters of Ymir and Mikasa to demonstrate that while there is a cycle of hatred and revenge running rampant in humanity, the cycle of love doesn't stop either.

In closing, and I truly apologize for such a lengthy post; I hope I didn’t reiterate my point too often here...I didn't think about any of this until I heard so many readers upset with the way AOT ended. I'm not personally left with any disappointment in where the story went. I didn't know where it was going to go in the first place, and I think it could have been much worse for us in different hands. 

*shrugs*

AOT is a story about the nature of humanity.

*And in regards to Jean, if that is supposed to be him with Mikasa in the new panels, all I can say is dude likes his girl. He was a simp for her and she was a simp for Eren, but the fact that they shared their lives together means a lot even if Eren was never completely buried in her heart. He meant a lot to her man, idk...

[murdereraisuha]

screaming about chapter 5 but more coherently this time

This is gonna cover 1. the recent update’s events in comparison to my previous theories & expectations, 2. the winner of the VDC and Vil’s character development 3. Kalim & Jamil’s character development, and 4. the main story moving forward

Spoilers for everything up to 5-67. Word count: 2117

So, in my “Jamil is Snow White” theory post, I used the events of the original Snow White to try and guess how TWST chapter 5 would correlate to it and what characters would fill what roles (Snow White, huntsman, prince, etc.) in the story.

Originally, I kind of assumed the beginning of chapter 5 would line up to either the beginning of the movie or halfway through when the Queen is already hatching her plan to get Snow White with the poison apple. However, it seems like the movie events have actually been compacted into 5-57 to 5-67.

After the NRC rehearsal, Vil becomes the most beautiful, corresponding to the beginning of the movie when the Queen is still the most beautiful. Then, Neige, out of his natural cuteness rather than hard work and practice like Vil, usurps him, representing the point Snow White becomes the fairest in the land. The next part with the apple juice and Rook coming to the rescue is a mix of the next part of the movie, when the huntsman tells Snow White to run, and the part of the movie with the poison apple. Then, the MC and the rest of the dance team kind of act like the dwarves by fighting the Queen/Vil. However, other than that, everyone follows their corresponding role: Neige is Snow White and Rook is the huntsman.

I think the story as it has played out makes sense. I was initially startled by Vil suddenly going murder mode, but. To work so hard on this song and choreography and training up your team, only to have the media love your lifetime rival who’s only brought an arrange of a kid’s song with clumsy singing and dancing to the table, potentially crushing your plan for victory here... I understand Vil’s feelings here and the sudden, desperate decision to curse Neige.

Rook’s actions after that don’t seem too out of line with what we know about his personality and his unconventional beliefs/actions regarding beauty and Vil’s beauty. Seriously though, wtf please don’t just drink poison. Anyway, I really enjoyed Kalim coming in then. The way he noticed Vil’s face being like Jamil’s before his overblot? The part when he tried to remind Vil that no one drank the juice so Vil hasn’t hurt anyone yet? Good stuff right there.

However, the way things played out also disappointed me somewhat. Though we had a Kalim & Jamil interaction, we still haven’t had a good resolution to their character/relationship development, so hopefully that’s in the final part of chapter 5. Furthermore, though Kalim did slap the apple juice away, I really felt like he and Jamil would have had more involvement with poison/curses in this part considering all the stuff in this chapter about Kalim being poisoned in the past.

There’s also the fact that all Jamil did was evacuate the area, it was Kalim and Rook who were around when Vil overblotted. The pattern of the previous overblot causing the next has kind of been broken. It could mean that the pattern was actually the dorm leader causes the next overblot?? Anyway, I’m hoping that Jamil will have his time in the spotlight in the next part.

-----

So that kind of brings me to the future. First off, who will win the VDC? Personally, I think that it will be NRC. With everyone so enthusiastically proclaiming in 5-67 that they’re going to win the championship, it would feel off for them to fail. From things that Vil has said this chapter, like in 5-37 when he admonishes Deuce that effort isn’t enough to succeed, it seems like the bad route/worst case scenario of Vil’s outlook is to lose hope that his efforts will ever give him success or a happy end. Therefore, the good route would be for him to keep hope, to keep the belief that he can get his happy end, and I think winning the VDC would be the thing that would support this belief. I do not think he would learn much from losing; if he has already lost and got relegated to the role of villain so many times before, one more time would not mean much to him. 

Other people have said that Vil also needs to learn to chill and stop holding people to such high standards, which is something I agree with. Though Epel’s beliefs on masculinity and power were pretty harmful, Vil’s methods of trying to correct those beliefs were also harmful. Vil’s treatment of Epel at the end of Epel’s ceremony robes story seriously left a bad taste in my mouth. The thing is, something or someone would need to prompt a change in Vil’s beliefs for a change to occur. After Deuce and Epel’s  outing, they seem to be pretty chill with Vil, so there aren’t any conflicts in the group. I can’t think of anyone in the team other than Kalim and maybe Ace who would have a strong enough opinion on not pushing yourself too hard that they would try and give that opinion to Vil, and Kalim’s already had a big interaction with Vil in 5-62.

So, I feel like any further Vil character development this chapter would come from an interaction with Neige. Going back to the debate of who will win VDC, we know that Vil resents Neige for always being the hero. If Neige won yet again, would Vil take what he says to heart? However, if Vil won, that would be a new situation. I think that the first things he hears from a Neige that has finally lost would be impactful to him.

I’m not sure though of all this though because of this line in 5-66:

Vil’s saying that throwing a tantrum and taking it out on other people was awful of him. Though it obviously refers to his attempts to murder before and during his overblot, it could also point to an overall shift in mindset regarding how he treats others. His attempts to mold Epel into a poison apple, for example, stemmed from his own ambitions and frustration at Neige, which you could interpret as a sort of tantrum that he then took out on Epel. Vil may have already learned to relax on pushing his high standards on others.

Regardless of if that’s true or not, I personally think that Vil and Neige still have a lot that they could learn from each other, assuming my perception of Neige as being innocent rather than a white lotus is correct. Vil’s team’s performance had a lot of cohesion and rehearsal put into it, but it was very competitive focused. On the other hand, Neige and the dwarves obviously had a lot of fun with their performance. However, it was clumsy and they were ill prepared. Therefore, Vil could teach Neige more discipline and planning while Neige could teach Vil about how to not lose sight of finding joy in your work.

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As I have already said, I’m hoping for more Kalim & Jamil stuff in the final part of chapter 5. I originally theorized that something would happen to one of them, probably Kalim, and that would lead to some sort of reveal about their feelings and the chapter would end with them clearly on the trajectory to repair their relationship and really become friends. 

Since nothing happened yet and neither got poisoned/cursed, I think then that the event that sparks the finale of their character development would probably relate directly to the VDC. First off for our possibilities, we have the two’s families watching as Jamil takes the spotlight as a main vocal while Kalim is in the back. Given what we know, I don’t think Kalim’s family would be too happy about that. The conflict from that definitely seems like it could result not only in some sort of understanding between Kalim and Jamil, but also maybe even a change in Jamil or his family’s status. For a less dramatic possibility, we also know from 5-47 that Jamil’s sister will be coming to watch. If she makes an appearance, perhaps she will have some unexpected insight to say that would lead to a discussion & development between Jamil and Kalim.

Finally, my Jamil becomes the most beautiful theory might still be partially true, though idk if that’s just me not wanting to give up on it cause of how funny it would be. Basically, the theory was that, after the VDC performances, the internet/media become super interested in Jamil due to how talented and handsome he is. I originally thought that could serve as a factor for Vil overblot, but now I think it could prompt some discussion & development between Jamil and Kalim due to it serving as a clear example of Jamil finally showing his true ability and by how much Jamil was letting Kalim win. Furthermore, Vil might be affected by an event like that. Though the overblot’s already happened, perhaps something happening with Jamil specifically would lead to something happening between him and Vil, fulfilling the pattern of the previous overblot doing stuff with the next. I’m out of ideas for the Scarabia boys, so let’s continue.

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Honestly, I don’t think anything will happen with Idia and Ortho outside of a quick teaser at the very end of the chapter. Considering that we still have to cover all the stuff with the VDC performance and its results and the aftermath of the results, Idia’s presentation thingy might not even happen until chapter 6.  ?

Idk, rn I’m more concerned about the overarching plot with Mickey Mouse than I am about chapter 6 Ignihyde shenanigans. So, we had a little flash of the Queen/Hag during the day, and also we finally discovered that Malleus is Malleus. So things are picking up a bit. I’m not sure if something unexpectedly big this chapter will happen though. I’ve seen people saying that the boss was surprisingly easy so there might be another big battle coming up. I don’t actually play the game so I don’t know anything about that, is it intentional or is it just that the chapter took so long to update that y’all had tons of time to beef up your boys? For me, it did feel like the Vil overblot was the climax of the chapter. With all the other stuff like the VDC results and the Scarabia boys’ character development, I don’t know if there’s any more room. There could be some big new info with Mickey Mouse or Grim’s bad eating habit, but I can’t picture something happening that would warrant another boss battle.

I do have some thoughts on Mickey Mouse, but I think I’ll save my memey ones for another post and wait for the end of chapter 5 before getting my serious thoughts together. Anyway, now a little talk on chapter 6. So, we have 4 options: chapter 6 will be something regarding Idia’s presentation, something regarding Deuce borrowing the magical wheel, something combining those two plot points, or something else entirely. 

Well, for something combining those two, Riddle was the one wanting Idia to go do the presentation in person, right? So, Idia probably doesn’t like Riddle that much. Maybe he wants to make some sort of plan to get back at Riddle. What can he use? 

Uh I just looked back at 5-39 to figure out what exactly is up and one translation says Deuce forcefully borrowed the magical wheel and another says he borrowed it as a huge favor??? The original says 無理言って借りてきた, deepL translates it as forcibly borrowed, 無理を言って means asking for something unreasonable. What exactly are the circumstances here?

Okay whatever, look, Deuce is in some sort of debt to Ignihyde. Idia could use him since he and Riddle are in the same dorm. Idk my train of thought got wrecked by the translation confusion.

But anyway so we know Deuce is probably gonna be Meg. I’ve never watched Hercules and I don’t know anything about it aside from what I’ve just read on wikipedia. The summary there says that Hercules kills a bunch of monsters and becomes famous then Hades holds Meg hostage in exchange for Hercule’s powers and Hercules accepts the trade but then “Hades reveals that Meg was working for Hades all along” ??? And then in the end though “ Hercules chooses to remain on Earth with Meg”. So what happens, is Meg good or what? Alright it might be better to at least wait for whatever sneak peek of chapter 6 we get at the end of chapter 5 before speculating. Let’s end this here before it gets any longer.