#hes being his sultry self with his mustache and his long hair

[seanchaidh7]

Sexy Sunday

[x-reader-theater]

Doubt {7}

Relationship: Lucifer Morningstar x Non-Binary!Reader

Summary:  You know who pushed you. All that's left is to confront them.

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Body Horror, Lucifer being a Bastard, graphic depictions of violence. 

Word Count: 4415 words

A/N: Wow, we're almost done! This has been a crazy experience and I would not change a thing! I will not be posting tomorrow, but I will be back on Tuesday for the epilogue of this crazy story! Also, I'm thinking of opening my requests for song fics with lucifer. Short things based off songs with male or gender neutral/non-binary reader. What do y'all think about that? Thank you @mystic-writes​ for being such an amazing editor.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here, but please still reblog and share.

[Prev.] <= [First] => [Next]

Chapter 7: On Love and Revenge

You're sitting upright, tracing around Lucifer's scars on his back, never actually touching them, just circling them. Lucifer's laying on his stomach, his head on his arms, and you run a finger down his spine, right above his ass. You lean over and kiss his shoulder, right above his scars. 

"Why did you wait so long to cut off your wings?" You ask, and Lucifer flips around. You place a hand on his chest, which you feel rise and fall slowly. 

"What do you mean?" He asks, his voice low and sultry. You lean forward and kiss him, just because you can. 

"I mean, you've been coming to earth since the beginning of time, and only now you cut your wings off. Why?" 

Lucifer sighs and runs a hand up and down your arm lightly, shrugging and saying, "Sentiment? Pride?" 

You laugh. "Yeah, like you don't have a lot of that." 

Lucifer also laughs and leans up to kiss you. 

And that's when the door is kicked open. 

You don't have time to react, to throw yourself over Lucifer, to extend your wings over his body, because gunshots ring out, and blood erupts from Lucifer's chest. Your wings close around the two of you, the last of the bullets striking your pure white wings, and you watch as blood spills out from Lucifer, soaking into the mattress. 

Looking behind you, you see a man with red-ish brown hair and a large handlebar mustache reload the gun, and one more shot rings out. 

And you wake up. 

[Now Playing: These Dreams by Jim Croce] 

You gasp awake, sitting up suddenly, sweat pooling underneath you and tears running down your face. You feel yourself shaking as you remember the feeling of the dream bullet entering your head, the pain of being killed, of dying again. 

You feel hands on your arms, and you jump as you look next to you and see Lucifer holding you. 

"Y-you're alive?" You whisper, putting your hands on his shoulders and squeezing. 

"Of course I'm alive," Lucifer says with a light laugh. "Is everything alright?" 

You nod, running your hands down his arms and up behind his neck. "Yeah. Yeah. I-I had a bad dream. That's all," you say, leaning into Lucifer, leaning your forehead against his. 

He leans forward and kisses you softly. "I'm okay," he whispers, and you smile. 

You sigh and pull back, leaning away from him slightly. "I-we-" you begin to say,  but you can't find the words. You feel the dream fading, and you need to talk about it before you forget it. "We were in bed. I asked you about your wings, and… and some man stormed in, and shot you, and then shot me and-" 

You can't finish your sentence. You can't say that you died. Not again. 

"Shh. It's okay, Angel," Lucifer says, pulling you into him. You lean against his chest, your shaking body finally stops, and eventually you get up and go to the bathroom, where you close the door and bring out your wings. 

You sigh in relief when you see the tops of your wings still have their feathers. But, they're not fully feathered. Still only the tops are feathered, but you see that the further they go down, they change from white to a light grey. 

They're not pure white like they were before you fell. They've changed. 

And you're scared to know why. 

[Now Playing: Only Angel by Harry Styles]

You groan and roll your head, putting your feet up on the glass coffee table. You throw the notebook with the list across the room. All the names are crossed off except for one, and you know it's not him. It can't be. You don't want it to be. 

You close your eyes, but when you hear the flapping of wings, you smile. "Amenadiel. To what do I owe the pleasure?" You ask, opening your eyes. 

"Do you have any leads?" He asks and you laugh. 

"You sound like Detective Decker," you say, enunciating every consonant in her name. You stand up and grab your notebook up off the floor, the small black cover fitting perfectly in the palm of your hand. "But, no. I haven't been able to find out anything. No one will answer my calls!" You shout the last part up to the ceiling, before sighing. 

"And you don't think I could do any better?" Amenadiel asks, and you laugh. "I'm an angel. They'll talk to me."

You raise an eyebrow. "Are-are you sure about that?" You ask, trying to contain your laughs. "Yes. You're right. You're an angel. An angel who hasn't gone back to heaven in what, five years?" 

Amenadiel goes to say something, but nothing comes out. You sigh and shake your head. 

"This is a waste of time," you mutter to yourself. 

Amenadiel looks up at you sharply and asks, "Why do you say that?"

"Because! I'm never going to find the person who did it! And! What the hell am I going to do when I do find them? Push them too?"

You feel your back ache in a familiar, dull pain when you say these words, but you grit your teeth and ignore it. 

Amenadiel shakes his head. "You need to figure out who it is because you need closure, [Y/N]." He takes a step closer to you and places a hand on your shoulder. "If you want to do it alone, I can't stop you. But knowing who did this can give you some closure."

You smile and nod, laughing to yourself quietly. When Amenadiel looks at you, confused, you say, "You sound like Doctor Linda." 

He laughs and takes his hand away. "Yes, I suppose I do." The two of you laugh and Amenadiel pats you on the shoulder again. "I need to go do some things. Please stay safe."

You nod and reply, "Thank you, Amenadiel."

[Now Playing: Cool People by Chloe x Halle]

You're in the kitchen, writing in your notebook when the elevator doors open, and stepping out of them is not the person you're expecting at all. 

"Oh! Detective Decker. To what do I owe this pleasure?" You ask, closing your notebook. 

She looks at you, curious, before saying, "Lucifer isn't in, is he?" 

You smile and shake your head. "No, but I'll be sure to let him know you stopped by," you say casually, but the detective shakes her head. 

"No, no, that's actually good," she says and you frown at that. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay…" you say, trailing off, motioning for her to sit down at the island next to you. She takes the seat and you say, "So. What do you want to talk about?" 

She goes to speak, then closes her mouth, thinking on it, before finally, she says something. "I want to apologise. For how I've been towards you," she says, and you lean back in your chair. "I was so focused on other things, on keeping track of Lucifer and everything he's doing, I just assumed you were another toy of his. Something he was playing with until he didn't want you anymore, like everyone else in his life."

"Everyone but you," you say, and she laughs, looking away. 

"And you," she retorts, and you roll your eyes. But, before you can go to speak, she stops you. "No. I'm serious. He never stops talking about you. '[Y/N] did this! [Y/N] did that! They would know who the murderer is!’"

You smile and look away, putting a hand on your opposite shoulder, feeling your pulse underneath your skin. "And, how do you feel about that?" 

She smiles lightly. "At first, I was jealous," she admits, and you smile. "Someone was taking my partner away. But I know why he was-is so attached to you. You understand him better than I could. And, you have a different kind of relationship with him that I don't want, and don't think I ever could have." 

You nod. "I'm not going to lie. I'm a little jealous as well," you say and she cocks her head. 

"Why?" 

"Because Lucifer is smitten with you! He's wanted to be with you since day one. I'm just… a good time to him," you say, looking away from Chloe.

She shakes her head and leans over towards you. "That's not what I see." You look up at her as she says this. "He's smitten with you. Not me. He knows he's not going to get anything from me." You chuckle, because she's right. She's not like everyone else. You can't see her true self. Unless, this is her true self. But, she's hiding something. Everyone is. So why can't you see it? For the same reason she makes Lucifer mortal? "Does he still do that thing," Chloe starts and you lean into her to hear how she finishes it. "Where, he looks at you like you're the crazy one for suggesting it's not a simple answer?" 

You lean back and laugh. "Uh, yeah! All the time! It's like, 'no, I know I'm right, you just don't want to see it!'" 

You and Chloe laugh together, the first time ever since the day you met her, you've never had something like this with her, and it's nice. You stop laughing and smile at her. "I'm glad to know Lucifer has someone like you in his life," you say, and Chloe smiles back at you. 

"Same goes for you. He really cares about you, [Y/N]," she replies and you reach out, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. 

"You know, the other night, he had the chance to sleep with me," she says, and you pull your hand away. 

"What?" You ask, shocked. 

"Yup," she says, popping the P. "But, he didn't. I don't know why, and I don't know how. But he didn't do it. And I suspect it has something to do with you."

"Huh," you say simply, your mind racing with questions that you figure you will never get an answer to. 

Chloe smiles at you and stands up. "Trust me. It has something to do with you."

She starts to walk to the elevator and you call out, "Wait!" She stops and you ask, "Are you sure you don't want me to tell Lucifer you dropped by?" 

She turns around halfway and smiles lightly, saying, "I don't think he would like it very much if he knew we were conspiring against him."

You laugh and nod, waving as she leaves you alone in the penthouse with nothing but one crushing question. 

Why?

[Now Playing: Holy by Zolita]

You come back to the penthouse after exhausting your names again. Well, all names but one. Lux looked different by the time you walked back in. Rich people in fancy clothing standing around holding champagne flutes and talking. You walked through them in your jeans and hoodie combo, getting weird looks from just about everyone there. 

You made your way to the private elevator as quickly as you could, where you find yourself now, confused and overwhelmed by the crowd. You still don't like being around a lot of people. That will probably never change. 

You take a deep breath as the bell sounds and the doors open "Lucifer! Why are there so many rich people in-" You cut yourself off as you look up and see the gun pointed at your face. "-Lux," you say quietly, swallowing thickly. 

Looking behind the gun, you see a man, with reddish brown hair, and a large handlebar mustache, and a wild look in his eyes. You slowly put your hands up as your eyes go wide, and he moves around you. You slowly back out of the elevator, and he takes your place, pressing a button, and soon, the doors close. 

But you don't relax. 

You rush over to Lucifer, placing your hands on his arms, running them down his chest as you say, "What happened? Are you okay?" 

Lucifer smiles tensely and lets out a breath, grabbing your hands to still them. "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

You glare at him. "You better not be lying to me, Lucifer!" You exclaim. "That's the man from my dream. The one who killed you. Who then… killed me." 

Lucifer sighs and leans in, kissing your forehead. "He didn't hurt me. I talked him down," Lucifer says. "We made a deal."

You look up at him, frowning. "You what?" 

"Don't worry, Angel. It has nothing to do with you," he says and you shake your head. 

"No, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about you, Lucifer. I-" You cut yourself off and look away as you feel a lump rise in your throat.  "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you," you whisper, and Lucifer smiles, placing another kiss on your forehead. 

"Don't worry about me, Angel," he says with a placating smile, the best you'll probably get. "I'll be fine. I always am!" 

You smile and shake your head. "That arrogance is going to get you hurt, someday," you say. 

"But that day is not today," he replies and you kiss him, placing a hand on the back of his neck. When you close your eyes, you imagine the face you saw in your dream, Lucifer's other face, with the olive skin and dark hair. 

You pull away, and when you open your eyes, you're a little disappointed to see the same red skin and glowing eyes as before. 

"I just came to tell you I'd be out late tonight," you say, and Lucifer cocks his head to the side. "I'm… getting in contact with an angel. About my fall." 

Lucifer nods slowly. "You'd better come back," he says, and for a moment you think you hear something akin to actual worry in his voice. But it's gone when he says, "Who else could fuck me as good as you?" 

You laugh, a short, tense laugh, and look away, before looking back and kissing Lucifer again. This time, it isn't full of fear and anxiety or even lust. This is just a kiss, full of something you don't want to admit yet. 

You pull away and smile. "I'll be back later," you whisper, before turning around and going out the same way you came in, down the elevator, through the crowd, and out through the front doors into the streets of L.A. to find the one who pushed you. 

[Now Playing: Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier]

You're standing in an empty warehouse, pacing back and forth, running your hands over your arms as you wait for the person you called down to earth. 

You really, really don't want it to be them. If it is, it's going to break your heart. You don't want it to be him. Please don't let it. 

These few phrases run through your mind at a speed you can't keep up with, and you stick your hands in your pockets to try and focus on something, anything else. But you can't. Your mind keeps racing with these thoughts you can't control, and you want it to stop.

And they do, when you hear the folding of wings, and when you turn around, you see, standing there, as brightly lit as ever, Israfil, and your mind goes blank. 

"Hello, [Y/N]," they say calmly. 

You turn to face them fully and reply, "Hello Israfil."

"What did you bring me to earth for?" They ask calmly. They never were one for emotions, the epitome of light and fire shouldn't really have emotions, but you feel something rolling off them. You can't place what it is, but you know it's strong. 

"I want to know who pushed me from heaven," you say, taking a step towards him. You feel the heat radiating off them, the energy pouring out of them makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

You hear a laugh, mirthless, without emotion, like he knew it was something humans did, but didn't quite understand it. "And, you think it's me?" 

You sigh, putting your hand on your forehead. "I-I don't know! I don't want to believe it! But no one else has given me anything, and you're the first person who's even responded to me, so you must know something!" You exclaim. 

"You're right," they say. 

"What?" You look up at them, into where you assume a face would be if… well…if they had one. 

"I do know who pushed you," they say calmly. "I did."

"What?" You feel your heart drop into your stomach, your face go slack, and in that moment you don't know what to do. You don't know what you're feeling. 

"I pushed you," they say again. "It was God's will."

"And how do you know that?" You ask, spitting out every word as it appears on your lips. 

"Because if those in heaven actually begin to doubt that heaven is as good as they were promised, well… you know what could happen," he says and you sigh. "You've met Lucifer."

"So, you pushed me to stop a rebellion? But how do you know that's what God wanted!" You shout. 

"Because I do. I am an angel. I am the will of God," they say. 

You scream, frustration and anger boiling up inside of you, the heat from Israfil making the blood inside your veins bubble and begin to burst. You take another few steps closer, and you feel your face shift and pulse and change, and you feel what Lucifer called your "devil face" show itself as you grit your teeth and you scream out, "SO YOU PUSHED ME BECAUSE YOU THINK THAT'S WHAT GOD INTENDED!" You rush forward, holding your arms out to tackle them to the ground, but as you rush forward, you feel the lick of flames run up your arms, across your body. You feel your skin begin to burn and bubble, creating pustules and peeling your skin back from the flesh it's holding in. Your clothes burn away, melting to your body. And as you come through the other side, you fall to the ground, and see your radius through the skin. 

You look back at Israfil and see the fire that would be their head tilt. You spit on the ground as you say, "You were my friend! I thought I could trust you!" 

"My only friend is God," they say, and you start to crawl towards them. "You should have remembered that."

You watch as jets of fire erupt from behind them, creating wings that extend longer than your own,  which flap up and down, singeing the ground beneath them, causing them to rise up, and away from the warehouse, out, up towards heaven, leaving you to heal on the dirty, singed floor. 

[Now Playing: Put Your Head on my Shoulder by Paul Anka]

There's music playing when the doors to Lucifer's Penthouse open. But Lucifer isn't playing the piano. He's sitting at it, holding a glass of dark alcohol, but he's not playing anything. He's just sitting there, staring at it. He looks up at you as you walk in the door. 

"Angel? What happened?" He asks, and you sigh, walking over to him, and sitting on the piano bench next to him. 

"I could ask the same of you," you say with a light laugh. 

But Lucifer isn't laughing. "Are you hurt?" He asks and you shake your head. 

"No. I…" you pause, biting your lip and looking away. "I found the angel who cast me from heaven." He looks at you, and doesn't say anything, as if asking you to continue. You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes as you look back to him and say, "It was-I-" 

You can't continue what you want to say, the words getting caught in your throat, and when you try to speak, a sob escapes instead. Lucifer pulls you to him, running his hands down your back as you cry into his chest. 

You feel the tears begin to dry, leaving you a heaving mess as he holds on to you. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't try and push you off him. He just sits there, with his arms around you, and for the first time since you fell from heaven, you truly feel safe. 

You pull away from him, wiping your eyes and taking deep breaths. "Sorry," you say quietly. 

Lucifer puts a hand on your cheek and shakes his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he says, and you smile. 

"I love you…" it comes out as barely a whisper, and you don't know why you said it. It just came out, like it's been trying to for weeks, and this is the time it wanted to burst between your lips. Lucifer's eyes widen, but you don't know if he says anything. Because you watch as, fading before your eyes, pale, olive toned skin appears from behind the red. Black hair starts sprouting from his head and around his mouth. Red lips soften to pink, and when you look into his eyes, they are no longer red, no longer glowing, but a hazel brown and green, wide with shock. 

You clasp your hands over your mouth and Lucifer goes to speak but you cut in before him. "Your face…" you breathe out, moving your hands away from your face. You reach out and card your hands through his hair, feeling the tacky gel in his otherwise soft hair. You run a hand over his stubble on his cheek, brush your fingers over his lips. You breathe out a laugh and say quietly with a laugh, "I can see why you chose this face." 

Lucifer just keeps looking at you, and you can see the confusion behind his eyes, as well as longing. "You- ou can see my face?" He asks and you nod. 

"It's… well it's beautiful…" you whisper, and he smiles, still shocked. 

"What-why?" He asks. 

You put a hand behind his neck and play with the short hairs there. "I- I think it's because I said I loved you. I-I would see it sometimes. Times of passion, of-of-" 

"Of love," Lucifer finishes for you, and you nod. 

"Yeah. Of love. But I never said it out loud. Never-never admitted it to myself," you say, throwing your other arm around his neck. 

He pauses, and you pull away, taking your arms back, and letting them rest at your side. "I-I'm sorry this is… I don't-you probably still-with Chloe-and I-" you say, moving to get up from the piano, but Lucifer grabs your wrist. 

"I didn't have sex with her," he says, and you frown. "She was drunk tonight. She was… throwing herself on me. And…I said no."

"Where is she now?" You ask him. 

"I called Detective Douche, had him take her home," he says, and you look away, but he grabs your chin and makes you look at him. "[Y/N]. I didn't have sex with her." 

And you lean forward and kiss him. Because, this is the closest you will probably ever get to Lucifer saying he loves you back. He leans into , moving his hand from your chin to your cheek, and when you do the same, you laugh against his lips. 

"That's going to take some getting used to," you say, scratching his stubble lightly. 

He laughs and kisses you again, feverishly this time, but you stop him, pushing him off you. "I… uh…I still need to tell you why I…well why I look like this," you say, gesturing to your body. Lucifer pulls away and opens his brown eyes and you smile. "I found the person who pushed me."

"What?" Lucifer asks, leaning back even more. 

You grab his hand and say, "I brought them. Here. To earth. It-it was…" You take a breath before you say, "It was Israfil."

"But, he was your friend!" Lucifer says and you nod. 

"I thought so too. But he doesn't care about me. What he did care about was stopping another revolution in heaven because I was asking too many souls if they actually liked being there," you say, looking away with a scoff. "And they didn't like that. And so, thinking it was divine will, they pushed me. And God put me here."

"Why?" Lucifer asks. 

You look directly at him, into his eyes and say, "I think he put me here to help you." 

"Me? Why on earth would my father do that?" Lucifer asks. 

You smile and put a hand on his stubbled cheek. "Because I think he needs you to continue to doubt him. He needs you to question what he says. Because you can't be the devil without a little bit of doubt." 

Lucifer just looks at you shocked, and you say to him softly, "God just put me here. He didn't make me fall in love with you. You did that all on your own."

Lucifer laughs at that. At first, it's quiet, disbelieving, before it turns into full blown hysteria, and you can't help but laugh along with him. He finally catches his breath after a few seconds and leans in, kissing you, not hungrily, but desperately, like he needs you. 

"You are… something else, angel," he says and you laugh, kissing him. 

"I could say the same for you, devil," you say in between breathless kisses. 

He pulls you in closer, so close you're practically straddling him, and he mutters low in your ear, "Come on. Let's have some fun." 

You grin, and he picks you up, taking you to bed. 

Later that night, as his head dips below your legs, you feel that familiar extension of yourself protrude from your back as your body is wracked with shivers of pleasure, and Lucifer looks up at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. 

That grin drops however into shock and awe, and you frown. "What?" 

He points to something behind you, and when you extend your wings, you see why he's shocked. You see your wings, fully feathered, fading from white at the top, to a deep black at the bottom, and at their full extension, they are beautiful. Not angelic, nor demonic. They're your wings, and they're perfect. 

You grab Lucifer's face and kiss him, smiling as you taste yourself on his lips. 

[Now Playing: Doubt by Mary J. Blige]

[entity9silvergen]

Oblique- Chapter 2 (Sanders Sides Fanfiction

Previous chapter, Full Story

Story Info:

Summary: Unable to experience romantic attraction, Remus feels incomplete. Unable to feel sexual attraction, Roman feels less than. Maybe as the King, they decide, they will feel whole again. Their partners and friends, however, know this isn’t the solution and seek to help them realize there’s nothing broken about them before it’s too late.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil, Nate, Remy, Emile, Seth, Toby, Janus, Remus, Unnamed Orange Side, Romulus, Dragon Witch 

Relationships: Logan/ Patton, Virgil/ Roman, Janus/ Remus, Remy/ Emile, Toby/ Seth, Nate/ Orange Side

Other Tags: AroWriMo, Aromantic Remus, Asexual Roman, Spider Virgil, Snake Janus, Orange Side, 7th Side, Additional Sides, No OCs, Short Vid Characters

Warnings for this chapter: Sexual themes, internalized acephobia, internalized arophobia, arousal, romantic feels, minor self-harm, intrusive thoughts, Remus

Author’s Note: There is nothing explicit in this one but there is some post sex scenes and pre almost sex scenes. Also romantic feels. I am aroace so like I don’t actually know what I’m doing, first time writing something like this, but we’re doing it. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter. It takes place prior to the previous chapter and provides more context to what’s up with Remus and Roman but is not actually relevant to the plot.

====================

Remus felt good in that way only an orgasm could cause.

It was like… like everything inside him just melted away. Everything tense and tight just washed away. It was at times like this he really felt at peace. The only times he felt at peace. With his mind quiet, he really just felt like himself. Not Dark Creativity, not Intrusive Thoughts. Just Remus.

He should go be productive. Draw something that wasn’t totally obscene. Maybe take a shower without trying to swallow the soap. Eat something other than deodorant. Trim his mustache without cutting himself. Nah, he was still going to do all that stuff. He loved it, intrusive thoughts or not.

He started to roll out of bed when an arm stopped him.

“You’re always so quick to leave,” Janus murmured, draping an arm over Remus’s bare hips. Fuck, that was sexy. Why was he so sexy? All naked and relaxed… Disheveled. That was the word Remus was looking for. His hat, gloves, and clothes were long gone, messy brown hair and scales out for the world to see. Well, not the world. Just Remus. Janus was cute when he was like this, rare as it was. Not cute enough for Remus not to have a double take at his words though.

“Is that bad?” Remus asked hesitantly, a bit more of his insecurity in his voice than he would’ve liked. He knew Janus wasn’t mad and he wouldn’t make fun of him. It was just… ugh, the post-sex euphoria was kind of fading and Remus was starting to feel bad about himself again.

Janus looked up at him, breaking out of his affectionate daze. He frowned. “I mean… no? If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be. Staying the night is just nice.”

“Why?” 

The question tumbled out of Remus’s mouth before he could think, like most things he said did. He felt like he shouldn’t have said that but he couldn’t help it. And he really did want to know.

“It just… um, helps with the emotional side of hooking up?” Janus ventured. Remus tried not to frown. “The romantic aspect?”

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Remus responded and flopped back down on the bed, letting his back hit the sheets once more. Janus stayed where he was. Remus just stared at the ceiling, unsure if Janus’s touch was nice or uncomfortable. They were both all sweaty. And sticky. Didn’t people normally shower after this? Or wipe off or whatever? Normally Remus would just run around naked and the air would dry him off and he’d be good as new but that didn’t really feel like an option right now.

“You look so uncomfortable.” 

“What? I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re like a tree right now.”

“Unfuckable unless you want splinters?” Remus cracked, looking down at Janus, but the snakey Side didn’t seem amused.

“You’re literally lying on your back with your arms at your sides,” Janus deadpanned. He shifted a bit, resting his head on Remus’s chest. “And that’s fine but you look stressed. Which is weird because you just came and normally that makes you all loose. Figuratively, not literally, don't look at me like-”

“I’m loose in so many more ways than one,” Remus responded with a shit eating grin, wiggling a bit. Janus sighed, sounding exasperated but fond. But then Remus sobered up. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You know I don’t really mind your jokes. Or lewdness. It’s just part of who you are as a Side.”

“Not that. I meant for not being… romantic. It’s just not my thing. I’m not Roman.”

Janus lifted his head to look at him. “I don’t want Roman. You think if I wanted Roman I’d be in bed with you? If I wanted Roman, I’d be having Roman.”

Remus couldn’t stifle his laughter. Roman probably wouldn’t want Janus either, not when Virgil was so clearly the Side for him, but Janus’s confidence and self-assurance amused him. He was right, Janus probably had the swagger to seduce whoever in the mindscape he wanted. Though he may be biased.

“I don’t really care if you do the whole romantic bit of a relationship,” Janus went on, putting his head back down. “Feelings can get kind of icky. You’re my best friend and I love you, I wouldn’t change that.”

Now, Remus knew Janus said that to comfort him but it just made him feel all kinds of bad. Guilty. Selfish. Ungrateful. He didn’t like these feelings. He was the Duke! He didn’t get down in the dumps. He was just pure, unfiltered nastiness. Not whatever this was. 

He didn’t know if Janus expected a response or not but he just smiled awkwardly and patted Janus’s hair. Janus didn’t comment on how grimy his hands were and just relaxed against him, seeming to enjoy Remus’s fingers in his hair. It felt weirdly intimate to be doing this. It was nice, Remus supposed, but it felt foreign. Like he was missing something. Maybe he was missing something.

He tried to steer those thoughts away. He was naked in bed with his best friend, not fully clothed and crying in the shower alone like he normally was when these moments hit. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. He was… This was a good moment. Good things were happening. He’d just had an amazing night of mindblowing sex. His friend- partner, fuck buddy, boyfriend, whatever- had just told him he loves and accepts him. How could he be thinking about this right now?

Janus would tell him he wasn’t broken. That he wasn’t missing anything. That he was amazing the way he was. But Remus couldn’t find it in himself to bring it up right now. It was hard, not voicing his thoughts. He loved talking, spouting out every thought that crossed his mind. These ones though… He didn’t really want Janus worrying about. He already knew what Janus would say. Janus was a two-faced liar who could trick the smartest Side in the mindscape but Remus trusted him. Janus knew how to be serious. He knew how delicate Remus’s heart could be when it came to- to… He wouldn’t tell Remus anything about himself that he didn’t believe. It was just Remus who didn’t believe it.

Remus loved himself. He knew he was amazing. He loved his creations and that he could creep any Side and Thomas out. He just wanted to live his best life. But that little voice telling him something was wrong, giving him memories of a time before, would always be there.

Maybe it was time he listened to it.

=================

Roman just felt so freaking good.

His heart just felt so full. He just had so much love in him that he felt like he was going to burst. It thrummed in his chest, letting the feeling of life flow freely into his limbs. He didn’t know why he felt like this. Maybe it was because of the role he fulfilled as Thomas’s romantic facet and his fanciful side. Or maybe he was just so high on love that it got him all giddy like this. He didn’t know, he just knew he liked it. It was an amazing feeling that he just wanted to have forever. 

But all good things had to come to an end.

Virgil withdrew from him, not quite letting go but enough that Roman craved his touch again. He leaned in for another kiss, and managed to successfully get one, before noticing the look in his boyfriend’s eyes. It wasn’t… a bad look. Not a new one either. Just somewhat different.

Virgil was definitely turned on. Expected, after making out for however long they’d spent doing just that. To be honest, Roman was pretty into it too and he could feel some arousal coming in. It was an exciting feeling, one only supplemented by the rush of affection he was feeling. 

So why did he feel so uneasy?

Virgil slotted his palms over Roman’s hips and gave him a sultry look. “You want to do a bit more?”

Roman opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. He didn’t know if it was from arousal or fear. He locked eyes with Virgil and nodded, trying to look eager. Virgil looked… excited? Happy? Satisfied? Something. He looked something good at his response and started undoing the zipper and buttons on his pants. Roman looked away, not really wanting to watch despite all the feelings happening down there. It was only once Virgil’s fingers were hooked around his underwear that it became apparent something was wrong.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Don’t call me dude when we’re in bed. You’ll kill the mood.”

“I’m trying to kill the mood. You look hella uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You looked away when I took your pants off and you flinched when I touched your underwear. Is that comfortable in your world?”

“I’m fine, Virge. Let’s just keep going.”

“We don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to,” Roman insisted, gesturing vaguely to his crotch which was very visibly hard through his underwear.

Virgil didn’t budge. “Having a boner and wanting me to touch you are two different things, Princey.”

Roman sighed. “I know.”

“Consent is sexy.”

Roman sighed louder. “I know, Virgil.”

“Communication is-”

“I know, Virgil.”

“Come on, talk to me, Princey.”

“You’re still killing the mood.”

“I know, Roman,” Virgil responded, mimicking Roman’s tone, before giving him a serious look. “What’s up? If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

Roman opened his mouth but, again, no words came out. How was he supposed to articulate his thoughts? He wanted to… do stuff. Sexual stuff. Touching. That sounded fun. Sex was supposed to be, like, a big thing in a relationship, right? So shouldn’t he want to do it, being the romance guy and all?

Maybe it was because sex was more of a Remus thing. Ew, no wait, he shouldn’t be thinking about his brother right now. Actually, that was a big turn off which was what he needed right now. But point was that sex was never his thing. Roman didn’t think about it much. Or at all. Should he? That was something people thought about, right?

Thinking about sex made him feel… gross. Not completely though? Thomas was a pretty sex positive guy so all the Sides generally viewed consestuall sex as a healthy part of a relationship but anytime Roman thought about sex in a more personal way, not as an abstract concept, he felt all weird. And he knew he shouldn’t. Sex was natural. Hundreds of generations of humans have been doing it. So why couldn’t he?

There was just this… disconnect. Between what, he wasn’t sure. His feelings, his body, arousal, desire, all of it. And it felt wrong. Like, it should be there. He didn’t know what it felt like but he could imagine it. He’d read about it and he could see it in his mind but when it came to the present moment, it just wasn’t there. He-

Odin’s eyepatch, Virgil was waiting for him to say something, wasn’t he?

“Can we… not?” Roman said weakly, hating how unsure he sounded. But to his relief, Virgil just nodded. 

“That’s fine. We’re not ready,” Virgil responded. Roman couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or not. “But I, um, I’m going to go take a cold shower. Figuratively, not literally. I hate the cold. I’m going to go jer- I’m going to go take a shower. And you can do whatever you need to do or take one after me. And then we can just hang out. Does that sound alright?”

Roman was a bit surprised Virgil seemed so together. Not anxious. He was still a bit rambly but mostly together. Maybe he was just trying to put on a face for Roman’s sake. Either way, he was grateful that Virgil was taking the lead on this one, however odd it may be for the other Side. Smiling, he nodded. Virgil returned it and wandered off to the bathroom.

But when he returned, Roman was nowhere to be found.

=======================

They both slunk out in the night, stumbling to the Neutral Zone with similar goals in mind. Consciously or unconsciously, it was impossible to tell. They were just hurting and that was enough to draw them together.

Still, they looked surprised at the sight of each other, Roman on the stairs leading up and Remus surfacing from the basement. It was dark but the red and green of their clothes seemed to stand out. They stayed silent, staring at each other wordlessly, waiting to see who would move first.

It was a third figure who broke the silence.

“Sup guuurlssss,” Remy slurred as he drifted through the living room, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. Both of the twins jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, but Remy was already wandering towards the hallway by the time they realized who exactly it was. “Go to the dreamspace if you’re going to destroy anything, bitches. Toby will be pissed if you touch his shit. Byeeee.”

The twins watched the Neutral Side walk away, his shuffle making him seem to float away in a very dream-like manner. But that was just how Remy was and they could ignore him and soon they were once again focused on each other. Remus spoke first.

“So why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“But I’m older.”

“Explain or I fart and wake up the whole floor. And you know how smellicious this tank can-”

“Ugh. Okay, fine.”

“Well?”

“...”

“Princey.”

“What was the question?”

“Why are you here, Prince Boring?”

“Um, well…”

“Just spit it out, brother mine.”

“How do you sex?” Roman blurted bluntly.

Remus started at him. He blinked. Once. “What?”

“How do you do sex?” Roman repeated, looking flustered. “I can’t.”

To his credit, Remus was quiet for a full three seconds before bursting out laughing.

Roman scowled. “It’s not funny! I just… I can’t.”

Remus tried to smother his laughter to a series of giggles, wiping a couple fake- or real, who knows?- tears out of his eyes. “Oh Princey! You should’ve come to me sooner! I tried giving Seth some crash course kink lessons from yours truly but Toby hit me. Really hard. It was hot. Janus let me do my whole spiel on him but it’s no fun when you’re fucking the guy you’re teaching because he already knew all this stuff when he signed up to be my fuck buddy but now that you’re-”

“Stop. I already regret this,” Roman said, waving his hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Poopy.” Remus didn’t actually sound disappointed, a blessing in disguise. 

“I just… can’t get into it.”

“I know what you mean,” Remus said, surprising Roman. When Roman didn’t speak, Remus continued. “I can’t do feelings. All that romantic stuff? Bleh. Not for me. But I feel bad because I think Janus would like it. I’ve tried but it just feels like it’s… not… there.”

Roman suddenly felt a surge of mutuality for his brother. He was voicing exactly how he felt. Well, not exact. Opposite, really. But he felt understood. “Do you think it’s because of the split?”

“I- Maybe,” Remus admitted with a shrug. He rubbed a finger under his nose. Roman almost reached out to stop him from picking his nose but he was just scratching his mustache. “It feels like… like… I’m a mirror. And I shattered. A long time ago. And someone taped me back together. They really tried but they did an awful job. There’s sharp pieces sticking out everywhere ready to cut your hands open so you can watch as you bleed out but the reflection’s all fucked up and you just see all the dark, awful… goop inside of you. And there are pieces missing. And I don’t know where they are.”

“They’re probably in me,” Roman said softly. “I don’t feel like-” He gestured loosely in Remus’s direction- “that. I feel like- like a mirror that broke but got put together with glue. They made something new and it’s- it’s art. But it’s still broken. You just can’t always tell but it’s real and it’s there.”

Remus nodded, uncharacteristically solemn. He was playing with his hands, like he was nervous. Roman noticed tiny cuts on his hands around his fingernails, like he was picking at them. He wasn’t picking now though, just fidgeting. Like Virgil. “Do you think we’d be whole together? As King Creativity? Do you remember if he felt normal?”

Roman hesitated. “I don’t remember. But I think… Remus, I feel so empty all the time. Like I’m only half a Side. And not just about the sex thing. I feel so- so- so-”

“Oblique?”

“Oblique,” Roman whispered. “And I want to feel normal. And I think maybe we can do that if we tried to… I don’t know, unsplit?”

Remus didn’t say anything but his face betrayed him. With decisiveness, he offered Roman his hand. And Roman accepted it.

No longer would they be broken mirrors of each other. No longer would they be oblique. Soon, they would be whole once again.

Next chapter

[ethanalter]

‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ Postmortem: Joseph Fiennes on the Commander’s Many Power Plays

Joseph Fiennes as Fred Waterford in ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ (Photo: George Kraychyk/Hulu)

Warning: This post contains spoilers for the “A Woman’s Place” episode of The Handmaid’s Tale.

“He looks like a Midwestern bank president,” Offred remarks of the Commander in Chapter 15 of The Handmaid’s Tale, as he prepares to deliver the benediction that begins the monthly breeding ceremony. The Handmaid goes on to mention other details about the seemingly benign man who will soon use the authority vested in him by the Republic of Gilead to rape her, noting his “neatly brushed silver hair,” stooped shoulders, silver mustache, blue eyes, and “large hands with thick fingers.” None of those identifying markers accurately describe Joseph Fiennes, the actor who portrays Commander Fred Waterford in Hulu’s version of The Handmaid’s Tale. Svelte where the novel’s Commander is beefy and boyishly handsome compared to his much older counterpart, Fiennes’ Waterford more closely resembles a strapping 40-year-old New York lawyer or Silicon Valley tech tycoon than a retirement-age Kansas banker.

Speaking with Yahoo TV, Fiennes cheerfully violates a standard Hollywood rule by insisting he’s actually older than he appears in the series. “I’m knocking on 50,” the British-born actor says, laughing. “So I feel pretty middle-aged. I’m much older than Yvonne [Strahovski] and Lizzie [Moss]. But you’re right, I’m not 65.” (For the record, Fiennes will turn 46 later this month, making him 12 years older than both of his 34-year-old female co-stars.) Whether Fred looks like he’s 45 or 65, though, Fiennes feels strongly that his appearance doesn’t alter the character’s fundamental menace. “It’s a rape culture,” he says of Gilead, and Waterford’s place in it. “For me, it’s spitting hairs as to the age of the monster. It’s abhorrent whatever way you look at it.”

Beyond physical appearance, Fiennes’ performance parts ways with the character in the novel in another key change that could also be chalked up to age. Margaret Atwood’s version of the Commander is relatively secure in his authority over the household and the women in it, a self-confidence that perhaps stems from the respect the young are expected to give their elders. The Waterford we’ve watched throughout the series to date exudes less comfort with the power that being an architect of Gilead has conferred upon him. His uneasiness in his role as master of the house is on full display in the show’s sixth hour, “A Woman’s Place,” not just in the present-day sequences, but also in the flashbacks to the pre-Gilead America. Those sequences reveal that Serena Joy was once the alpha in their relationship and, as the author of the bestselling book that gives the episode its title, a willing accomplice in making their once-theoretical theocratic state a reality.

Yvonne Strahovski as Serena Joy in ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ (Photo: George Kraychyk/Hulu)

It’s Serena, for example, who insists that Fred keep the faith when his resolve seems to waver once the marching orders to overthrow the U.S. government are issued. “There’s pain now — so much of it,” she whispers to him in a darkened movie theater after he voices concern about the hurt their actions will cause. She’s equally assertive when it comes to their sex life. In a flashback seen earlier in the episode, a between-meetings Serena races Fred upstairs for their latest attempt at a babymaking session. “I’m not your boytoy, I need to be romanced,” Fred semi-jokingly says as his wife tears at his clothes, trying to slow her down long enough to deliver a prayer blessing their union. “That’s a little tongue in cheek,” Fiennes says of Waterford’s “boytoy” reference. “It’s young love, and they’re in the throes of passion. That’s their tragedy: they came from a position of boundless love and are set in traditional values, but they lose each other.”

In fact, “A Woman’s Place” depicts the exact moment where the Waterfords go their separate emotional ways. Emerging from a meeting with the future rulers of Gilead, Fred tells Serena Joy — who has been patiently waiting in the hallway to address the group — that the all-male room isn’t interested in hearing her speak. “I won’t give up trying,” he vows, as she makes her way to the exit doors promising to see him at home. As soon as she’s gone, one of Fred’s collaborators enters the hallway and emphasizes that Serena Joy’s educated voice won’t be welcome going forward: “This is our fault; we gave them more than they could handle. They put so much focus on academic pursuits and professional ambition, we let them forget their real purpose. We won’t let that happen again.” In the span of two sentences, Serena Joy has been re-classified from the collective “we” to the external “they,” and Fred allows it to happen without any argument.

Without her knowledge or consent, Serena Joy is excommunicated from the Gilead inner circle (Photo: George Kraychyk/Hulu)

“Serena Joy was this extraordinarily powerful voice in the room,” Fiennes says. “That was his big attraction to her. She had the ideas. But as Gilead came into fruition, she and Fred became the architects of their own unhappiness,” Fiennes says. “Fred recognizes that, and as he ascends through Gilead authority, he doesn’t support his wife. He doesn’t deny his authority in order to stand by her. He goes with it, because he’s ambitious. It’s a real tragic story, I think, Fred and Serena.”

And yet, Fred’s willing betrayal of his wife is clearly eating away at him. That’s why his attempts at asserting his husbandly authority often come across as petty rather than powerful. When she tries to engage him in a discussion about an upcoming event, he simply brushes her off. “I’m sure you’ll make it all look perfect,” he says, condescendingly, and consciously putting her in the place she designated for herself in her book.

Fred’s discomfort in Serena Joy’s presence also explains his willingness to invite Offred into the private world of his study. While his wife knows his past all too well, this Handmaid is a blank slate. Furthermore, as his employee — more than that, his property — he’s already approaching her from a position of power. (For his part, Fiennes points out that the suicide of Offred’s predecessor deeply unsettled Fred, causing him to question his control over his household and resurrecting the doubts he once expressed to Serena Joy and has since tried to suppress.)

Offred isn’t blind to Fred’s insecurities, most notably other peoples’ perceptions of him and the society he’s helping to build. In a pivotal encounter midway though “A Woman’s Place,” Fred upbraids her for paying insufficient attention to his complaints and dismisses her from the study. Pausing at the door, she summons her courage — and swallows her pride — and turns around with a seductive expression plastered on her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, pitching her voice at Marilyn Monroe-levels of breathiness. “Can I stay here with you? Please?” It’s obviously an act — she knows it, and he knows it as well. But it’s the kind of pantomime of sultriness that Fred also knows he’s meant to respond to as a red-blooded male. Summoning her over to his desk, he allows his hands to linger on her body as he moves his face in close to hers. “Kiss me,” he half-asks and half-orders, and when Offred’s first kiss fails to maintain the illusion, he forces her to do it once more, with feeling.

Fiennes remembers performing multiple variations on that scene with Moss, and says that their performances changed as they observed the way the power dynamics in the room kept shifting from Fred to Offred and back again. “There were different nuances to it, because we were studying each other and enjoying the play on power on losing control,” the actor says, revealing that the scene was originally scripted to be part of the fourth episode, but showrunner Bruce Miller decided to delay it for “A Woman’s Place.”

“Fred has been corrupted on power; he’s drunk on authority to a degree,” Fiennes says. “He feels empowered, probably because he doesn’t have power in the bedroom — he can’t get it up with Serena — and he’s finding his sense of control through the Gilead architecture and uniform. I’ve really thought of this series as a study in the corrosive effects of power.” Sure enough, Fred chooses the cruelest possible power move to end his encounter with Offred. After savoring her second kiss, he looks down at her with a smile that’s equal parts affection and disdain, and banishes her again, saying, “Sweet girl. Big day tomorrow — get some sleep.”

Gilead’s Handmaids are put on show for a visiting trade delegation from Mexico. (Photo: George Kraychyk/Hulu)

The “big day” that he’s referring to is an elaborately choreographed dinner overseen by the Waterfords in honor of a visiting trade delegation from Mexico. This state visit is yet another reason why Fred is struggling to solidify his authority, this time within the larger republic rather than just inside his home. After all, if the visiting diplomats aren’t impressed with what they see, Gilead’s new government faces economic ruin just as they are trying to consolidate power. This is all narrative territory that Margaret Atwood was only able to hint at in her novel, as Offred’s point of view didn’t extend to Gilead’s diplomatic policy. And, in a chilling development, we learn exactly what the government intends to use as barter for trade with Mexico: Handmaids.

It’s an economic model that deliberately recalls the shameful centuries-old days of the American slave trade, and, like many self-professed men of faith at that time, Fred has been able to sublimate his religious beliefs to the gods of capitalism. Or, as Fiennes puts it, he’s learned to compartmentalize. “He’s able to detach himself from the realities of what’s going on. We’ve already seen him involved in this thinly veiled excuse for procreation that’s nothing short of rape,” he says. “He’s fully cognizant of the fallout, but in his mind, he’s reaching for the greater good. And the Handmaids are already so low on the social-class structure that they are nothing more than walking wounds.”

For all his failings, Fred ends “A Woman’s Place” on a pair of triumphs — one political and the other personal. First, the Waterford-hosted dinner bash is a resounding success, ensuring a Mexico/Gilead alliance. Later on, back at home, Fred and Serena Joy enjoy their first intimate coupling in months, if not years. And why shouldn’t they celebrate? Like the old days, they’ve just teamed up to execute a masterful feat of stagecraft, one capped off with an appearance by the only currency that matters in a fertility-challenged world — children. At the height of the dinner, Gilead’s population of young boys and girls are led inside, brightening the room with their shining faces. And there’s Fred amidst the gaggle, beaming proudly as if he’s the father of these children, which, in a sense, he is. He may not have anyone to call him “Papa” in the childless house he shares with Serena Joy and Offred, but he’s helped birth the new society these kids will inherit.

The Waterfords overseeing their successful dinner party (Photo: George Kraychyk/Hulu)

At the same time, watching Fred enjoy that victorious moment inspires a potent psychological question, one that eludes Offred in the book. Having a baby is Waterford’s duty, both as a man of faith and a leading citizen of Gilead. But how much does he actually want to be a father? As a man who is already demonstrably insecure in his own authority, does he have the capacity to love and raise a child? Asked that question, there’s a momentary pause on Fiennes’ end of the line as the actor — who has two children in real life — contemplates his alter ego’s state of mind. “I’ve always felt, in a weird say, that there’s maybe an undercurrent of blame towards Serena,” he eventually replies. “And the great joke is that it’s not her fault! That sense that they tried for so many years, and that she let him down because she’s supposedly barren. Maybe way, way back in the mind, there’s the thought that he could be sterile — I don’t think Fred has worked that one out. He’s past that point [of fatherhood]; I think he would love to have [a child] as a marker of his prestige, his authority, and his masculinity. But I don’t see him as a loving father figure to a child. It would just be another badge for him to wear.”

The Handmaid’s Tale releases new episodes on Wednesdays on Hulu.

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