#there’s something about lesbians saying they’re excited to grow old together

[runestele]

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[bumbleklee]

Honey (Kaeya x M!Reader)

CONTENT WARNING: Internalized homophobia, cursing, alcohol/drunkenness, fist fight scene and mentions of blood

Before Reading: this one-shot uses the f-slur a few times but please keep in mind that I am a lesbian who has been called this word many times in the past so I am reclaiming it through writing. like in the content warning, this story is basically all internalized homophobia so if this subject makes you wary - please don’t read! story is under the cut for sensitive topics

You remember your first love dearly. It was Jean and you were thirteen. She was your best friend and you loved her beauty more than anything in the world. She was kind to you even when you were cruel to her to impress your male friends. It was hard not to fall in love with how she loved you.

When you were sixteen, you dated Jean. Your first kiss was with her, you found comfort in her. You even imagined spending the rest of your life in Mondstadt married to her. Unknowing to you at the time, Jean became your shield. You paraded her around to shut down rumors and broke her heart to save yours. You aren’t expecting her sigh of relief when you begin to question if she was the one for you.

You break up with Jean when you’re eighteen. She was tired and you knew she deserves someone better. You never stopped loving Jean.

When the rumors swirl again, you try to play them off. People wondered why you and Jean had broken up - were you hurting her? Was she cheating on you? Were you cheating on her?

Of course not.

Were you gay?

You didn’t understand what it meant to be gay, so you couldn’t be gay. 

Kaeya is open about love. He says he loves anyone - boys and girls and every other gender. He was proud yet you still didn’t understand. How could someone love so many different people when there were rules? You want to help Kaeya realize this - help him realize he’s only supposed to love girls.

For the next year, you examine Kaeya closely. You accompany him to bars after work and watch him leave with a plethora of different people. One night, he finds solace at the table with a male knight whose name you couldn’t remember. You can only watch their lips press against each other for a moment before retreating to the bar.

“How insensitive,” You mumble, catching the eye of Diluc. He finishes drying a glass and fills it with wine, pressing it towards you gently.

“Are you jealous?”

Your eyes snap up and you let out a breath of shaky laughter. “Jealous? Your brother is sick in the head - he needs to convert before it’s too late.”

Diluc is tight-lipped. To him, you look sick in the head. His relationship with his brother may not have been the best but never would Diluc resort to such hateful thoughts. Kaeya was, well, Kaeya. You stare at him, waiting for him to say something - say anything.

“I can’t believe you’re defending that faggot.”

With a quick movement, Diluc pulls your drink away and it’s hastily thrown in your face. The alcohol drips into your eyes and you seethe.

“Leave. And don’t come back.”

“Gladly.”

He just didn’t understand.

You expect Kaeya to avoid you like the plague after your outburst at the tavern yet the next morning he’s glued to your side at work. His demeanor is off but when you look at him, he smiles.

Anytime you try to bring up your concerns about Kaeya’s sexuality to him, he simply laughs and tells you how funny you are. You get angrier each day and start to spend free time in the church praying to Lord Barbatos to please help Kaeya.

You speak to your parents about your actions and they’re proud of you. Especially your old man. He’s withering away by the day but is still conscious enough to tell you your hair is getting too long - too femine - and you need to cut it. You appreciate him.

Jean is still your rock. She knows more about you than you do.

When you realize how pretty Kaeya looks during the Windblume Festival, Jean is the first person you tell. You’re panicking, scared you’ve come down with a fever and are having hallucinations. Jean just rubs your back and tells you you’re fine.

“You like him,” She says.

“No, I don’t. I can’t.”

Her smile falters and she makes you look at her in the eyes, “It’s okay to like him.”

You pull away from Jean, angry you might say something you don’t mean. You stay far away from Kaeya and Jean for the rest of the festival, denying the frazzled thoughts that are swarming your mind. When Amber confesses to you at the end of the festival, you pull her into a storage closet and kiss her until you can see clearly again.

“We’re in love,” You tell Jean days later. She looks up from the paperwork on her desk.

“It’s been a week.”

She thinks you’re joking. “We’re soulmates,” You continue and Jean’s soft laughter stops. You wait for her to deny it, to protest against your newfound relationship, but she never does. She just sighs and waves you back to Amber.

On a particularly bad day at work, Jean surprises the knights with food and drinks from The Cat’s Tail. You drink so much that you forget you’re there with Amber and by the time you remember, she’s stormed off to find someone else. Instead, you stay near Kaeya as the taller man tells you a story about an adventure.

It’s fine until his arm loops around your waist and your senses overwhelm you again. You shove Kaeya away and his back hits the bar counter. The tavern grows quiet and Kaeya quickly makes a loud joke about how horrible you were at dancing. You pretend you don’t see the hurt in his eye.

All you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

You retreat to the table Jean is sitting at and Kaeya pulls Albedo towards him. The chief alchemist, for once, looks excited. Your chest tightens and you stare at the pair with a heavy gaze.

“Albedo is a fag, too,” You start causing Jean to sigh sadly, “He’s a fag and he’s all over my -”

You stop abruptly. What were you going to say? The word that lingers in your mind makes you feel sick to your stomach. As soon as you got home, you were going to repent for even thinking of it. Jean touches your arm lightly, “Y/N…”

You pull your arm away, “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Three months later, Kaeya kisses you.

It’s short and sweet and you’re rambling about how you think him and Jean would make a cute couple. His lips are soft and taste like honey and you feel like you’re flying.

Soaring through the wind until suddenly you’re not.

You hit the ground.

It hurts.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, trying to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. This was horrible - it was all wrong.

“Please,” Kaeya begs, “Shut up.”

You run from him. Your feet take you far into the Whispering Woods and your hands press on your temple with so much force you think you’re going to break. Everything you knew, everything you believed in, was flying out the door and you couldn’t grab onto it. You’re sick - you have to be. There’s no other reason why the only want in your head is Kaeya’s lips on yours again.

You scratch at your skin, curl into yourself and scream.

Kaeya avoids you and you avoid him. You thought this would solve everything - if Kaeya wasn’t around you, he wouldn’t be able to taint you. Yet anytime you looked into his office and saw emptiness, your tongue ached for that sweet taste of honey.

You miss him so much and one day, your emotions get the better of you. You wait for him to stumble out of the tavern and when he does, you grab him. Your mouth gaps like a fish out of water, trying to formulate the right words to say to him.

“What?” His voice is cold, venomous, “Going to call me a faggot again and run away?”

Your heart breaks, “We can get through this together -”

Kaeya snaps his arms away, “You still don’t fucking get it! There’s nothing to get through, Y/N! I’m who I am and I am so fucking tired of waiting around for you to realize who you are!”

“I hate you.”

The words tumble from your lips and Kaeya’s fist collides with your cheek. You try to fight back but Kaeya is stronger. He shoves you down, straddling your hips and clenching your shirt in his hair. His eye is filled with bitter tears and he lands another punch to your face.

“I’m sorry that you were taught to hate love,” Kaeya continues, “I’m sorry you can’t accept that I love myself and you hate yourself!”

Your hands claw at Kaeya’s face, managing to tear off his eyepatch and reveal his blinded eye. Kaeya lifts you by the hold on your shirt only to slam you back down into the concrete. By now, there’s a small crowd of drunken knights surrounding you both.

“You’re mental!” You cry out, “You need serious help or you’re going to go to Hell! I don’t want you to go to Hell, Kaeya!”

Kaeya gives you one last punch, this one to your nose, and gets off your. You feel warm blood trickle past your lips and your head is pounding. He looks at you with an expression that makes you start crying yourself.

“I’ll go to Hell if it’ll save me from you.”

It takes you twenty minutes to get up and finally tread home. Your parents are already asleep and when you look in the mirror, you see the dried blood covering your lips and chin. Your nose hurt to the touch.

You fall into a deeper hole than you ever thought you would. You stay in bed for three days straight, blaming it on a cold, until Jean shows up at your door to drag you back into the sunlight.

You don’t feel worthy to be seen by the sun.

She takes you on a walk through Spingvale and you sit in front of the lake. You feel embarrassed, your hands folding on top of each other.

“We have to talk about what happened.”

You don’t look at Jean. Your shoulders tremble and you lean in closer to your knees. “I’ve been trying to push...it...away for so long,” You start. Your voice is a hushed whisper and you hardly recognize it. “But it’s like there’s this flashing light that keeps reminding me.”

“It’s because it’s who you are.”

“That’s the problem.”

Jean is quiet for a moment before reaching over and placing her hand over yours.

“My parents told me growing up that love was between a man and a woman and that Lord Barbatos would punish the souls who didn’t obey that. I don’t...don’t want to get punished, Jean.”

Your hands are shaking. Jean rubs your thumb, “Lord Barbatos would never punish anyone for being in love.” You feel shameful again. “But you don’t love Amber.”

You didn’t. You truly didn’t. In fact, you had forgotten about her during your depressive episode. You felt horrible - you had hurt so many people just to hide from the truth. Tears well in your eyes again and you don’t know what to do.

“Listen,” Jean says comfortingly. You finally look up to meet her tired eyes - the same eyes from back when you were eighteen. “I’ll talk to Amber for you. I think you owe someone else a visit.”

Without another word, you took off. You hoped Kaeya was around and not on a commission because if you didn’t say what you needed to say now, you never would. Thankfully, you find him sitting at his desk at the Headquarters. You stand in the doorway and clutch at your sleeves, your heart pounding.

In that moment you realized you couldn’t do it alone - you couldn’t be yourself alone.

Without someone guiding you through this, you would fall into old habits and never progress. If you continued to shove your truth far, far away then you would lose Kaeya forever.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Kaeya finally asks. His voice is much kinder than days prior.

“I love you.”

Time freezes and you stare at each other. The words linger in the air but you know there’s no taking them back. Kaeya was expecting another half-assed biblical chant about how you could change him. He was never expecting a love confession.

You realize you’ve been moving closer to Kaeya when his hand reaches out to touch your cheek. He rises from his desk and leans in, pressing his lips to yours ever so slightly. As soon as you taste honey, you feel sparks fly.

You lived in a world of hatred and darkness, waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel to arise. And Kaeya was that light.

[midnightkens]

To Know

The first time Natasha has the thought, she’s seven years old.

The dress is stuffy; the collar feels like a weight around her neck and Mama scowls when Natasha reaches up to tug at it. “For God’s sake, bambina,” she sighs. “Can you give it a rest? You can take it off in a few hours. You know what your father will say if he catches you playing with it again.”

At seven years old, Natasha already knows many things. She can create circuit boards, mentally solve equations that send adults running for their calculators. Yes, she knows many things, but the first thing she ever learned? Howard Stark isn’t a good father. As far as she’s concerned, Jarvis is her father. Natasha knows better than to say all of that. Instead she allows her gaze to wander around the room, taking in the sights of all the other girls in dresses and the boys in their suits.

“I wish I could be a boy,” Natasha tells Mama. “They get to wear suits and I have to wear this dumb dress.”

Mama laughs, and Natasha’s heart soars, though she’s not quite sure why her mother is laughing. She doesn’t laugh much, but it’s one of Natasha’s favorite sounds. “Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Mama says, readjusting her hair bow. “You’re such a pretty little lady.”

Pretty little lady. The words leave Natasha feeling nauseous, and for the first time in a long time, she can’t figure out why.

**

At eight and a half years old, Natasha cuts her own hair. It’s short, a mop on her head, and when Mama shrieks that she looks like a boy and what have you done to your beautiful hair? Natasha grins in satisfaction. Jarvis fixes it and gives her a soft smile. Jarvis doesn’t care that Natasha prefers jeans and t-shirts over dresses, doesn’t care that she cut off her long, curly hair. He loves her just as she is.

When he takes her to the full length mirror to take a look, Natasha’s heart flutters happily and she can hardly contain the rush of excitement. Yeah, she thinks. This is right.

**

Natasha gets detention for refusing to wear a skirt when she’s eleven years old. Pants are more comfortable, she insists. The boys get to wear them!

Dad shouts at her over the phone, hisses that she’ll never be a boy. Natasha aches for the ground to swallow her up, drag her down to the endless void where she doesn’t have to be anything. The words rise in her throat, I’m not a girl, I’m not a girl! But they die as quickly as they rise. At eleven years old, Natasha knows many things. She’s in high school at eleven years old, nearly on her way to college coursework. Natasha doesn’t know how she knows this, but it’s the most important fact that resides in her brain.

Natasha Stark is not a girl.

**

Her body is wrong. When her voice should begin to deepen it remains high pitched, a soprano note that Jarvis and Ana gush over and that she wishes desperately did not exist. Her body begins to grow and change in ways that Ana had told her it would, but Natasha had just snorted and not paid attention to any of it. Her body begins to curve and her chest begins to grow and she bleeds. Natasha spends more time locked in her bedroom, absorbed in her robots so that no one can look at her and her horrible body. Her dainty, feminine, wrong body.

Jarvis and Ana whisper about her. They’re worried. Whenever they ask her about it, Natasha comes up with an excuse. I miss Mama and wish she would come home. Dad was being a jerk again.

Rich families are cutthroat. If Natasha doesn’t conform, behave exactly how they all want her to, she’ll be an outcast. She’ll be sent away to one of those horrible camps a girl at school was talking about and Dad would make Jarvis and Ana stop talking to her.

Keeping Jarvis and Ana was almost worth all of the wrongness.

Almost.

**

That same year, Natasha comes across the word transgender in a book she’s reading. It’s not often that she has to look something up. On a Thursday afternoon, after days of contemplation, she makes the trek down to her school’s library. The other students giggle when they spot her, Natasha the freak, and she sneers at them before turning to the card catalog. It takes what feels like hours to find what she’s looking for. LGBT 306.76. She follows the numbers, dives deep into the nonfiction section and frowns. It’s a small section, but she’ll make do. There she spots a book, She's not there : a life in two genders. Natasha pulls it off the shelf, reads about this person who everyone assumes to be a girl but really is a boy. There he defines the word Natasha saw, the word transgender: a person whose sense of personal identity and gender does not correspond with their birth sex.

It comes in waves, the realizations and relief and all of it. Everyone around her thinks that Natasha’s a girl, but something inside of her screams wrong! That’s wrong! She’s never had a word for it. And there are more people just like her? Natasha takes the book to a table and reads feverishly, taking notes.

She’ll never be able to do anything about it, but the more she reads, the more Natasha’s convinced of it. She’s transgender. Not wrong or horrible or broken.

Transgender. Natasha has more research to do.

**

She’s thirteen and alone in her room, staring at herself in the mirror. Mama says that she’s turning into a beautiful young woman, albeit not as proper as she would like. The last bit is always said with a tiny smile, so Natasha knows that Mama is joking. Mostly. And dear old Dad? Well, that bastard isn’t even around, so what does he know?

The bruises on her ribs scream in agony, but Natasha swallows down a hiss of pain. Howard isn’t here, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could break her someday. She may be broken, but at least she has Jarvis and Ana.

Jarvis and Ana, who teach her how to cook. Jarvis and Ana who don’t hit or shout when she burns banana bread and nearly starts a fire, who laugh with her and choose her.

Ana bought her these clothes, these jeans and a black t-shirt that’s just a bit too big on her petite frame and brand new Chuck Taylors. Alone in her bedroom, Natasha pulls her hair back grinning at the sight in front of her. She doesn’t see Natasha, or a pretty little lady or a proper young woman. The image in front of her is young, and a bit too earnest, and dammit, Natasha, why are you crying?

The image in front of her is a boy. He looks about two years younger than her, but she can work with it. Weak, fragile Natasha is gone. In her place stands a boy, an exuberant, funny, genius of a boy. The boy and Natasha reach out; their fingers touch, and Natasha feels more at home than she has since she was eight and a half, her waist-length hair clumps on the floor.

Natasha knows what her name should have been. Mama told her years and years ago, and it felt like it was hers. Anthony. Anthony Edward Stark. “Anthony.” Natasha whispers the name, crossing that line at last. After this there’s no going back. No more Natasha and dresses and bows and heels and skirts. There will only be Anthony and his jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, Anthony and his deep voice and his rightness.

Anthony moves his fingers away from the mirror, lets go of his long hair and the illusion shatters. In front of him stands a girl, a weak, broken girl in boy’s clothing. Who is he thinking? He can’t be Anthony. His mother would never speak to him again; Howard would toss him out on the streets. He’d be all alone. He wouldn’t even have Jarvis and Ana.

He’ll call himself Anthony, he decides. Or maybe even Tony. Anthony’s too posh, too formal, everything Howard loves and all things he hates. Yes, Tony. Tony sounds good, sounds right. He’ll answer to Natasha and wear the frilly dresses and play the part of a nice young woman. The thought sends waves of nausea so fierce that his knees buckle, but Tony can do it. He’s going off to MIT next year. Just one more year and he can be free.

**

Tony doesn’t last a year. Before his fourteenth birthday he’s in jeans and t-shirts, long hair pulled into a ponytail or braid. Howard hates it, tells him he looks like a rat and a slob, but what does he know? Mama’s away on longer and longer trips, which means longer stretches where he doesn’t have to wear those horrible dresses. Everyone still calls him Natasha, and he bites back a snarl and an My fucking name is Tony every time, but he manages. The masculine clothes don’t ease all of it, but they help.

**

MIT is a godsend. For the first time in his life, Tony is free to create his robots, live out from under Howard’s thumb, and finally be himself. The media hounds him, but for the first time in his life Tony doesn’t care. He cuts his hair again and rumors about him being a butch lesbian circulate and he just laughs. If only they knew.

There is just one thing wrong, other than himself. He’s younger than everyone else, smarter and he doesn’t know when to shut up. It’s nothing that Tony isn’t used to. He survived boarding school, and he’ll survive this too.

Then he meets Rhodey.

**

At first, they’re Jim and Natasha. Jim is older than Tony by two years, but they’re in the same year. They share the same general education class, Sociology 101, and they get paired together for a project. They both have single dorms, but two months later, Tony has practically moved into his room.

Jim is now Rhodey, but Tony is still Natasha. He yearns to tell him, stops and starts, the words dying in his throat. In a short amount of time, Tony’s become attached and anyone to whom he attaches himself winds up leaving. Tony’s too loud, too smart, he stays up too late and hyperfocuses on his robots. Rhodey doesn’t care about all of that, but Rhodey will definitely care if Tony tells him I’m not a girl, don’t call me Natasha, please call me Tony. Tony can practically see Rhodey recoil in disgust, shove him away and kick him out of his dorm.

Tony can’t, won’t, risk that.

**

Howard pays for an off campus apartment next year. Tony and Rhodey live in their own apartment, almost in their own little world. Howard doesn’t know that Rhodey’s living with him. Tony had mentioned it, but Howard had just grunted, not even paying attention.

It’s better that way.

**

Tony only binds his chest when Rhodey isn’t home. He knows he’s not supposed to wrap with ace bandages, but he has nothing else and he’s desperate. What he doesn’t count on his Rhodey coming home early, seeing Tony in the living room with nothing but his jeans and an ace bandage binding his breasts.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other, neither speaking. Then Rhodey opens his mouth and Tony bolts, locking his bedroom door behind him.

Goddammit.

**

Tony waits anxiously for a few days, almost begging Rhodey to say something and get the conversation over with, but he never does. Rhodey is good like that. Everyone else thinks Tony is weird, but Rhodey loves him for who he is, not in spite of it as so many people think. That much Tony knows to be true. But if Rhodey knew this about him, then Rhodey wouldn’t love him anymore.

Rhodey is everything. He’s friendship and love, late nights and delirious mornings, comfort and safety, and Tony aches desperately to hold onto him. They sit together in the living room, Rhodey doing homework and Tony fiddling with DUM-E’s arm. Rhodey is calm, but Tony is so tense that he can hardly stand it, and before he knows it the words, “Why won’t you call me a freak?” slip from his mouth. Rhodey looks up at him in surprise and Tony continues. “You walked in on me and you haven’t said a word! Go on! Call me disgusting! Call me a freak! Just get it over with. Dammit, Jim, why can’t you just get it over with and stop stringing me along?”

Rhodey sighs and shoves his textbook away. “I haven’t said anything because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Bullshit,” Tony hisses. “I’m a fucking freak and you know it! Everyone else already thinks it, so go on, have at it. Tell me something I don’t fucking know.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?” Tony’s face flushes with rage, but before he can retort, Rhodey’s up and crossing the room, standing right in front of him. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was a big deal. Nat, you stay up for three days at a time. You leave circuit boards and wires all over and forget to do your laundry. You’re loud and funny and one of the kindest people I know. This? The, what is it called, binding? It’s not even the weirdest or worst thing I’ve caught you doing.”

Tony deflates and stares at his friend for a moment. It’s not often that he’s speechless, and judging by Rhodey’s smirk, he must be thinking the same thing. “I guess you’re right,” he says slowly. “You really don’t think it’s weird?”

“Cross my heart.”

Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird. Rhodey doesn’t want to toss him away, discard and abandon him like the trash so many other people believe he is. Tony doesn’t deserve Rhodey, doesn’t deserve his kindness, love, or friendship. But with Rhodey, he feels the safest. If Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird for binding, maybe he won’t care about the other stuff? Tony’s heart hammers in his chest, his palms sweat and he sits on the floor. Rhodey sits across from him, reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“Rhodey, I have to tell you something.”

Rhodey waits patiently while Tony collects himself. Tony’s never said the words out loud before. Saying them feels like the end of a chapter, one more piece of Natasha gone. The idea of saying goodbye to Natasha is exciting, exhilarating, freeing. Tony takes a deep breath and looks into Rhodey’s eyes.

“I’m transgender.”

** Rhodey has questions, of course, he does, but he holds onto Tony tightly as he explains everything. How he never felt like a girl, how he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that he’s a boy. He’s a boy and he wants to die every time someone calls him Natasha, how he wants to burn every dress and makeup palette he owns, how he feels like himself in masculine jeans and t-shirts and suits.

And then Rhodey does something that shocks him. It’s a question. A simple one, really.

“What’s your name?”

And for the first time he gets to respond, “My name is Tony.” Everything falls into place, and Tony sighs, leaning into his friend. Rhodey pulls him all the closer and Tony affirms, “My name is Tony.”

“Okay, Tony,” Rhodey says with a wide grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

**

A few days later, Tony unlocks the door to the apartment and kicks off his shoes. Midterms suck, and he thinks he might actually eat dinner and go to bed early tonight. He stumbles into the kitchen, eyebrows raising curiously at the package on the table. There’s a note on top of the brown wrapping.

Tones,

Sorry if this is weird, but I just wanted to do something for you. I did research and everything says not to bind with ace bandages, so I got this for you. Let me know if it doesn’t fit.

And I know I didn’t say this before, and I should have, but thanks for trusting me.

--Rhodey

Tony opens the package and gasps when he sees what’s inside. He’s heard of these, but with Howard snooping through his credit card statements, it’s never been safe enough to buy one. The binder is lighter than he expected, but it feels like he’s touching gold. Tony rushes to his bedroom and puts it on, relieved when it actually fits. Then again, Rhodey knows everything about him. This is no exception. He puts his t-shirt back on, messes with his hair and looks at himself in the mirror. For the first time, he doesn’t see a girl pretending to be a boy. He sees himself, Tony Stark, and tears well dangerously in his eyes as he reaches up to touch his reflection. He’s still not exactly where he wants to be, he won’t be until he turns eighteen and can transition without Howard’s input, but the binder helps ease an ache inside of him, the ache that screams you’re wrong!

Tony doesn’t feel wrong, not with the binder, not with Rhodey calling him Tony and using masculine pronouns. No, for the first time in his entire life, Tony feels just right.

[dykeseinfeld]

u asked someone to remind you to post about your pjo dual protagonist thalia/bianca au and i am SO intrigued by this idea please say more

anon asked: hey queen hope your homework went good yesterday 🌸…now what were you saying about thalia and bianca 😳 ?

ok y’all i’m here...the moment almost none of y’all have been waiting for....bianca/thalia protagonists with alternating pov’s au

warning it’s kind of super long and may or may not read like a 2nd grader’s semi-coherent game of pretend so under the cut it goes!

so the main things you need to know about this au are 1. thalia survives and 2. annabeth’s + luke’s ages are a lil diff bc canon is my sandbox 3. i can’t decide if percy exists in this au or not (maybe y’all can help me decide?)

so the first book:

would start a few months after grover brought thalia (12), luke (13), and annabeth (10, not 7)  to camp half blood. they were chased by monsters sent by hades on the way, and thalia almost didn’t survive, but ultimately she got lucky and managed to send a bolt of lightning through her spear for the first time and they made it into camp

it’s been some time so annabeth is happy as a clam in the athena cabin doing her 10-year-old-with-severe-mommy-issues thing and luke is actually pretty popular with the hermes cabin bc he actually Met Their Dad Holy Shit and also he’s getting pretty good with a sword

at the same time, thalia is alone in the zeus cabin. everyone has been freaking out bc they all saw the huge bolt of lightning that incinerated a couple hellhounds as they made their grand entrance and What The Fuck Child Of The Big Three???

she’s also further isolated because chiron will take her for private training sessions sometimes, since she is clearly really powerful already and also Hades Himself was trying to kill her (chiron told her the reason was the big three’s pledge not to have kids, and maybe about the great prophecy? if he tells her that then she’s sworn to secrecy)

once grover leaves on another protector assignment, thalia mostly hangs out with luke, and annabeth. luke + annabeth both will try to eat meals with her at the zeus table but annabeth doesn’t want to get in trouble and luke is genuinely making friends in the hermes cabin so thalia will feel bad sometimes and send him back

kronos, seeing this bitter isolated child of the big three’s dreams: it’s free real estate

MEANWHILE

hades is Pissed that thalia survived and zeus got to break their oath And get the glory of a prophecy child

so he sends someone to take bianca (12) and nico (10) out of the lotus hotel and casino a little early.

grover is still their protector, but since the Stirring hasn’t begun in earnest yet and hades is lowkey determined to keep them safe, they make it back to camp half blood with no escort/incident

bianca + nico are put into the hermes cabin, and luke kinda takes them under his wing bc while he’s not bitter he still needs therapy bc this 14 year old has never met a pre-teen he couldn’t try to parent

luke introduces nico and annabeth since they’re the same age and they become really good friends!! she Loves mythomagic and he thinks her dagger is super cool and they’re both just really excited about camp <3

bianca is more reserved and resistant to the whole thing, and she wanders around alone exploring and runs into thalia in the zeus cabin

at this first meeting they get into a bit of a fight bc bianca is still in shock/denial about the gods being real, but thalia at this point has zero patience for this

anyway after that and maybe another scuffle during capture the flag or something they hit it off and become best friends in the way girls can, especially bonding over how they’ve both had to take on raising annabeth and nico basically on their own at the age of 12

~QUEST TIME~

thalia is given a quest for [unspecific reason] and chooses bianca and luke, they go off leaving annabeth and nico frustrated at home

quest hijinks etc, bianca is trying to figure out her parentage + her weird mysterious powers? and thalia is arguing with luke because he’s settling into camp/hero life really well actually but she’s getting progressively angrier with the gods for trying to kill her and also keeps getting dreams from kronos and doesn’t get why he doesn’t seem to remember all of the shit that the gods have put him through

bianca + thalia have las-vegas-style-heart-to-hearts where thalia shares her tragic backstory about her mother and her brother and how hades tried to kill her and even about the great prophecy and how she’s trying on this quest bc of that and her dad but at the same time these dreams are making her suspicious that he might’ve been responsible for her mom’s death.

bianca then shares her own stuff, about how terrified she was being on her own with nico having to protect him but also not remembering most of her childhood and not remembering her parents or how she ended up in the care of this lawyer and just the absolute mindfuckery that her memories/past are

luke is asleep in those scenes i guess lol 🧍‍♂️

anyway eventually they finish their quest in this massive climactic battle where bianca discovers her powers in a huge-showy-”i’m the ghost prince”-way and is formally claimed by hades which thalia sees as this Massive Betrayal obviously and bianca is horrified too because she knows what hades did to thalia but at the same time she’s just so happy to finally understand at least part of her past

thalia just reaches a breaking point though because everyone around her just doesn’t understand her anger and just when she thought she had found another sympathetic person who understood what she was going through she joins hades??? no. no fucking way. kronos reveals that he’s the one who has been sending her dreams, prob by sending some messenger who he possesses or smthing and when he offers thalia the chance to join him? she does (dun dun dun)

main beats of the rest of the series:

thalia and bianca on opposite sides of the war training to be the prophecy child, they come together a Lot and have like melodramatic fight scenes where they talk out their anger and try to get the other to join them bc they don’t want to kill each other

luke is extremely conflicted/betrayed and there’s a titan’s curse moment prob towards the end of the third book where they’re fighting and thalia is trying to get her to go with him but here he actually does go to join her (gasp!!) and is evil for at least one book but his heart’s not in it and he goes back to the good side eventually

by the point of luke’s betrayal, annabeth and nico are growing and developing and old enough to go on quests w bianca and by the last book they’re a main trio of sorts and their hypothetical character development is already making me emotional

there’s just a lot of general sexiness with foils and inner conflicts and bianca doesn’t even want to be the prophecy child but she needs to for the fate of the world and bianca is so angry at thalia bc thalia is a daughter of zeus and could control her powers and is perfect and just meant to be the prophecy kid, not some daughter of hades who they didn’t even have a cabin for before

hm maybe by either the last or second-to-last book thalia + bianca are close to reconciling or at least their interests are aligned for the moment and they read the text of the prophecy together and things go Wild bc they both think “single choice shall end his days” either is about luke or nico and it turns up the gas to their fighting both of them care about both of them and yeah

and then i can’t decide if there’s romantic arcs at all but if there were it would go like this:

just a dash of thaluke where at first it was luke having a one-sided crush but thalia misses him a Lot after she goes to kronos and wonders if it’s that she misses him or if it’s something More until to get him to defect there’s like a melodramatic moment in the fight where thalia kisses him and they go off to be Evil Together but it ends bc luke doesn’t believe in the cause and only joined her in hopes of getting thalia back to his side

once luke leaves/is kicked out thalia realizes that she didn’t love luke she just wanted a family and also in the second half of the series she realizes she’s a lesbian as a parallel to her redemption arc

bianca meanwhile is unconcerned w romance until she has her botl-hoe-moment where within one book she 1. runs into the hunters on a quest and has a thing with zoe nightshade who tries to get her to join plus tells her about that time she met thalia, 2. she goes to calypso’s island and falls in love w her in the moonlight or w/e and has her what-if moment, and 3. when they meet up that book thalia somehow knew abt zoe + calypso and seems almost angrier abt them  than the war?? weird bc bianca knows that thalia is Totally Straight right??

my main point is that bianca/thalia is our friends-to-enemies-to-lovers endgame thank you i will take my pulitzer now

[ashenpages]

Current Projects & Emoji Voting Key

Quick disclaimer: I’m a romance writer in all aspects of the term, so most of my works will contain mature content. Engage at your own risk, you know the rules, you’re responsible for curating your own experience of the internet, blah blah blah.

This post serves as a current mock up of fic ideas I’m either actively working on or considering working on next. You can drop me an ask about any of them, or just vote via the emoji combo I’ve assigned them.

Voting lets me know you’re excited about an idea and makes it more likely I’ll actually work on it. You can vote anytime, there’re no deadlines or winner announcements, just me gauging your interest by what I see in my ask box most often.

You can also ask me about the original stuff I’m working on currently. The current WIPs are Medusa centric and the emoji for them is: 🐍

Support my original work on Ko-fi and Patreon.

- Lupin: 🤑🤠💍  These are all oneshot ideas, between 5-15K each. If you want to vote for a specific idea, send me the emojis and the number of the idea.

Born from the idea that Goemon and Zenigata probably couldn’t be an item, my brain decided to come up with how I could write for them. Goemon’s teaching an ikebana class as part of his training, and Zenigata shows up as a student on forced recreational leave for his health from the ICPO. Zenigata wins the samurai’s heart through flowers. But what happens when Lupin and Jigen find out? (Only good sexy things, I promise. These beans are in a healthy polycule--be gay, do crimes) (WIP)

Jigen/Lupin, but it's Jigen deciding to seduce Lupin while wearing his own Lupin disguise. The thief is waaaaay too into it, and some artistry is taken with the sex so that they don't mess up the disguise too much during their encoutner.

Jigen/Zenigata/Lupin where Jigen has some fantasices about Zenigata, but is pretty sure they'll never happen. Tells Lupin about them. Suddenly the fantasies are coming true, in the middle of a heist, and Jigen doesn't what to do except get swept up in the moment and enjoy. Plot twist, it's Lupin dressed up as Zenigata granting all his gunman's dreams. Plot twist again, Zenigata catches them at it.

Zenigata/Lupin, where Lupin keeps doing good things in illegal ways and Pops has to find a way to punish him for it. Good thing for Pops Lupin's a masochist?

Trans!Lupin and Trans!Jigen premise: Jigen cares for Lupin after the master thief has top surgery, since Jigen has Been There and Done That. Caring, sweet, and a little sexy. Lupin is a much better patient than Jigen.

The one time Zenigata caught Lupin in an alley and kissed him and it was Jigen in disguise. Things get sexy anyway, and Zenigata has crushes on two thieves now. Lupin and Jigen "kidnap" him later for an evening of taking care of their inspector.

The background plot of Jigen's Gravestone where we see Jigen think he's done for and try to leave Lupin. Our thief has none of it, and we get to relish in the inherent eroticism of Lupin sitting in sniper fire, knowing Jigen's got his back. This is the moment I think Jigen finally believes he can be with Lupin forever.

I love the idea of something longer and more plot driven like a Lupin special where Lupin ends up in hot water and Jigen and Fujiko have to work together to save him. Jigen and Fujiko have such an interesting relationship. They're both partners of Lupin, they don't really like each other, they constantly screw the other over, but when it really matters they take care of each other. I'd like to see that highlighted a little more and also give them space to call each other out and bicker. Nothing sexy between them, but maybe a really interesting threesome with Lupin and Fujiko in a strap on once they save their boy.

- Sonic Vampire Novelist Coffee Shop AU: 📚☕💐

Shadow is an immortal vampire who has seen the world change for the worse too many times. These days it feels like he only lives for his coffee dates with Rouge, another immortal who loves each new era they encounter, warts and all. He has to admit that the book series she got him into speaks to him, at least. If someone in this era can understand him without meeting him, it can’t all be bad. But he hardly expected the goofy blue barista at the new coffee place to understand him the way those books do.

This is a novel length romcom romp with some big feelings about what it means to watch as things change, grow, and die. Expect lots of Big gothic feelings from this one, emotionally charged kissing, and overly-adoring sex. But also expect shenanigans from everyone in the coffee shop, which include Rouge, Amy, Tails, Knuckles, Cream, and more.

- Sonic Blazamy, "Like the Sun": 💖🌸💎

Amy Rose has been in love with Sonic for a while.

Or has she?

When the Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow, and Silver are trapped as the fuel sources for Doctor Eggman’s newest evil scheme, Amy teams up with Blaze, Rouge, and Cream to save them. With Sonic out of the picture and Amy fulfilling his role, was she ever really in love with him? Or did she just want to be like him?

This is a novel length epic romance with lots of competent women and lots of romantic Blazamy content. Expect flowery hopes and dreams, badass self-actualization, and glancing hand touches that give way to cuddly and sweet sex.

- Persona 5: 🗡🍛☕

After bringing down the Metaverse twice, Ryuji didn’t think graduating high school and figuring out what to do with his life would be so hard. Akira’s back in town, and the gang’s more-or-less all in Tokyo, but everyone else seems to have a plan while Ryuji just floats. How’s he supposed to change the world when he’s not a phantom thief anymore?

This is a novel length fic that addresses how powerless one can feel being just one person in the face of all the corrupted systems and bigotry the world has to offer. It’s about holding on to what you believe in, working through the doubt, and fighting your way to a better tomorrow with the power you do have. The whole gang is queer, featured relationships being Mako x Ann, Ryuji x Akira, Futaba & Yusuke as platonic life partners. Akira is polyamorous and omnisexual, Futaba’s asexual and aromantic while Yusuke is demisexual and very romantic, Makoto’s a lesbian, Ann and Ryuji are bi, and Haru’s pansexual, demisexual, and aromantic. They’re one giant band of queer Phantom Thieves, and even if they’re not really doing the Metaverse thing anymore, they’re still gonna save the world!

Also, I’m gonna make Makoto not a cop. That super didn’t age well. Zenkichi and his boss can work on making them better/abolishing them for other better organizations.

- Hades Game: ❤️‍🔥💀

Oneshot. I just really need to elaborate on the threesome you can have with them in-game, okay? Healthy and canon poly relationships are so few and far between, so often I have to do a ton of groundwork to explain why it’s working in the fic, but NOT WITH THESE KIDS!

Get ready for Meg helping Zag and Than be better at expressing their feelings, lots of kissing, and probably pegging.

- Castlevania Animation Trevor/Sypha/Alucard: 🧛🏰🛌

Castlevania gave Alucard a threesome last season, and I just really need S4 to give me him being taken care of by his partners. They’re probably not going to give it to me, so I’ll need to do it myself. This is just an everybody loves Alucard oneshot, with the gang’s signature banter (to an extent), Sypha being sexy, and Trever being remarkably sincere. This fic is gonna feel like that Ann Hathaway picture with Trevor kissing Alucard and Sypha holding the end of Trevor’s whip while she leans her head on Alucard’s shoulder adoringly.

- Devil May Cry Nico/Lady/Trish: 💋✨😈

Nico’s gay, okay? Like really, really gay. And Lady’s bi and not into men who make her pay bills, but very into women who make amazing guns for her and demonesses with hearts who fight by her side. Trish is ace, but loves people and is pretty attached to Lady at this point. Plus it’s cute when Lady blushes and says nice things like they’re insults. I don’t have super solid ideas for them yet, and I envision these more like a polycule where Lady’s with Nico and with Trish but they’re not with each other more than seeing it as a threesome, but who knows what might happen. This is probably 1-2 oneshots depending on ideas, but might turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested (or I can’t control myself and inspiration strikes).

- Post FMA:B Blind Roy & No Alchemy Ed: 👀👑🙏

This is actually an old novel-length fic I wrote ages ago and didn’t post that didn’t turn out well because I was new to writing sex when I first wrote it. The plot is good, and is all about Roy learning to work with his blindness to reclaim his ambition of being Fuhrer and changing the system to something that actually cares for its people. He and Ed reconnect, fall into bed, and both set about working through their respective traumas about being “useless” having lost their sight/alchemy. They go to Xing as an ambassadorial party to offer Amestris’s collaboration on Al and May’s Alkahestry experiments--and uncover a plot that might threaten both kingdoms.

- Age of Calamity continuity Mipha x Revali: 🦚🐟💘

The first time Revali noticed Mipha, it was in the heat of battle. She stole his mark, taking them down with a flurry of quick blows from her spear. Violence rained from her like water--and then she healed him on her way to her next battle. No questions, no conditions, just pure kindness. The usual need to measure himself against those around him was quiet in her wake. And Revali couldn’t understand it. But how to get to know more about her? A fish and bird may fall in love, but where would they live?

This fic could be a oneshot or novel length depending on how far down the hole I fall. I need it to cover time, but it could be done in linked vignettes or with actually covering events in detail. I may elect to do a oneshot just to get it done and out of my system faster. So much fic to write, so little time.

Expect trans!Revali, polyamorous Zoras, scary competent Mipha, songbird Revali, love confessions that are made up entirely of berating Link for not loving Mipha the way she wants him to, and breaking these characters a little outside of their assigned roles in BotW and Age of Calamity. Background Link x Zelda, and Urbosa x Zelda’s Mom.

- Epic desert romance about Urbosa and Zelda’s mom: 🏜🏝⚡

I just think Urbosa should kiss women and Zelda’s mom should get more development and maybe a name or something. Also, lightning imagery/metaphors/play.

It also went way over my head that Riju wasn’t Urbosa’s daughter the first time I played BotW, so now I want to write about the Gerudo queen who refused to produce an heir. The Gerudo are fascinating and have a very interesting cutlure, but I think it could be examined from a nonbinary perspective that rejected pregnancy and wanting to find a husband. Not in like a hateful way, but in a way that examines if that’s really right for everyone. There’s that shop in town that sells Voe armor, after all. Maybe finding a husband and having children isn’t something you have to do if you don’t want to. And Urbosa really doesn’t want to.

[b-u-c-k-y-b-a-r-n-e-s16-12-1991]

Back In The Day

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes know who they are. Heroes. Avengers. Saviours of the universe. Full-time frenemies. Here they discuss love, sexuality, and homophobia through the years.

Rating: Teen

Content: Homophobia mention, Hydra mention

Ship: Sambucky (alluded)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers (dw they just say 'Steve' like twice)

Word count: 1.8k

Tagging: @marvel-mushroom @lesbians-love-samwilson @purelyutilitarian @kiras-sunshine @daddypickle @icarusfellintomyarms @space-and-ace @fenny2613 @your-genderfluid-parental-figure @purple-cactus-cat @burntout-bi @classified-bluerose @disasterbionlineround2

——————————————————————

"Alright. When was the last time you kissed anybody?"

He and Sam have been sat here looking out over the water for an hour now, coaxing each other into talking about things they don't want to talk about. Trying to get to know each other. For Steve's sake, they say, in honour of their old friend. For the mission's sake, so they can work better together, more in sync. Not because they're curious. Not at all.

Bucky considers for a minute. When was the last time he kissed anybody? Were there some with Hydra; ones that he can't remember, didn't want, didn't choose, women that had to be seduced before he could put a bullet through their head. And then there are the ones that don't count, the ones he doesn't want to acknowledge...

"I don't know," he replies eventually. It's complicated. Everything's complicated. How old is he? Mentally? Physically? Legally? He doesn't know. Who is he? He doesn't know.

"Come on," Sam says, in a joking way that shows maybe he doesn't understand the mental gymnastics required to try and work this out. "What, have you never been kissed?"

"Course I have," Bucky mutters in response. "I don't know, it was..." He counts for a minute, remembers some things, forgets others. "Forty-one."

Sam's eyes get wide. "Forty-one years?" He sounds incredulous. He'll sound even more incredulous when he learns the truth.

"Uh, nineteen forty-one."

"You haven't been kissed for eighty-two years?" Sam says, disbelieving. "There are people who don't even live that long."

Bucky shrugs. "I can't help it. Trust me, if I had my way I'd be wrinkled and grey right now. Old. Normal."

Sam smiles weakly, and Bucky can see he's contemplating. Wondering what it must be like. To be so lonely for so long.

"So you really haven't..." Sam starts talking, then stops. Sometimes Bucky forgets he's technically old enough to be Sam's grandfather. It's times like these that he remembers. "Not even late nights in the army?"

Sam's teasing. He means well. He always does.

Bucky sighs; he says nothing but in less than two seconds Sam has picked up on it. Although he might act like it at times - jumping out of planes, not doing things early enough, never moving the seat up - that man is not stupid.

"Alright," he says carefully. "When was the last time you kissed a girl?"

"Nineteen forty-one."

"And the last time you kissed a guy?"

Bucky shuts his eyes, remembers Wakanda, the heat, the deep marron light of the setting sun, the peace, the distant sounds of rushing water and birds. A place of safety and calm and freedom. For a while. "Two thousand-eighteen."

Sam says nothing for a minute. Bucky hates this part. The telling; then, the waiting. Is he judging? Does he hate me? Does he see me any differently? Truth be told, he's never told anyone, but he's considered it a thousand times. Tell Steve. Tell any of the other Hiwling Commandos. Tell Hydra in those brief, flashing moments of clarity - maybe they'd have been so disgusted they wouldn't want him any more.

"And the first time?"

"Nineteen thirty-three."

Sam says nothing again, looking out across landscape before them. The water is gentle, a mirror, a mass of flaming reflection.

"So did -"

"Sam," Bucky interrupts before his friend can even begin. He offers a smile that just feels false to wear. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Alright."

Then, less than a minute later, "But -"

"Sam."

"Okay."

They're silent for a while.

"I just -"

"Oh my God, Sam," Bucky says. He's not irritated, per se, he just doesn't feel this is something he needs to discuss. "Can you not?"

Sam seems a little bashful. He looks out over the water as if it might start talking to him instead. "I just always thought you were, you know, the ladies' man."

"Well, maybe I'm the ladies' man and the man's man, alright?"

"But what was it like, you know, in the thirties?"

Apparently they're talking about it.

"I don't know, Sam," he replies, and he doesn't. He's lived so long and been told what to forget and what to remember that his memories of the thirties could be memories from two years ago, and his memories from two years ago could be fifty years old. "We didn't talk about it. It wasn't like anything, because it just wasn't acknowledged. And if it was... It was brushed under the carpet. A whisper about the weirdo neighbour. A funny look when you talk about certain people."

"But how did you know?" Sam asks, insistent. Bucky looks at him, confused, trying to ignore the way the light shines on his friend's face. "If no one talked about it, how would you know if you were... Bi, gay, whatever?"

"Well... How do you know you're attracted to someone?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, his mouth curving into a smile. "Well..."

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly. He should have seen that one coming. "Well, you know, I mean... Whatever. But, you know you're attracted to someone, right, whether you ignore it or ashamed of it or not - because you're aware that you feel shame or regret or something, I don't know. It's just..." He shakes his head, trying to find the right way to explain this. How do you explain something that just is? How do you explain that the sky is blue? It just is. How do you explain that you feel nervous? You just are. How do you explain feeling attraction? It just is.

"It's like, the minute you asked yourself, 'do I find guys attractive?' the answer had to be, 'I don't'. And if you had to actively tell yourself that, odds are, you did."

Sam nods, but the expression on his face is distant, contemplative. If he looks out at that water any longer he might just fall into it.

"You know," Sam says finally. "Growing up, in the eighties, there was this, uh, disease -"

"Sam, I lived through the eighties. I probably remember them better than you do."

Sam smiles. "Well, anyways, you hear about this disease on the news, and it was the only time you'd hear about gay people. I asked my mom once, 'what's a gay person?', and she told me, you know, in a sensible way, that it's someone who loves someone like them. For a while, I thought that meant, like, two black people, two white people, not two men or two women. Kinda traumatised me, to be honest," he adds with a sad-sounding laugh. "I thought it meant my parents would get ill, too, and I got so upset about it my mom had to explain what it really meant... I don't know, even for a straight guy, if the only time you hear about gay people is in conjunction with sickness, it scares you a little, because eventually, you think gay, you'll think disease, too."

A straight -? Right, Sam's straight. Bucky has to try and remind himself for a minute. Sam's straight. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't matter to him.

He nods. They didn't have this disease when he was a kid - or they didn't know about it - but he knows what Sam means. If you only heat about something in a negative context, it becomes negative in your head.

"They thought it was a disease when I was younger," Bucky says. "Just, in itself. A mental one. People tried cures, they weren't -" he looks down at his hands, unsure of whether he wants to think about this, talk about this. "They'd probably kill you. And when the war started, you know, you weren't supposed to enlist if you were having these 'inappropriate feelings and desires'. I was so confused, man," he says, and Sam looks at him because now he's really getting into the conversation, recalling how it was, and it still gets a little exciting when the memories piece themselves together properly. "They had this psychiatric test to see if you were mentally fit enough to join the army. I'd already, you know - what's it they say? - experimented at this point, so when I passed I really didn't know how."

"They say people don't care about it anymore," Sam says, and shakes his head with a bitter smile. "They do. They just aren't allowed to be so loud about it."

They stare out over the water now together, just watching the waves as the sun sinks beyond them, bathing the world in orange and inky blue. Bucky forgot he was supposed to hate this conversation. He forgot he doesn't get on with this man.

"If you could go back and tell them," Sam says, when the world has finally submerged itself into nighttime, and they really need to be getting back. "Your mom and your dad and your sisters. Would you?"

Bucky thinks for a minute. There's so much he wishes he could tell all the people he left behind.

"I'd tell them everything. All the little things and the big things. You don't realise how much you wish you could have said until you don't have the opportunity any more."

-----

That night, Sam sits awake in his room. It's late - it's been late for hours - and everything is shrouded in shadow and the faintly distorted shapes of the night.

He can't get the conversation with Barnes out of his head.

You don't realise how much you wish you could have said until you don't have the opportunity any more.

What would Sam say? What does he have to say? Who would he say it to? No one. Nothing. It's nothing. But how much of a nothing is it if you've been thinking on it for thirty years?

It isn't like his family should be going anywhere any time soon. They're all healthy, live safe lives, none of them are ridiculously old. But in his line of work... Any day could be his last. A well-placed bullet, a neatly-thrown knife, a bomb, malfunction in the suit, that's it, Sam Wilson no more. And he's told nothing to his Mom or his Dad or his sister, people who he loves more than anything in the world.

He should do it. He should call one of them. Now? He checks the time. It's nearly twelve, but his mom stays up late. Worrying about her boy, she says.

In the darkness, the blue light from his phone is as bright as a blanket of snow. Blinding. Disorientating.

He dials her number, and she, as always, picks up immediately.

"Honey, how are you?"

His mom sounds worried. She sounds worried every time he calls. This is it, she thinks, he knows she does, this is the time when it's not Sammy, it's one of his super friends, delivering the bad news that someone's finally done it. They've got the Falcon. It's the end of her beloved son.

"I'm good," Sam says with an uneven sigh, preparing himself. "I just have something I need to tell you."

[erinhime83]

So…so, since someone managed to get my muse all Sailor Moon happy, I figured I’d take the time to complete a couple of design sheets I’ve had sitting around for, like, a couple of years.  So, yeah, while this seems like this might have been an undertaking, they were all pretty much done around the same time as when the Sailor Aeolus design went up, except the last two.  I just had been too lazy to really finish them to be put on deviantArt.

I mean, it wasn’t that much of an undertaking to begin with, seeing as they’re all basically the same design, so it involved a lot of copy/pasting.  ;P

The only thing that I did to them for this was change their casual designs from their school uniforms to actual clothes because I had the idea of taking the school angle away and just make the story take place on, say, Aeolus, but I decided that doesn’t work 100% with what I have planned, but still.  Maybe they don’t have uniforms?  

I also did up the last two recently, but again, it didn’t take that much effort.  I just wanted to design the main villain, and then figured I might as well toss in her teammate as well.

Sailor Aeolus/Aeris Anemone/Erin O’Colley – CLEARLY, I didn’t do much to her since the last design other than changing up her civilian outfit like I mentioned.  I still love the idea of her hair being magically altered so no one knows she’s actually the princess Aeris (and I like how Aeris and Erin sound close enough that it’d make sense for her to adapt a more common name in hiding), but then the Millennium Crystal negates the magic and reveals the Aeolian royal family is quite alive and well.

Basically, when Aeris was young, her planet was attacked by the previous Sailor Nemesis, who did a hell of a lot of damage before the previous Sailor Aeolus (Aeris’ mother) faced her down.  The explosion that ended the fight ended Nemesis, and the common belief was that it ended Aeolus as well.  And since her family was nearby, they thought they had all died as well.  Aeolus took her family and hide them in order to protect them because of this, and the general idea was that the power of Aeolus was lost.

And yet, no one really thought much about the fact that this girl who was around Aeris’ age shows up at the Academy with the power of Aeolus, go figure.  They really just thought the power transferred to her instead of simply being reborn.  Erin (Erin being the nickname her commoner father gave her when she was born) is actually unremarkable as far as students are concerned – she’s a model student, sure, but she’s honestly just another face in the crowd to most people.  At least until it’s discovered she’s the lost princess of Aeolus.  For some odd reason, despite just having the power of Wind, Aeolus is considered extremely powerful and people want her power.  Doubly so with the Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Gaios/Terra Fitz – I think it’s funny how this character is now required to be dark skinned, no matter what form it is.  ;P  I like her eyeliner, and I have no idea why I gave it to her, lol.

So Terra is Erin’s best friend/roommate.  They started at the Academy at the same time, and have been together ever since.  Terra actually comes from a species that’s, like, 75% women, which, of course, changed the gender dynamic.  Since there’s so few men, no one really settles down with them because they need to be available to, you know, continue the species and all that.  Most couples are lesbian, obviously.

Terra comes from a different sort of family.  Her parents settles together, and even had another child.  Full blooded siblings are highly unusual.  As such, Terra’s upbringing was different than most of her people, and while she’s definitely a tomboy, she’s not exactly one-of-the-guys, either.  Mostly, this is important just because the previous Gaius was her aunt rather than her mother.  Her aunt never had any children, which is why the power went to her instead.

Terra is fiercely loyal to Erin, and people always think she has a crush on the redhead, but they’re really just BFFs.  Due to her tomboy nature, Terra is very hands on with combat, and is a bit of a tank in the group.

Aegir/Nereus Knight/Seamus Triteia/Patrick McHaley – Yeah, he’s got a lot of names.  >.<    But I guess it makes sense considering it’s the only male and he’s a villain hiding amongst the heroes.  Sorta.  

So before the attack on Aeolus, there was an uprising on Nereus that ended up displacing the Nereis royal family on Aeolus.  Seamus and Aeris basically grew up together because of this, resulting in them becoming super close.  However, when Aeolus was attacked, Seamus was captured and brought to the evil people in order to be brainwashed into helping them.

A little spoiler alert, but the brainwashing actually didn’t take full effect. He just sort of acts like it did because it makes his life a little easier. He developed a dark form of his power and took on the name Aegir, and fights alongside the villains for a while. However, they decided to have him infiltrate the Academy, and he took on the alias Patrick McHaley.  (Due to the fact that Nereids don’t believe in marriage, no one actually knows who Seamus’ father actually is, except for Seamus and his mother, so he adapts his father’s surname as his alias.)  

While at the Academy, he ends up becoming really close with Erin (of course), and decides to join her even before it’s revealed that she is actually his first love.  When he gains his own Millennium Crystal, it wipes away the evil form and reveals him to be Nereus Knight.  Except, like I said, he was never evil to begin with, so…yeah.  

Sailor Helios/Angelia De Helios – I really could have given her a more ‘alien’ form, but I figured I needed to separate her from Aerona, sadly.  

Sadly, I don’t have that much on the last members of the team.  She’s bubbly and happy and optimistic.  The only bit of drama she has going for her is the fact that her sister disappeared some time ago, and she’s been searching for her off and on when she can.  

Sailor Aethos/Sunny Colours – I really love Sunny’s design.  I think it’s funny I took the Iris name from her, but still gave her the rainbow hair, go figure.  But hey, she’s a soldier of light, and like refracts and it still totally works!  I really like her civilian outfit.  While it was stolen from someone else, I might have to find a use for it elsewhere…well, in this form, to be precise.  ^^;

Sunny probably has the most normal life.  Her sister doesn’t care for her very much, but otherwise, no much has happened in her life other than her becoming Sailor Aethos.  She enjoys being the guardian of her planet, and I believe her claim to fame is the fact that she’s the first to get a Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Erebus/Melody Draga- Melody is Erin’s cousin through her mother/Erin’s father.  Which is impressive, since her father is, like, 1000 years old.  Basically, her parents met because Seren has business on Aeolus, and Amelia was visiting her brother, and sort of caught the eye of Seren briefly.  They had a bit of fun which resulted in Amelia becoming pregnant and Seren bringing her back to Erebus with him.

Except she was one of many concubines/wives.  Melody was raised sort of separated from the rest of her half-siblings, although her father did care for her.  But she was a Halfling and the child of a commoner, so she was looked down upon.  So everyone was surprised when it turned out to be her that inherited the Erebus power.  

Melody is actually the only one who knows Erin’s true identity, but that’s mostly because she guessed/knew of Aeris’ nickname.  Aeris was pretty much her only friend growing up until her ‘death’, so she and Erin became really close at the Academy.  She’s also the second one to gain her Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Thanatos/Alex Lea – It’s sort of obvious that I based her hair off the Earthia Thanatians. I just thought it would be funny.  But I differentiated them by giving her normal skin.

Thanatos was an unknown member of the team until very recently.  They hadn’t known about the Academy or the other members for, like, ever, so the previous Thanatos’ have just sort of been winging it. They were rather surprised to learn they were actually a part of a team and very eager to send Alex off to the Academy to meet them.

The previous Thanatos is Alex’s grandmother, since the power skipped a generation.  She actually joined the Academy at the very start of the story, which is why her first form is a lot older than the others.  She hadn’t figured out her second form yet, but she figures it out very quickly with the help of the others.  She generally feels out of place because she hasn’t been around the whole time, but the others are very exciting to have her around and love being with her, and are very welcoming.

Sailor Nemesis/Topaz – Ugh, I love this design!  It absolutely sucks that she’s a villain.  >.<  Don’t ask me why I gave her species horns while trying to make everyone human-eque. I just thought it’d look cool.

So, obviously, Topaz lost her mother in the attack on Aeolus, and she one hundred percent blames Erin for this fact since she’s the one who now holds the power her mother sought.  Her entire reason for being is to get revenge for her mother’s death, which is one reason she sends Aegir to the Academy to get dirt on her.

She’s also completely in love with Seamus, which is one of many reasons he was abducted in the first place.  He obviously shows no feelings for her, since he’s always been in love with Aeris, but that doesn’t stop her from acting like they’re destined.  

She’s actually a very competent villain, but once Aeolus started to get involved in her schemes, she’s started to get a little sloppy, which is why, of course, the guardians are always able to get the upper hand over her.  I was thinking about giving her a Millennium form as well, but decided to keep that to be something only Aeolus and her team can achieve.

Sailor Eris/Morrisa de Helios – Again, I love this design sheet, and hate that the best designs are being used for the villains, lol.  This one has the best concept to boot.

So, obviously, Eris is Helios’ lost sister.  Basically, she was rather angry about the fact that her younger sister is the one who inherited the Helios power, and ran away.  She ended up coming across the previous Eris over there, who decided to bestow the power to her.

See, while the other powers are always inherited, usually between family members, the Eris power is always given.  It’s the reason why her secondary color is different from the previous form. Morrisa sort of hates playing second fiddle to Topaz, but she also doesn’t mind because she considers Topaz a close friend.

(I got a laugh at the thought of Topaz making them have sort of matching dressed and then wear the same shoes because she 100% would do something like that.)

Morrisa isn’t necessarily a bad person, just misguided and a little vengeful, which is why she works well with Topaz.  She’s not a huge fan of Aegir, but tolerates him for the most part, but feels hurt when he does got and betray him, since he was just always…there.)  Oh, and she does care for her little sister, which makes her missions interesting when she’s around.  

I was enjoying thinking about this story and was actually considering maybe doing a fan-fic for NaNo this year, lol.  But I figure I might as well toss up the designs somewhere rather than sitting on them for another three years, and it might as well be Tumblr, right? (Tumblr tends to keep the file size and not just have the shrinked version years later XD)

[canonicallysoulmates]

🎃Halloween themed wincest fic rec🎃

This fic rec is, primarily, Halloween themed but you’ll also find some horror as well as just in general autumn themed fics all to, hopefully, get y’all in the spirit of the spooky season!

There’s all sorts of ratings, some weecest, a non-related Hocus Pocus AU, hopefully you’ll find something to your liking among all of these fics.

As always please head all warnings and tags as some of these fics do contain graphic and heavy topics. 

Happy reading, and Happy Halloween my fellow wincest shippers! 🎃

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Halloween 

Eight-Legged Freaks. by anniespinkhouse

Sam/Dean (Wincest) Outsider POV. Takes place early in season 8 but no particular spoilers except for Sam’s hair. Biddy owns a candy store. She also talks to spiders. When FBI agents Sam Smith and Dean Jones investigate a possible haunting, on Halloween evening, the consequence of Dean eating too much candy is disturbing. It’s a race against time for Sam to find a way to return Dean to normal.

The Rocky Horror Sam Show by RockSaltandCherryPie *

Sam goes to a Halloween party and dresses up like Frank N. Furter but ends up looking more like a girl than anything else.

the one that lives behind his heart by Addie_D_123 *

Dean is the spark, Sam is the fire.

The Witch's Dance by brimstonegold and virtualpersonal *

It's either coincidence, or irony, but Sam and Dean find themselves hunting for a witch at The Witch's Dance, a party being given at the local haunted mansion on Halloween. What they find is not the kind of dance they expected.

hell is empty; all the little brothers are here by bellaaanovak

Dean just wants to make the rundown house they’re squatting in look cool for Halloween, but Sam isn’t so excited about strangers in corny costumes knocking on the door for candy. Not when there’s a gang of ghouls wreaking havoc in the neighborhood, anyways.

Greaspaint and Fairy Dust by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)

It’s Halloween. Sam’s least favorite holiday, and what should be the investigation of a simple salt and burn goes awry when Dean gets caught with his hand in the candy cauldron.

Here is where you’ll stay by belyste

Sam, Dean, and haunted hayride. Halloween!fic. 

A Winchester Halloween by ello_kitty *

 A short story about how the brothers spend the holiday.

Triple XY Or The Hunter, His Bitch And Their Offspring by mpregloveranon

This is the answer to this Halloween!Prompt over at the spnkink_meme. Without reveal to much already I’ll just keep the summary really short. After being cursed Sam is knocked up by his brother. On Halloween he is heavily pregnant with triplets and completely miserable. Dean feels sorry for his baby brother, especially because he pissed the witch off who cursed Sam, and takes good care of him.   Throw in raging hormones, some schmoop, some angst and cute little kids and you’ll get the idea what this fic is about. ;)

Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) by Ignited *

It’s Halloween, and the locals aren’t clued in to the fact that those things going bump in the night are much more than fabric and latex. Sam and Dean learn this fact the hard way as the clock winds down and a town’s about to be overrun by monsters.

The Witches of Salem by Revenant 

There's a legend in Salem, of three sisters accused and hung for the crime of witchcraft, but not before they had killed several of the local children and placed another under a terrible curse. It is said that on Hallowe'en night, when the moon is full, the witches will rise again when a virgin lights the Black Flame Candle.

A little over three hundred years later, Sam Winchester is passing through town trying out his newly awarded independence on what he suspects will be a simple salt-and-burn; why can’t things ever go like he plans?

Why not stay and be caught? by deirdre_c *

Sam wishes to go to The Palace.

Pretty Princess by orphan_account *

Sam is excited to go to a Halloween Party… And then his first heat hits.

Take a Good Look by BewareTheIdes15 *

Sam, Dean, and a haunted house with a mirror maze - sounds like pwp to me!

Kids These Days by Magz (sparklepocalypse) *

Halloween parties are never simple when there are Winchesters involved.

Thy Back to the Forest (and Thy Front to Us) by PetraPan *

For the last three years in Stillwater, Oklahoma, children have disappeared—always five young girls, always on consecutive days, and always during the week of Halloween. By the day the Winchester's pull into town, Sam is enrolled for school, he’s stuck once more on research duty, and Dean already has a date. Sam juggles his new schoolwork, the case, and the ever-growing bitterness at the desire he feels for Dean as best as he can, but at some point he can no longer manage all three. With their father constantly absent and a nasty time constraint, Sam and Dean struggle to figure out who—or what—is taking young girls, just as they struggle to find the balance between brothers and something more.

Sugar Sweet by fallingintodivinity

“What’s all this stuff?” Sam asks warily. He gingerly picks up a bottle of red fluid and squints at it.

“Fake blood!” Dean says cheerfully. “It’s cherry-flavored,” he adds helpfully.

“But why,” Sam says, bewildered.

“Dunno,” Dean says. “It was on sale. Tastes pretty good, actually. Here, lemme show you.”

Halloween by EasyTiga *

Sam and Dean go to a Halloween party for a case and at least one of them can't keep their mind on the mission because of the outfit choice.

Hush Little Baby by hellhoundsprey *

Together with his friends, Sam visits a haunted house. It's Halloween. (Sam is 16, Dean is 20.)

Halloween and High Schoolers by onesillygoose *

I'm realizing how bad my summaries are. Anyway... Sam gets invited to a Halloween party. Dean tags along. Things never go as they should for the Winchesters.

Pumpkin Patch by KissingWinchesters

It's Halloween and Dean decides to steal a giant pumpkin.

VII - One candy left by KissingWinchesters

There’s a piece of melting, sticky caramel pressed into the centre of Sam’s back.

Candy, Pumpkin Spice, And Orgasms by KissingWinchesters

Dean takes Sam to a quaint town on Halloween. Their relationship develops.

He Never Saw the Look by orphan_account

Sam's got a secret. He's in love with his big brother. Little does he know, Dean shares the same dirty little secret.

Pretty Little Thing by Miss_Lv *

Teenager Dean goes to a Halloween party for some fun, he spots a pretty little thing and chases her all evening, flirting, and eventually cornering her. Once his got his hands on her though he realizes she is actually a he, but he's fine with that. Sam snuck out after Dean just because he could, he picked a costume he knew Dean would never recognize him in. After spending the evening being chased by his brother Sam ends up in a semi public place with Dean all over him. Sam's stupid crush on his own brother is not helping matters either.

this way comes by estrella30 *

Written for spn_halloween based on prompt #127: Sam goes to a Halloween party his first year at Stanford and gets dragged off by a guy in a mask who makes out with him. He discovers it's Dean, and the making-out continues with a vengeance.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Horror

Diamond Dogs by kassidy *

Prompt: Supernatural, Sam/Dean, werewolfism - one turns and takes the other down (interpret as you will) for dark_fest LJ comm

A Silent, Creeping Killer by lily rose (annabeth) *

Not long after Dean picks Sam up from Stanford, Sam and Dean go undercover as an engaged couple to investigate the murder of a lesbian hockey player in small-town Connecticut. Along the way, they meet dedicated lovers, frightening ghosts, and the possibility that their ruse might be becoming all too real. How will they handle their changing feelings for each other? Who will protect the lovers and tenants of the Windsor boarding house? And what does all this have to do with the play 'Arsenic and Old Lace'?

darling by allwellandgood 

Dean is dead. Sam has a theory that nothing will ever hurt again.

I Wonder as I Wander by dollylux

Bobby sends Sam and Dean to investigate a strange town.

Let Me Take You Far Away by orphan_account *

Season 10. It's exactly what they need. A vacation. That's how Dean can make everything else go away. Cas was right. That's all they need. A nice, little vacation.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Fall/Autumn themed

Death of the Petals by doctor__idiot

Dean has always thought that fall held some sort of magic.

Where You Are [Is Where I Belong] by non_tiembo_mala

Sam is stuck in class on a beautiful fall day. His mind wanders and it always ends up on Dean.

Hazy Hunter's Moon by GhostlyVoid *

Sam saves a hunter who got attacked by a werewolf, knowing exactly what trouble he's inviting into his home. The hunter, Dean, is predictably less than thrilled owing his life to a witch.

Delicious Autumn by sammichgirl

Dean just wants to give Sam a great day full of some favorite things.

Autumn Leaves by dragonspell *

In the weak light of early morning, the autumn leaves are starting to paint the woods in reds and golds and a burning orange. On some level or another, Dean knows that it’s beautiful; he does. He's just got to find Sam first.

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter | chapter two | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mention of creepy adults/pedophilia, transphobia, memory loss problems, food mentions, kissing/making out, arguing, 

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,995

notes: there are spoiler warnings for the first three seasons of downton abbey, and dee and logan have a discussion of journalistic ethics that includes a mention of a teacher that is creepy toward teenage girls; it’s an abstract idea for the sake of argument, there is no actual creepy teacher, but i wanted to put a warning in here anyway.

⁂

he really needs to get on patton about getting a new rug for his bedroom, virgil muses.

his bare feet are resting against the hardwood of patton’s floor. patton, who usually clings to inanimate objects with an intensity fueled almost entirely by reminiscing, even patton had admitted he probably should let go of the raggedy bedroom rug, and he’d been meaning to replace it, but. he hasn’t yet. so virgil’s sitting on patton’s bed, waiting for patton to finish brushing his teeth and washing his face, so that they can curl up in bed and go to sleep. 

that’s a new thing—it’s not entirely new, but new enough that virgil feels too awkward to just curl up in patton’s bed and wait for him to come back. so. virgil is sitting here, in his pajamas, thinking about patton’s bare bedroom floor and his need for a new rug.

and not thinking about the various strides he and patton have been making in their relationship, slow but sure. virgil knows that patton’s really excited, and eager to move forward in their relationship, and virgil is too, but, surprise surprise, virgil’s anxious about it, so patton’s been very understanding about moving at a much slower pace than he’s used to—“you’re worth it, honey,” patton had said, his chin hooked over virgil’s shoulder as they cuddled at night, “there’s no rush at all. it’s been this long, ya know? i want to do all of this right,” and really, virgil did not deserve patton, he really didn’t.

there’s the sound of bare feet padding down the hallway, though, and virgil looks up, smiling despite himself, as patton opens the door. 

“hey,” he says warmly, closing the door behind him and shutting off the light—the lamps on the bedside tables are still lit—and patton continues his path, only detouring to lean down to kiss virgil sweetly before he sits down on his side of the bed. 

“hey,” virgil echoes, and at last swings his legs up on the bed, settling back against the pillows. “how was your day?”

this part he likes a lot, too—this, sitting in the same bed, talking about their days. it’s cavity-inducingly domestic.

patton hums, already squirming to be under the covers, and virgil copies him; they’ll move to cuddle once they’re done talking, virgil knows, so he mostly just stays where he is.

“the usual,” patton says. “um—got news of a wedding incoming, so i’m sure i’ll be going nutty about that in… a year and half or so.”

virgil knows that the weddings held at the inns hold some of patton’s favorite and least favorite parts of the job—helping make people happy, seeing people fall in love all over again, making everything so beautiful and lovely, but also, bridezillas and flighty grooms—and he smiles, mentally calculating. “you don’t usually get fall weddings, right? that’s mostly a spring/summer thing.”

“i know!” patton says brightly. “i hope they timed it nice so that it’s a warm fall day, and they get all the pretty leaves falling, and the sun hits the ceremony just right…”

“that sounds nice,” virgil says honestly, because it does—a picturesque fall wedding, sookie making some fancy version of an apple fritter for appetizers, a pumpkin-flavored cake. “fall wedding, i mean. it’s so pretty here in fall, i know we get boosted tourism because of it, but. not many weddings.”

“not many weddings,” patton agrees, and squeezes his arm. “and it’s a lesbian wedding, too, so from the conversation we had, i really think they’re gonna lean into the whole witchy-alternative vibe. the word celestial was thrown around a lot.”

“oh, that’ll be really fun,” virgil says, refining his mental image—black dresses and a tux, maybe, star-studded hairpieces, lots of fairy lights. “you’ll have to remind me when it’s actually being set up, i want to see how they decide to decorate. you never get to do witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed weddings.”

patton laughs, and leans in a little closer to virgil. “no, i can’t say i’ve ever gotten to help out with a witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed wedding. so that’ll be fun!”

patton continues with other work things—he has a much sooner wedding in spring, and unfortunately it is not a lesbian wedding, but a double wedding of two sets of insufferably rich twins, so there’s a lot to deal with there—before he winds down and says, “well, that’s about it with me, really, how ‘bout you?”

“um, pretty calm, pretty typical,” virgil says, before he reaches over and squeezes patton’s thigh. “oh, before i forget, the middle davis kid—”

“yeah?”

“—going by brick for now, while they’re trying to figure out what fits better,” virgil says. he leaves his hand on patton’s thigh, because. well. he can.

“brick,” patton says, delighted. “oh, that’s a great nickname for them—every time i see them, they’re insistent that they’re gonna bulk up and hit a growth spurt any day now.”

virgil allows himself a grin—brick is a pretty ironic nickname for a skinny little korean-irish kid who’s been hankering for their growth spurt since they could have possibly hit puberty, and now at age fourteen it was definitely becoming a bit more plaintive, but they also said it’s because they have the subtlety of a brick, so it fits in at least one way.

“they are still using they/them pronouns, right?” patton checks.

“yeah, still they/them,” virgil says. “you’ll have to ask them if they’ve added any pronouns when they turn up for your get cultured day—which is why i brought it up, brick brought by their dress for me to try and alter so that sequins don’t constantly scrape, so that’ll be a fun little challenge.”

“ooh, i hated wearing sequins at their age,” patton says sympathetically, and pats virgil’s arm. “good luck with that one.”

“other than that, though, today was mostly boring, my interesting stuff all has to do with the debutante ball,” virgil admits, rubbing his thumb back and forth over patton’s thigh. “oh, except for the part where kirk’s trying to sell topical funny t-shirts now.”

“ah, kirk,” patton says fondly. “where would the town be, without kirk and his seemingly millions of part-time jobs?”

“yeah, well, the best he could come up with today was rudy ate oatmeal, so i’m not really holding out hope for the funny t-shirt business,” virgil says.

patton snorts, and then tries to pretend he hadn’t—but, really, kirk becomes way less aggravating when you take him as comic relief. virgil knows, it’s the way he’s managed to stand all of kirk’s eccentricities over the years.

“anyway, yeah, that’s about it,” virgil says. “how'd the dinner go—i mean, i know emily at least gave you the dress, so that went okay, right?”

patton shrugs a shoulder and says, “i guess. i mean, i have a feeling this isn’t over, but… gosh, you should have seen her and logan stare each other down.”

“intense, huh?” he prompts, when patton goes quiet. he squeezes his thigh again, because physical touch is one of patton’s top two love languages. he knows, they took the test together.

patton chews his lip, before he says, “he looked like me. back then, i mean. the look on his face. my mom must’ve seen it a million times when i was his age.”

virgil squeezes a little tighter.

he knows that patton’s teenage years were rough. again, patton doesn’t really like to talk about them—virgil doesn’t blame him—but virgil did see patton struggle through the later end of his teens, and he was there for him when he’d broken down in tears. now, with as old as he is, as removed as they are from it, having seen logan and roman grow up and realizing how truly young patton was when they first met, the thought of teenage patton—struggling so fiercely in a house full of people who hadn’t understood him just made him, how hard patton had had to work to get a better life for himself and his son, the years of therapy patton had gone through—just made him want to grab patton in a hug and never let go.

“so,” patton says, pauses, and lets out a sigh. “i don’t—i don’t know. it went okay. but seeing logan copy me like that, i just…”

virgil leans over to kiss patton on the cheek.

“the difference between you as a teenager and logan as a teenager is massive,” he says lowly. “because logan’s got you, and me, and roman, and ms. prince, and rudy. he’s got this whole bizarre town. you had you, and christopher, i guess, but he didn’t understand. you’ve learned coping mechanisms that you passed onto logan, so he knows other ways to redirect his feelings. if he’s being rebellious to help protest something he thinks is sexist or unjust, i think that’s a pretty good reason to rebel. you did a great job with him. he’s a great kid. yeah?”

“yeah,” patton says very quietly. “yeah, he is.”

“you’ve come really far,” he says, and leans to see patton better, and gently pokes at patton’s cheek, just to make him smile, and he adds, “plus, i’d think if teenage-rebel you came to the future to see that your son’s protesting the gender stuff you’d been struggling with, i think that would’ve made you pretty happy, huh?”

and, yes, patton does smile at that, and something in virgil relaxes at the sight.

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i think it really would’ve.”

“well, good,” virgil says, and kisses his cheek, before he decides to just kinda go for it and lean in to wrap his arms around patton, initiating the cuddling early. “so, other than that déjà vu—”

“it went okay,” patton says, wiggling into virgil’s arms. “i mean—still weird to look at the dress that my mom bought for me. but other than that, it was okay.”

virgil hums sympathetically, and presses a kiss to patton’s head.

“well,” he says. “i’m gonna adjust it so that it’s logan’s dress, and his dress only. does that help?”

he feels patton smile against his collarbone.

“you know,” he says musingly. “i think it really does.”

⁂

logan has never walked into a store afraid to touch something before.

granted, most stores he walks into are grocery stores or convenience stores; clothing stores, sometimes, mostly before the school year or whenever roman decides he simply must check out the latest collection of things that the outlet mall in woodbridge had to offer. most of the time, the stores logan knew were quiet, maybe with some inoffensive music piped in, with products he knew how to use, or how they looked.

this was not the case in a bridal boutique.

which is where logan and roman are; though logan had the dress once intended for his father, roman still needed to get his own, and had so enticed logan to come along with him to help him choose.

it’s a saturday afternoon, and they’re technically on a date. there’s a bookstore just across the street, and a frozen yogurt parlor near there, and a thrift store they could dive into so logan could see the second-hand books and roman could hunt for some kind of retro statement piece.

logan inspects his hands again. there’s a stray inky blue smear across his hand that must have gotten there when he was taking his notes earlier today. he eyes the pearly-white tulle suspiciously, and takes a step closer to the center of the room, away from any of the merchandise.

objectively, he knows that touching these delicate, temperamental fabrics and testing the sensation of them by running his hand along the skirts won’t harm them, but. logan has laid eyes upon the price tags in this room. he is not going to even slightly risk ruining these dresses, somehow. 

roman’s spinning some kind of tale for the bemused, yet seemingly enthusiastic dress attendant—something something debutante ball, something something drag family induction, something something the most experimental stuff you’ve got!—and logan considers a dress a shade of blush pink so light it’s practically white, with a delicate, lacy flower overlay, the whiteness of the flowers being the only thing to really give away the pinkness of the dress itself. he wants to reach out and rub the material between his fingers.

he also knows that, with the location in the store and the quality of the material, the dress likely costs upwards of five thousand dollars. possibly more. maybe even double.

“logan!” and logan looks away, to where roman’s waving him back toward the dressing room section. thank god, somewhere to sit and not worry about accidentally tripping over a dress and leave an irreversible mud print from his shoe, or something.

the attendant burbles something along the lines of “so supportive!” that logan doesn’t really listen to, and doesn’t really have to respond to, because she’s pointing roman in the direction of a dressing room and logan gets to sit down in a chair and finally not worry about catching a ragged edge of his fingernail in a veil and accidentally ripping it in two.

logan waits until the attendant leaves, and says, “you’re really getting a dress from here?”

“it’s not all high-end,” roman says. “they have some old samples that they’re desperate to get rid of—that’s the kind of thing i want.”

logan nods, absorbing this, and his shoulders start to relax. obviously, roman’s monetary discretions are not up to him, at all. considering it comes from either his mother or working at his mother’s studio, therefore it should primarily be roman’s concern or ms. prince’s concern, but it is reassuring to know that roman isn’t about to ransack his college fund to get a pretty dress he’ll wear once as a prank.

the attendant comes back with armfuls of tulle, which roman claps his hands at with excitement, and steps into the dressing room with her. the door closes behind them, and logan can just barely hear their muted conversation beyond the door.

logan digs around in his backpack and pulls out his history textbook, his history notebook, and a pen; he may as well study while roman’s getting primped.

he gets through about a third of the chapter on enlightenment ideals by the time the door opens again.

he puts down his pen and glances up in enough time to carefully fold his lip under his teeth in an attempt not to laugh.

roman makes sure the attendant is occupied with adjusting the train before he pulls a blech! face at logan, one he’s accustomed to seeing whenever someone attempts to serve roman anything with cauliflower.

blech, logan thinks, is right. the fabric looks like it’s made of aluminum foil. it’s all bunched up in the front, like the dress is made of paper that’s been crumpled up by a giant hand, but there’s a long train in the back, and the whole thing is bedecked with big, chunky gems, like plastic rhinestones.

of the pair of them, roman’s always been the more fashionably-minded one, but even logan can tell this dress is not good.

“what do you think?” the attendant asks.

“it’s…. unique,” roman says diplomatically, smoothing his hands along the fabric; the bodice is strange, and clearly not fitted to suit roman’s chest. “definitely on the right track toward campy. but, um—”

“you tend to favor golds over silvers,” logan offers, which is true; one of roman’s signature colors was gold for a reason. “the crumpled look isn’t the best, either. you could certainly pull off a, um—”

he makes a hand gesture, and roman offers, “high-low skirt.”

“—right, high-low skirt, but the bodice isn’t the best, either,” logan continues. “something more theatrical would suit your personality, certainly, but i think that’s more in terms of, you know. a very outdated dress, or maybe something ostentatious, but not—”

“not this kind of ostentatious, yeah,” roman finishes for him, and the attendant looks between them, seemingly starting to question why she took in two teenage boys to try on dresses. the look falters, though, and she pastes a smile onto her face—professionalism must prevail, logan supposes.

“back to the dressing room, then!”

she trots roman out in a few other options—an a-line dress with a lacy bodice and a tulle skirt, a trumpet dress with chantilly lace and a sheer back, a relatively simple a-line dress that roman keeps twisting around in to gleefully poke at the massive bow perched at the small of his back—and logan offers commentary when asked. as she sees roman adjust the bow again, the attendant smiles.

“you like the bow?”

“i like the bow,” roman agrees, grinning. “i look like a birthday present.”

“all right,” she says. “i’ll bring out something a bit more experimental again—”

at the looks on their faces, she adds, “not quite as avant-garde as the first dress. actually, it’s fairly old-fashioned, but i think it might have that theatrical aspect you’re looking for. i’ll go back and change you out of this one and bring it back for you so you can take a look, does that sound good?”

roman agrees, and accepts her hand down off the stand, with a wink at logan, before they go off into the dressing room together. logan turns again to his history textbook; he’s nearly done with the chapter, which means one less thing to stress about when he should be focusing on a date with roman.

he can hear roman laugh from inside the dressing room and, unbidden, the corners of his mouth lift, too. either this dress is hilariously terrible, or roman’s thrilled at the idea of wearing this dress which he thinks is perfect for him.

when roman hops up onto the stand, logan honestly can’t tell which it is.

it’s like some fashion designer decided to stick every terrible fashion trend from the eighties onto one dress. there are big, puffy balloon sleeves made of tulle, secured with rosettes, in addition to typical spaghetti straps with smaller rosettes all over them; there’s a panel of beading down the bodice; there’s an overlay of rows and rows of ruffly tulle over a skirt of satin.

and, of course, there is a big, fluffy bow, perched right at the small of roman’s back.

it is extra. it is absurd. it is dramatic.

“i love it,” roman says gleefully. “oh, my goodness, it’s so much!”

it is, of course, roman.

“you look beautiful,” logan offers, and roman flashes a radiant smile in his direction, before he turns to offer his exuberant thanks to the attendant, who seems relieved (”we’ve had that sample longer than i’ve worked here, i’m sure they’ll be thrilled we’re rid of it!”) and takes roman into the dressing room, to help him out of the dress and go ring him up.

logan packs up his history book with some satisfaction; he has succeeded in taking notes for this chapter, which meant that frees up some time tomorrow, which meant he could probably work to get ahead in his latin class.

or, more likely, his dad would insist he go out and do something fun, despite the fact that he’s clearly doing something fun now. and yes, fine, he’s brought his textbooks, but clearly there was time to study here, so logan will provide this chapter of notes as an example as to why studying in the midst of a date was necessary.

logan slings his backpack over his shoulder just as roman emerges from the dressing room, in the same outfit he’d been in before he’d enlisted on a dress-shopping extravaganza; despite the fact that he’s wearing a red linen button-down tucked into a pair of high-waisted, dark-washed jeans, along with a dark overcoat to fight any of the last of the spring chill, a look that still seems very put-together—it seems almost like he’s a little underdressed, after all of the wedding dresses.

he doesn’t voice this—underdressed or not, roman constantly looks lovely—and instead he offers his arm, saying, “shall we go pay?”

“we shall,” roman says in an officious british accent, probably making fun of logan, just a little, but he laces his arm through logan’s anyway, and tugs him out of the dressing room area, to the front, where he chitchats cheerfully with the attendant and takes the truly massive garment bag, hoisting it above his head to avoid letting it drag on the ground.

“virgil’s going to have a hell of a time with this dress,” roman says gleefully. “should we go and grab a cummerbund for him? you know, just to make things easier for him.”

“he’s going to complain the whole time he gets all dressed up,” logan points out.

“i know,” roman says brightly, and tugs logan again. “c’mon, let’s go drop this in the car so we can go get fro-yo. i hope they’ve got gummy worms, i wanna make the super-fruity bowl this time.”

“so it falls to me to make some chocolatey flavor, i suppose,” logan says; for the pair of them frozen yogurt, unlike lucy’s, is prone to sharing, and as to avoid unfortunate flavor combinations, such as pineapple tart and whoppers, each of them make a bowl for each flavor—one for fruity flavors, and one for chocolatey flavors. “do you think i should combine coffee and fudge brownie?”

roman kisses him on the cheek, even as he’s pushing the door of the dress store open. “you’re a genius, my darling love.”

logan realizes in the middle of a bowl of coffee-chocolate frozen yogurt that roman’s managed to get him to leave behind his textbooks in the car, along with the dress.

he can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

⁂

this plan straight out of the plot of an early 2000s movie, if early 2000s movies had meaningful and visible trans characters, is somehow working.

dee still can’t believe it, somehow, even after a weekend of getting texts from known-but-aren’t-supposed-to-be-known members of secret societies like the porcellians (the porks, to those in the know, and dee is most decisively in the know) and the clairs and the skull and dagger and the sphinx club and the order of the gorgon’s head—truly the secret society names at this school were something else. 

he’s consulting his list on his way to meet up with logan to give him a morning update (could use some more involvement from the knights of the lamp and the old crows, and if he’s truly dreaming big he’ll try to crack all twelve of the twelve peers) when he glances up to see logan at his locker, looking truly startled as he’s being accosted by a freshman, who is waving a piece of paper at him with a fierce look on her face, her voice loud, but dee can’t quite make it out over the chatter and clatter of the morning crowd getting their books for the morning, and catching up over the latest weekend gossip.

as he gets closer, he realizes who it is. poppy mcmaster, whose legal full name is so genuinely atrocious that he could only feel pity for her when he’d scanned all the freshman’s files early in the year. who in their right minds named a child coppelia parthenope mcmaster and expected them not to get brutally bullied? unless, of course, they somehow preternaturally knew that poppy would turn out with the kind of aggressive, single-minded ambition whose brashness made her preschool teacher cry.

he mostly knows her because their families move in similar social circles, as ten generations of mcmaster have attended harvard. she stands at all of 5’2”, quite a bit shorter than logan, and yet she seems to be threatening him.

dee sidles closer to get a better look at her—dirty blonde hair pulled half-up, intense dark brown eyes, chilton uniform in perfect regulation—and approaches right as she’s saying, “some discretion, for the love of god—”

“dee,” logan says, spotting him. “um, this is—” and he glances at her, eyebrows furrowing. “you didn’t say your name.”

“coppelia mcmaster,” dee says, partially to show off but also because, coppelia. “or are you going by parthenope again? or something short for parthenope, anyway.”

poppy scowls at him, fierce, and snarls out, “poppy.”

“of course, of course,” dee says placidly. “poppy. how long has it been? i don’t think we’ve spoken since your bat mitzvah. mazel tov, once again.”

“todah,” poppy says, with the kind of tone one usually reserves for saying thanks for a present they resoundingly dislike. “you’re involved in this whole debutante plot, aren’t you?”

“well, yes,” dee says. “logan’s brainchild, of course, but one could say we’re co-parenting.”

poppy then proceeds to shove a familiar piece of paper into his hands, and she says, “mr. gardiner nearly saw and grabbed this if i hadn’t pretended it was a participation sheet from the student council.”

dee sucks in a breath, turning over the sign-up sheet—oh, wonderful, they have gotten another member of the twelve peers—but his eyes also land on the Contact Logan Sanders for details.

“thank you,” dee says at last, and turns his eyes to logan. “how many of these are up around the school?”

“three,” logan says. “that one included.”

“well, we’ll have to take them down,” dee says decisively. 

“what?” logan says.

“you’ll get in trouble,” poppy says. “detention, suspension, maybe.”

“we are planning to disrupt a large social event for the daughters of the american revolution,” dee says, and glances at logan. “as you can likely imagine, social protest is not exactly the kind of press attention chilton would like to receive.”

logan scowls, and says, “tinker versus des moines—”

“—was a public school,” poppy says impatiently. “i know you came from the backends, sanders, but this is a private school. different rules apply to us.”

“plus, we’re recruiting for protest,” dee says. “i’m not sure how well the tinker test will hold up for us, and i’d rather not find out. the word’s been spread enough, we can further recruit over private text message and dms.”

logan concedes this point with a nod, and he says to dee, “i’ll defer to your judgement.” then, to poppy, “thank you for interfering. that would have complicated matters unnecessarily.”

poppy shrugs, and says matter-of-factly, “it’s common knowledge that either of you will likely be editor when i enter the franklin junior year, i may as well attempt to establish myself as one of your proteges this early on to improve my chances for being assigned the better pieces junior year, and to provide an even clearer path to editor senior year.”

logan looks startled at that, and dee turns admiring eyes to poppy—he’d known her ambitions, of course, but planning this far in advance was preparation that dee could appreciate.

she says to logan, “do you have an escort yet?”

“um,” logan says. “no. no, i don’t.”

“all right then,” poppy says, and fishes out a reporter’s notepad from the side pocket of her backpack, removing a pen from her breast pocket, scrawling, and then ripping out the paper and handing it to him. “consider the slot filled. i’ll do it.”

logan looks at the paper—her phone number—and then back at her. “you’re joining?”

“obviously,” poppy says. “the clairs are involved. my cousin was a clair, her mother was a clair. the connections you make with clairs last the rest of your life. if this helps me get closer to joining with them, i’ll do it, just so i won’t have to spend all year killing myself to get in. plus my mother has been insistent i attend a debutante ball for ages now, she’ll be crushed i’m doing it in a tux, and crushed that i’m not going for the puff route like her, but these are the sacrifices we must make.”

she doesn’t sound particularly sorry about crushing her own mother, but logan acknowledges this with a nod, digging around in his own backpack for a flyer before handing it to her.

“everyone is going to attend a sort of crash-course in debutante ball culture,” he says. “the dance, the bow, the curtsy, so on. here is the address and any supplies you should bring. do you already have a tux, or should i send you some information for rentals?”

“rentals,” poppy says, and exchanges a look with dee—dee knows logan wasn’t raised in all this, but seriously, a rental?

“i take that as a no,” logan says, undeterred, before he zips up his backpack again. 

“fantastic,” poppy says. “i was wondering about the strategy for establishing a working relationship with you, i’ve known him,” she flicks a dismissive gesture toward dee, “for years. it just so happens that this route will also help take care of my social life and allow me to enact some form of teenage rebellion, because it’s been scientifically proven that teenagers who rebel constructively form a robust sense of self and are more likely to a have a clear sense of direction, beliefs, or relational commitment, and those who don’t may find it hard to settle or focus on building a meaningful and satisfying life. this is excellent multi-tasking.”

poppy looks delighted. logan looks like he might be developing a headache. dee has found this a typical reaction to people within proximity of poppy.

⁂

virgil looks up as the bell rings and immediately steps out from behind the counter.

brick is struggling cheerfully with a stack of tupperware in their arms, and virgil takes the top few so that brick can see.

“i got it,” brick complains.

“i don’t want you tripping over chairs, i’m sure you can handle the weight,” virgil says. “i was thinking you could set up over at this table here—right by the door, but out-of-the-way enough so that you don’t have to deal with anyone bumping into you. that cool?”

“yeah, that’s cool,” brick says. “thanks, virgil!” and immediately sets down the tupperware on the table in question. virgil follows suit, setting down his own load, and arches his eyebrows, impressed.

“you guys could put fran and lucy out of business with all these baked goods,” he says.

because that’s what brick is here for—the first shift of kids manning a table for a bake sale, to raise funds to make sure the sideshire kids can afford their slots in the debutante ball. 

brick stares at him for a few seconds.

“sarcasm,” he elaborates, because brick doesn’t really pick up on that too well, most of the time.

“got it,” brick says. “um, i’m gonna go help ellie—they brought a few other things, so save up that comment for them, i’m sure they’d get it.”

“need any help?” he says, knowing full well that brick will say—

“nah, i got it!” brick says, and darts out of the diner again. virgil waits by the door, just in case they need someone to open it for them—which they do, brick with another load of tupperware, and elliott with a poster tucked under their arm, a register in hand, and a plastic jar under their other arm.

“hi, elliott,” virgil says.

“hi, virgil,” elliott says.

“right over here,” virgil says, gesturing to the table, “do you need any help?”

“um, do you have tape?” elliott asks, frowning. “i just realized i don’t have any.”

“tape, got it,” virgil says, and ducks into the back to see if he’s got any in his office.

by the time he’s come back out, brick and elliott are already seated behind the table, arranging the last of the opened tupperware, with the plastic jar having a sign taped over it saying DONATIONS FOR THE BALL, and virgil pauses to dig a ten out of his pocket, dropping it in the jar before he hands over the scotch tape.

“thanks, virgil!” brick cheers, as elliott quietly thanks virgil for the tape and goes about taping the poster to the front of the table. it’s definitely homemade—there’s glitter, and marker, and there’s a little flyer taped beside it that explains what exactly they’re trying to do at the debutante ball.

“you want drinks?” virgil asks, tucking his thumbs into his front pockets. “on the house.”

“ooh, cocoa, please!” brick says. “the—the minty one. do you still do the minty one?”

“i still do the minty one,” virgil says. “peppermint should be a year-round flavor. ellie, you want anything?”

“cocoa/coffee,” elliott says.

“that stunts your growth,” brick points out.

“i’m taller than you,” elliott tells brick, who bristles and immediately opens their mouth, and virgil ducks out to get their drinks.

by the time he brings back the two steaming mugs, brick is finishing off their tirade with “—i’ll end up built like korra, and then you will see.”

“drinks!” virgil says, and sets the mugs down in front of them. “uh, just so you know, we hit one of those weird lulls, so we’ve probably got half an hour or so before things start picking up for dinner rush.”

both of them make noises of acknowledgement.

“so,” virgil says, settling in a chair near them. “elliott, i know you were thinking about what you were gonna wear slash do, did you decide that?”

“i, um,” elliott says, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “i thought i’d wear, like, a half-dress half-tux thing. i dunno if i’m gonna debut or escort yet, though, that kinda depends.”

“that sounds cool,” virgil says encouragingly. “do you have a picture?”

elliott does, but since it’s only partly designed—their sister liked messing around with fabrics like that—it turns out all the sideshire kids who are planning on going to the ball are in a groupchat, so after elliott’s phone pings with a message from there, there’s a brief tangent that ensues because elliott sends out virgil says hi to everyone and a picture of the bake sale, so virgil gets to hear about everyone’s plans which is also cool. and he also records a video with brick that brick pinky-promises to just send in the chat, so he ends up learning one of the latest memes that the kids are watching these days. god, he’s old.

“the debutante thing’s really awesome,” virgil says. “i kind of wish i’d gotten the chance to do it back in the day.”

elliott looks up at him, and says, “you do?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean, i’m not roman or anything, but i still wear makeup a lot of the time, i’ve got a few makeup palettes, i wore some skirts back in the day—”

brick’s head snaps up at that, and they say, “you did?”

virgil blinks—he’s not sure why this is surprising, but.

“yeah, i did,” virgil says. “i bet i’ve probably still got them buried in my closet somewhere. my heels, too.”

this also gets elliott’s attention.

“you do?” elliott says.

“i mean, maybe,” virgil says. “i might have donated them, i dunno, but—”

“why don’t you wear skirts or heels anymore?” brick says.

“well, right now?” virgil says, and gestures to the outside. “it’s cold. but, uh—i don’t really know.” 

and it hits him—he doesn’t really know. he just kind of kept going for jeans.

“just a habit, i guess,” he continues to the kids, because i don’t know is a bit of a weak answer. “it’s easier to match things with jeans. plus, it looks kinda weird to wear a nice flowing skirt and then just, like, a hoodie and a pair of sneakers i wear all day because i stand all the time. and wearing heels while i stand all day is just asking for a sprained ankle.”

“yeah, that makes sense,” elliott says. “sneakers kinda clash too.”

“but you wear boots too,” brick says, and points. “you’re wearing boots today.”

virgil glances down at his combat boots, the ones that he’s also got the gel foot insoles in. “well, yeah. i guess i am.”

“and leggings or tights would probably help with cold,” elliott says.

virgil looks between them, and says, “you two want me to wear a skirt, don’t you?”

“yes,” they both chorus, unapologetic.

virgil pauses, considering this. well. he definitely has at least one skirt, maybe more, they’re probably just tucked away where he doesn’t see them everyday. and he is fully down for these kids running in there and shaking up the patriarchy. and he does support men, or anyone on the gender spectrum who doesn’t fit soundly in the box of “woman,” wearing more traditionally feminine clothing, as long as they’re comfortable with it. and the surprised looks on these kids faces when he’d mentioned he used to wear skirts more often, and then the studies he’s read of how much representation means to kids...

he turns and calls out, “jean?”

“yeah?” jean calls from the back.

“i’m gonna run upstairs for a second, would you mind keeping an eye on things out here?”

jean calls back an affirmative, and brick and elliott exchange a look, before turning back to virgil.

“are you—?”

“maybe,” virgil says, standing, feeling a strange sort of excitement just from their excitement, but also, it’s been a really long time since he’s worn a skirt, and he’d liked wearing skirts. “again, i can’t remember if i’ve donated ‘em, but—”

“awesome,” elliott says, while brick is nodding along with them, wide-eyed.

“all right,” virgil says, and then, “uh, cool” and makes his awkward exit, heading upstairs for his apartment.

it takes a bit of digging, but he does manage to find where he’s stashed his skirts over the years. he’d even managed to fold them neatly before he put them away, so they’re not even that wrinkled or anything. and then he remembers the various struggles of matching an outfit with a skirt, because in his mind, a skirt outfit has to be at least a little fancy, and so after he examines and discards nearly every shirt in his wardrobe he ends up pairing a plum, long-sleeved button-down with a black pleated skirt that falls down to his ankles, even after he tries to make the skirt a bit high-waisted.

and then he gets a little more carried away, and smokes out his dark eyeshadow and pops some purple glitter in the crease and the inner corner and does a little cat-eye for the eyeliner and puts on plum lipstick, before something in his brain says back away from the makeup products, you are in danger of re-enacting your teenage emo phase, and so he does, not without a bit of a longing look at the black eyeshadow, because this is fun. why hasn’t he done something like this in so long?

he has to pick up his skirt one hand as he walks his way down the stairs, before he tugs aside the curtain that covers up the stairs that lead up to his apartment, and steps out from behind the counter.

brick and elliott swivel to look at him in almost-hilarious unison. and then they just. stare.

oh, the staring. the whole staring thing is why he hasn’t done something like this in so long.

virgil clears his throat, running a hand through his hair to make sure it isn’t too messy. “is it that bad?” he tries to joke.

“i,” brick says, voice strangled, “am gay.”

“uh,” virgil says, unsure of what to really say to someone less than half his age declaring that, then, “i’m with patton, happily so, and also, i am way too old for you, you are a kid.”

elliott rolls their eyes, and says, “they mean you look, um. good. you look really good,” and then they elbow brick in the ribs. brick shakes themself.

“yeah!” brick says. “you look. good. you look good!”

the bell above the door jangles, then, which means brick and elliott are distracted by attempting to sell baked goods, and virgil escapes to behind the counter, ready to start up for the dinner rush.

(he does take a few seconds to remind brick and elliott that anyone over eighteen is too old for them, at the moment, and the dangers of grooming, and also he is here if they need to talk about being concerned for anyone or if they need someone to talk to, in general, before brick says, “ugh, fine, jeez, you sound like the guidance counselor” so that takes care of that particular situation, virgil guesses.)

virgil does get a few compliments on his appearance, throughout the dinner rush, and also a few questions about why he’s dressing up nice, which means he can direct their attention to the baked goods table (brick and elliott leave after a couple hours, and so a couple more sideshire high students start their shift) and the cause that they’re raising money for, so. things are going well.

he ducks back in the kitchen, for a minute, when the staring gets to be a bit Much and he needs to take a second to breathe. he’s not super anxious, necessarily, it’s just—well, he frequently has the thought people are looking at me, which tends to make him anxious, and that’s true tonight, so. he needs to take a bit of a breather. and so he cooks.

cooking’s been a good outlet for his anxiety, ever since he was a kid and didn’t really get what anxiety was, ever since he was an asshole teenager who had recently been wrangled into his first therapy session by his parents following a doctor’s diagnosis. it’s almost always the same—if you follow the same directions, you’ll get the same result, almost always. and, sure, it could be an outlet for creativity, too, if he so chose, but right now he’s grilling burgers and assembling salads and making pasta. it’s an adventure in multitasking he does almost every day. he knows what to do, and so he does it.

he feels calmer by the time they’re in the midst of the dinner rush, partially because of the time spent in here, but also because the increased business is something that’s also familiar and somewhat comforting. so he chances poking his head out of the kitchen door, evaluating if he’s ready to enter back into the fray and start helping out with the waiters. 

he pokes his head out just in time to see roman, logan, and patton sliding into a booth, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief—those are people he can definitely go over to and not start to feel nervous just because they’re looking at him.

he’s about to fully step out and make his way over unnoticed by everyone else, except—

roman looks up, and makes eye contact with him, and declares “virgil! i came as soon as i heard!” loud enough that virgil can hear it over the background music and the dull roar of the dinner rush conversations.

virgil winces a little, before he sheepishly walks over to the table. he probably should have expected this, given roman’s vocal and often repeated desires to give virgil a makeover.

all three of them come into view—roman, eager at last that virgil is stepping outside of his typical fashion comfort zone; logan, mostly neutral if a bit curious; and patton, who is staring at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, and visibly swallowing. a flare of heat burns to life in virgil’s stomach at that, and so he turns his attention to roman, so that he doesn’t start blushing and his thoughts don’t become immediately obvious.

roman looks him up and down, surveying him, before he says, “you look like a goth femboy version of a librarian fantasy.”

virgil runs a hand down the skirt, a little self-conscious. “oh.”

“but,” roman says, pulling a face at him, seemingly detecting virgil’s mood change, “at least you’re showing some sense of style. this is an improvement over your daily wear, believe me. one would even say substantial.”

“oh,” virgil says, more sarcastic this time, with an eye-roll to boot. 

“however,” roman says, “can i request that you at least extend your color palette to something that would not look at home as a poster for an emo pre-teen? and your foundation, virgil, you do not have warm undertones, you have neutral undertones, if you’re going to start wearing makeup more you need to have a summer and winter foundation—”

virgil reaches over to flick roman’s ear, and roman complains “heyyy” before logan glances up at him.

“why wear a skirt today in particular?” logan says.

“oh,” virgil says, and jabs a thumb in the direction of the bake sale table. “y’know, i figured i’d support you kids. people ask me why i’m all dressed up and so i get to point ‘em there, and then, you know, solidarity,” he says, taking his skirt in hand and swishing it a little. “win win.”

“all right,” logan says and looks across the table at roman, cocking his head.

“roman,” he says. “what is a ‘femboy.’”

roman folds his lip under his teeth.

“um,” roman says. “well, y’see—”

“i’ll get you some waters!” virgil says, before he has to bear witness to roman explaining that concept to his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s dad. he knows that a femboy is just people who are male or non-binary presenting themselves in a feminine way, the word kind of started around his teenage years, but he also knows that particular expression on roman’s face means that virgil has probably missed some segment of Youth Internet Culture that might provide the backstory behind the newfound popularity of the word a bit… complex.

by the time virgil comes back, logan is jotting something down on one of the notecards he carries around with him all the time, and roman looks normal, so the conversation must not have been too awkward, but patton—

well. patton looks at him, once again looks like he’s swallowing his own tongue, and turns his face back down to the table, but not before virgil can spot the pinkness in his cheeks.

oh. interesting.

virgil has to swallow himself, before he readies the notepad.

“what do you want for dinner?” he says, in a tone that is perhaps a bit gruffer than normal, and patton immediately and not-very-subtly puts a hand over the back of his neck to hide that that’s going pink too.

very interesting.

virgil doesn’t get much of a chance to observe this interesting phenomenon—it is dinner rush, after all, and he’s got other customers—but when he does observe it, it brightens that low flame in his stomach, like someone slowly turning the knob on a gas stove, and patton grows gradually more bold. 

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably assume that he’s a generally shy boyfriend—hand-holding and kisses aplenty, to be sure, but fairly unassuming when it comes to public displays of attention.

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably not assume that patton is a flirt.

but he is—he is absolutely a flirt, and a startlingly adept one at that, so when virgil swings by the table perhaps a bit more frequently than he usually would, patton stares at him with a little smirk on his face and with zero shame as his eyes roam over virgil’s face, his arms, his mouth. 

patton looks up at him from under his eyelashes, biting his lip just so, and virgil nearly drops patton’s plate—and notices, distractedly, that patton has managed to use virgil’s distraction to finesse his way into a helping of fries instead of the vegetables or salad that virgil would usually suggest.

and when virgil brings over the bill, handing it to patton, patton takes the bill and then takes virgil’s hand and kisses his knuckles with a cheerful “thanks, honey!” and virgil has certainly forgotten any anxiety that might stem from someone staring, because it’s patton who’s staring at him.

patton, who had gotten so flustered at the sight of virgil in a skirt that his eyes nearly popped out of his head; and now, patton, resting his lips against his knuckles for just a moment, lingering, and virgil feels like an elizabethan maiden about to make her way to the fainting couch because of it.

virgil excuses himself to settle the bill, and also maybe rest a cool hand against his own cheek. honestly. it was a kiss on his hand.

he’s about to go back the table and hand back patton’s card, but he glances up as the bell jangles, roman and logan already leaving, and patton stepping close to the register, his hands behind his back, rocking up onto his toes and back onto his heels.

“hey,” virgil says, and shakes himself, before he offers patton’s card. “um. here.”

“thanks,” patton says, tucking the card into his pocket, before he bites his lip. “um. could we go up to your apartment and get the book i asked to borrow?”

what book, virgil wonders, before patton hastily adds, “if you have time, i mean, i don’t wanna—take you away too long,” and oh, he wants to go—okay. okay.

“i have time,” virgil answers, maybe a little too quickly. “um—sarah,” he calls, “me ‘n patton are going upstairs for a little bit, so—”

“we’ve got things down here,” sarah says, “go, go” and so they go, patton reaching out to grab virgil’s hand and squeeze, running a thumb over his knuckles. and so they ascend the stairs.

virgil shuts the door behind them, and turns to face patton.

“i was, um,” patton clarifies. “i was asking to come up here to see if you wanted to kiss for a little bit.”

“i know,” virgil says, then adds, because consent is important, “i do.”

“oh thank god,” patton breathes out, and before virgil can get out a response, patton surges up against him, rocking up onto his tiptoes and pressing virgil back into the wall, and virgil barely has the time to wrap his arms around him before patton’s kissing him with searing heat.

patton is a remarkable kisser, genuinely the best that virgil thinks he’s ever been fortunate enough to kiss, and patton knows the precise angle to tilt his head and the precise way to possessively splay a hand at the back of virgil’s neck to make the kiss deep and heady and excellent, a kiss so downright lascivious that virgil’s thoughts about retiring to a damn fainting couch doesn’t seem near dramatic enough.

virgil is distantly aware that patton must be rocked up onto his tiptoes, and he splays his hand at patton’s waist, squeezing him gently, giving himself the excuse that it might help patton keep his balance a bit better, and also because his hand fits so beautifully at patton’s waist it could make virgil cry, the warmth of him even through his sweater and the way he can feel patton breathing in unsteady breaths, so maybe virgil isn’t the only one who is losing it here a little.

simultaneously, like they’ve choreographed it, they stumble back together until patton’s knees hit the arm of the couch and virgil practically falls on top of him, virgil barely breaking the kiss to make sure he hasn’t crushed him before patton’s twining his fingers into virgil’s hair and dragging him back into the kiss, wriggling a little so that his thigh is pushed between virgil’s, and virgil groans into his mouth, patton greedily swallowing the sound.

time goes a bit fuzzy, then, everything narrowed down to patton’s breathy gasps and the slick slide of his lips and the warmth and pressure of a thigh between his own and patton’s wandering, unabashed hands in his hair, on his back, wandering down to give him a cheeky squeeze, gripping at his thigh, like patton’s using the touches to punctuate a sentence that virgil has no hope of reading but it sure sounds nice anyway. 

and then there’s a loud sound—someone’s dropped dishes downstairs—and they break apart, the pair of them looking toward the apartment door, startled, and as soon as it sinks in what it is that’s happened, they look back at each other.

patton’s smiling up at him, plum lipstick smeared all around his mouth, coy and unashamed, but with a little quirk at the corners that tells him that make out time is probably over. it is an image that immediately sears itself into virgil’s brain that will probably pop up at incredibly inconvenient moments, but he cannot really feel bothered about that right now, because christ is that unexpectedly hot.

virgil clears his throat, because there’s never exactly a non-awkward way to end something like this, that is until patton’s brow creases and he reaches forward to touch virgil’s lips.

“oh, no,” patton says, a little distressed, “i messed it up!”

“i can redo it,” virgil promises immediately, barely even thinking of the words before they’re out of his mouth in attempt to make that coy little smile come back, and he clears his throat to try and make his voice go back up to its usual octave, not the gruff and low near-growl that came out of his mouth. “um—you kind of have—”

patton’s brow creases even more, before he wiggles a hand free from under virgil and smears a finger beneath his bottom lip, holding it up to see for himself, and he giggles.

“i guess i do,” he says, and beams up at virgil. “be a dear, would you? i don’t wanna walk out there and make it too obvious that we’ve been mackin’ on each other this whole time.”

virgil nods, and, regretfully, rolls off of patton to go to the bathroom, attempting to steady his breath the whole way. 

he bends to get the makeup remover from under the sink, and straightens, at last looking at himself in the mirror.

he looks thoroughly kissed.

his plum lipstick is smeared all around his mouth, down his chin, which shows off how his lips have reddened and gone a little swollen; his black hair is ruffled, especially sticking up in the back; and the generally gobsmacked, slightly stupid look on his face is a dead giveaway that he’s been spending time kissing patton.

there’s the soft padding of footsteps, arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed between his shoulderblades, before patton pokes his head around him to see himself in the mirror, too.

he bursts into more giggles at the sight of them—matching messy lipstick, matching messy hair, matching slightly stunned look, except on patton it doesn’t look stupid at all, it looks like he’s thrilled with himself, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouths, like a particularly flirtatious cat who’s caught particularly prettily painted canary.

virgil can’t help but grin, too, and patton arches up to press a deliberate kiss to tendon of virgil’s neck, and virgil’s grin turns into a groan, more out of frustration than anything.

“what?” patton says, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. 

“if you keep doing that,” virgil says, and then he’s at a loss for words, but patton seems to get it, slipping out from behind virgil but still leaving an arm wrapped around his waist.

“i don’t particularly want to stop, either,” patton agrees, before he reaches up to turn virgil’s attention away from the mirror, and so that he’s looking directly into patton’s eyes instead. patton continues, voice lush and full of promise, “i’d keep you up here all night, if you wanted, but, well.” 

“we’re taking it slow,” virgil says ruefully.

“we’re taking it slow,” patton agrees. “plus, you’ve got a diner to close, and i’ve got a kid at home who’ll probably stay up too late reading if i don’t bug him about bedtime.”

“yeah,” virgil says, but he can’t help but sigh a little—they’ve both agreed that moving slowly is the responsible thing to do, they’ve talked about it a lot, first to agree to slow then later to refine their mutual definitions of slow, which turned out to be pretty damn different at first, but. well. 

“i know,” patton agrees fervently. and he really does—he’s literally the only other person right know who understands exactly how virgil’s feeling, and that sets him at ease more than anything.

“all right,” virgil says, and peels back the top of the makeup removal wipes package, removing one. “lemme see your face.”

patton obligingly tips up his chin at virgil, smiling.

virgil cups the underside of his jaw and works to clean off patton’s face, gently rubbing away the plum smears around patton’s mouth with a purposefully soft hand. 

it takes a few wipes for virgil’s lips to twitch up into a smile, too.

“stop it,” virgil scolds, without any heat.

“stop what?” patton says, still smiling.

“you’re smiling at me,” virgil says. 

“what, i can’t be a little happy that i spent some quality time with my fella?” patton asks. 

virgil ducks his head, because that’s one of his top two love languages, and patton knows it. instead, he says, “‘course you can, i am, too. but you’re gloating.”

patton’s grin widens, and virgil sighs, lowering his hand—he won’t be able to help patton at all with patton grinning up at him like that.

“i have,” patton says, “the prettiest fella. i’m allowed to feel at least a little smug that you’re the belle of the ball tonight, darling.”

“stop,” virgil grumbles, looking away.

“what?” patton says. “it’s true! you’re gorgeous, honey.”

virgil mutters under his breath and rubs at the back of his neck—he isn’t the best with accepting compliments, he never has been, especially when it comes to things like this.

but, well—

“so,” virgil says, staring at the makeup wipe in his hand. “you… liked it?”

“liked it?” patton says.

“y’know,” virgil mumbles, and gestures vaguely up and down his body—the skirt, the makeup. “it.”

patton grins up at him, and tugs him down a little so that they’re eye-to-eye.

“i,” patton purrs, “love the skirt.”

it takes a little bit longer to get polished back up after that. and if, perhaps, virgil walks around the diner a bit more at ease than before, with a bit of a stupid smile on his face even after patton blows him a kiss on his way out of the door, well. that’s virgil’s business.

⁂

christopher calls when logan’s studying at the diner. his dad’s already headed home, most of his dinner conversation having been rhapsodizing his deeply-held desire to put on his pajamas. virgil’s busy behind the counter settling everyone’s bills now that the bulk of dinner rush is over.

it’s still unusual enough to logan that christopher brings himself to call semi-regularly now—even stranger that it’s weekly, and on a set schedule. wednesday nights at seven. he even remembers to call precisely on schedule, most of the time. but still—every time his cellphone buzzes and lights up with a photo of him and christopher and dad at a sanders-hosted thanksgiving a few years back, he’s surprised.

it takes quite a bit of work to unlearn sixteen years that consisted mostly of irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled, logan supposes.

“hey, kiddo!” christopher says brightly.

“hi, dad,” logan says, digging around for a bookmark, before giving up and placing a clean knife in his science textbook to mark the page and closing it. 

a moment later, logan curses his mental preoccupation with studying and the upcoming phone conversation he’ll have to have—the napkins are right there.

“so, what’re you up to?”

“studying.”

“you’re always studying,” christopher says, and there’s something in the tone that sets logan’s teeth on edge; he knows that christopher isn’t exactly academically inclined, and in fact would likely be better described as an academic anarchist, seeming to disdain upon the opportunities and privileges he was given with no strings attached that logan would almost certainly kill to have, not to mention many other people who would put it to better use, but. it’s not the time to pick a fight, logan supposes.

“yes, well,” logan says. “i have science test this week.”

“you’ve always got tests.”

“chilton is an academically rigorous school,” logan says, in a tone that implies he’s explained this a hundred times, because he has. “and i would like to maintain my position as a competitor for the top of my class. how are… things?”

this allows him a brief reprieve—since the official collapse of christopher’s business, not too long after he’d visited last fall, he’s been picking up a variety of odd jobs and temporary work, whatever catches his interest—christopher spends about five minutes explaining that he’s found some temporary work at a bar, now, to make some spare cash as he looks for something more permanent during the day. 

“—but yeah, that’s about all that’s going on with me right now.” a pause. then, christopher prompts, “how about you?”

logan shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “not very much. the test. i think i did well on a pop quiz on monday—”

he explains his various schoolwork and extracurricular activities—christopher hums in all sorts of places—before he adds, “oh, and roman and i went on a date on saturday.”

“hey, finally, something fun!” christopher says. before logan can even say something like but the debate team’s mock trial was fun, he says, “what’d you do on your date?”

“we had frozen yogurt,” logan says, “and roman wanted to go to a thrift store to get some things, and we both got a couple books, and roman got something for the ball, so that’s good—”

“whoa,” christopher says, “hang on, rewind. the ball?! what ball?”

logan winces.

because, well. it’s complex to navigate building a relationship that he initially blackmailed his father into, rather than have him propose to his dad. it’s even more complex to figure out how to handle a dad who had, for sixteen years, mostly showed up in irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled. 

he has a dad. for the vast majority of his life, patton has been the only biologically-related adult on whom he could rely. if there was ever anything a parent needed to be involved in, whether it be a parent/teacher conference, or parent’s night, or a parent volunteer for his classroom—he’s always penned down patton sanders without a second thought. virgil, occasionally, if he’d known that his dad had a scheduling conflict, but—always, patton first. that’s just the way it is. christopher had never even stepped foot in sideshire before last fall.

but now, well. now, he has to navigate should i have asked him to come back for this? because the rules say he needs his dad to escort him. 

and for so long, he has been so used to only having one of those. (well. two, but one biological dad. the other one kind of adopted him on sight and now he fusses after logan getting proper vegetable and protein intake.)

having both parents be involved in your life is even more unnecessarily complicated than i could have anticipated, logan thinks, before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“um, yes. a ball. the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball, to be more specific.”

“you’re kidding,” christopher breathes out. “jeez, what kind of dirt does emily have on you that you had to recruit your boyfriend to escort some girls, too?”

logan blinks. “i have no idea why a handful of soil would motivate me to do that?”

“no, like—” christopher begins, and, perhaps, logan was overemphasizing his usual ignorance for use of slang just to give himself a break.

“well, that isn’t the case, regardless,” logan says, before he decides to just get it over with. “he was getting a dress. we both have one. we’re going to be the debutantes, not the escorts.”

there’s a pause.

“is this a gay thing?”

logan cringes, ever so slightly—christopher sounds more bemused than anything, so logan doesn’t think it’s a necessarily passive-aggressive comment, rather a more genuinely ignorant one.

“no, it’s not—” logan says, and pinches the bridge of his nose a little harder. “it’s not, um. a gay thing. we’re recruiting a lot of chilton students and sideshire kids to join in, it’s more of a public statement than anything.”

“oh,” christopher says, still with that tone of bemusement. then, “a public statement of what?”

“we’re making a statement about how sexist it is that society still deems it appropriate to trot young women around like that,” logan says. “we—the boys, i mean—are wearing dresses as a gesture of support and solidarity with them.”

“oh,” christopher repeats.

there’s an even longer pause.

“how many people did you say you got to join in?”

“we’re almost at forty, the last time i checked,” logan says, and christopher whistles lowly.

“your grandma’s gonna throw a fit.”

“we told her, actually,” logan says. “i wanted to see if she still had the dress she was going to make dad wear.”

“and how’d she take that?”

“she’s making me wear heels,” logan grouses, and christopher laughs.

“well, can’t say i expected her to be especially nice about anything,” christopher says. “so, tell me all about this massive prank you’re cooking up, then, i knew that some of my teenage troublemaking had to rub off on you somehow.”

though logan wants to say it’s not a prank, he supposes that it doesn’t exactly harm the movement if christopher thinks that; it’s not like he’s about to tell christopher the real reason, after all.

but logan tells him, all about the chilton kids, and the sideshire kids, and the upcoming Culture Day that his dad and isadora were organizing, and the bake sale that the sideshire kids were doing to raise money to actually enter into the ball in the first place, and the way logan’s had to hide sign-up sheets from teachers, and it seems to go okay. 

that is, until christopher says, “hey, i guess if you’re going as a debutante, you need your dad to escort you, right?”

“oh,” logan says, and coughs. “um, actually, dad’s already doing that.”

there’s another long pause.

“oh.”

“i mean,” logan says, and shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “you’re saving up for other things, you hardly need to come out from california just to do this.” 

“i would’ve,” christopher says, defensively. “if you’d asked.”

“right,” logan says, and the sarcasm slips through before he can even really attempt to modulate it into something resembling politeness.

“i would’ve,” he repeats, more insistently. “i know i haven’t been the best—”

“look, i have to get back to studying,” logan says, cutting off whatever platitude about i know i wasn’t present for you throughout your childhood, when you most would have needed the stability of your other parent, but i am trying now after you had to blackmail me into not upsetting your life, “next week, we’ll talk?”

another pause. a defeated sigh.

“sure, kid,” he says. “yeah. i’ll talk to you next week. same time. love you.”

logan flounders, for a moment, before he says, “next week, then, bye,” and hangs up before christopher can return the farewell salutation.

logan takes a moment to lift his glasses so he can press the base of his palms into his eyes, before he resettles them on his nose and opens his science textbook again.

the conversations with christopher are… something. they tend to go cordially most of the time, even, it’s just—

well. like he’d thought earlier. he’s so used to having one parent, and christopher only ever making contact irregularly. no guarantee for birthdays, no guarantee for christmases, no guarantee for thanksgivings. no guarantee for if logan really wanted to lean on someone, if he’d be there, solid and steady, or if logan would be sent sprawling to the ground. metaphorically.

it’s a bit like that cartoon that logan recalls, as a child—lucy, holding the football, insisting that she wouldn’t yank it away at the last second, leaving charlie brown tumbling head-over-heels.

christopher has insisted that he wouldn’t yank the ball quite literally since logan was born. forgive logan if sixteen years of ending up flat on his back hadn’t exactly endeared him to exactly trust that christopher would hold the ball steady, even if christopher had ended up being much more punctual and consistent with phone calls than expected.

it’s just—difficult. to adjust. to really believe that christopher might stick around, this time.

he suddenly feels his (already immense) sense of respect for patton rise all the more, because he trusts people like this all the time, no matter how many times he’d ended up flat on his face; logan’s thought it naivete for so long, that now that he’s attempting to practice it, he finds himself… well, if he’s to continue the metaphor, he’s found himself unwilling to even attempt the run-up to the ball.

logan attempts to shake himself, as if the thought is something that he can dislodge, like water in his ears. he refocuses on his textbook and readies his pen for any notes that he needs to take. which he does, for a while, his pen scratching a familiar rhythm under the quiet rush of other people’s conversation, and the soft, inoffensive music the diner plays, that is, until the plastic of the pen cracks under the force of his grip. logan scowls, and tosses the pen aside.

“here.”

logan looks up, startled; virgil’s standing over him, holding a small plate. he’s wearing another skirt today—purple, and it falls just below his tights-clad knees.

“what’s that?”

virgil sets down the plate, careful to avoid any notebooks, pens, or textbooks. there’s a slice of loganberry pie on it, which is actually logan’s favorite, despite the downside of the many puns his dad has made about logan liking loganberry pie.

“you look like you need pie.”

“i do?” logan says cluelessly.

“pen tossing usually signals the need for pie,” he says.

“you,” logan says. “brought me pie.”

virgil arches his eyebrows. “i could take it back.”

“thank you,” logan says quickly, sliding the plate toward himself, as if virgil would snatch it away, and virgil snorts, reaching out to ruffle logan’s hair before he retreats back to the counter, and—

and it really is just the sugar that has logan’s shoulders relaxing as he stares at his science notes, he tells himself.

⁂

the science test is predictably grueling. logan sits at his lunch table, his brain still tracking over various formulas and small facts he’d memorized, as if in a half-stunned stupor.

there’s the sound of a tray clacking on the table. logan looks up, startled.

dee, in his usual cape and hat, looks over at him, and arches his eyebrows as if daring him to say something. after logan blinks at him owlishly, dee resumes settling himself, as if he has sat at logan’s lunch table a great many times and not at all as if this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

come to think of it, logan’s uncertain if he’s ever even seen dee during their lunch period before. he sets aside the question of then where does he eat??? and instead reaches into his lunchbox, grabbing something at random to start eating.

a clementine. okay.

logan starts peeling the clementine as dee gets his lunch tray in order, and dee says, very casually, “would you like to come over so we can discuss arrangements?”

logan’s fingernail catches; he resists the urge to curse as he punctures the fruit, and instead reaches for a napkin to wipe his hand dry of juice.

“arrangements…?”

dee looks at him. “for the project.”

logan’s test-addled brain then proceeds to panic and mentally trace over every single one of his shared classes with dee, attempting to pinpoint how on earth he possibly could have overlooked an upcoming project, before—

oh.

“i—yes,” logan says, and resumes peeling the clementine. “yes, that works out fine, i think. um—do you live near a bus stop?”

dee flaps a gloved hand at him dismissively. “i’ll have one of the drivers take you back home.”

one of the drivers??? then, he has even one driver???? what on earth necessitates plural drivers???

“i… sure,” logan says, rather than comment on that, “i’ll text my dad and tell him i’ll be home late.”

dee nods, and so logan eats his clementine in sections as dee’s lunch tray depletes with a rate of speed that would already be impressive if not compounded by the fact that logan doesn’t even really see him eat, before he pulls out his phone and texts his dad, I’m going over to Dee’s after school, I’ll let you know how long I’ll be there when I have a better idea of the time frame.

he’s walking to his next class when his phone buzzes, and he glances at his phone. 

Dad: okay!!! say hi to the adults and be on your best behavior! love you, have fun!!!

he is uncertain how much ‘fun’ will weigh into the activities for any event at dee slange’s house.

⁂

dee’s pretending to be on his phone almost the entire time a chauffeur drives them back (he could have driven, but he hadn’t felt like it this morning, so therefore he didn’t have his car in the afternoon) but really he’s looking out of the corner of his eyes at logan.

logan is sitting stiffly, and he has been since he’d gotten into the car; it’s as if he’s nervous he might scuff up the leather if he moves. he’s holding his backpack in his lap, and his eyes keep darting to the driver, suit-clad and silent, and out the window, before glancing at dee, and then back out the window. 

as they creep up to the gate, and the chauffeur inputs the code that’ll open the gate so they can drive up the maple-lined driveway, to the house, dee has abandoned the ruse entirely, because logan looks the most confused dee’s ever seen him look.

the look only grows more obvious once they break past the trees, and logan actually gets a good look at the house; dee knows the townhome was designed to be magnificent, especially on first glance, but he’s been so accustomed to it that seeing logan’s eyes dart from the fountain in the middle of the driveway to the sprawl of primroses and lavender and hydrangeas and all the rest of the landscaping, and the towering height of it all, the brick crowded with overgrown ivy and climbing roses. the historic townhome may not have multiple wings, and it might not really hold a candle to the ultra-modern mansion where his parents live, but it still, certainly, is impressive.

“you live here?” logan says, stunned.

“obviously?” dee says.

he’s tempted to say something like if you ever saw my parents’ house, maybe pull up that old e-edition of a magazine that had covered it once, just to see logan’s eyes pop out of his head, but the chauffeur puts the car in park and logan’s saying “thank you, sir,” and scrambling out of the car as quick as he can.

dee arches a brow, and the chauffeur moves to open the door for him, because he was raised with manners, jesus, wasn’t this emily and richard sanders’ grandson? one would think he’d know something about how to comport himself.

his brain provides several mental images, though: the little yellow clapboard house logan lived in, the absurdly picturesque tiny town full of brick buildings and repurposed barns and colonial charm, logan’s voice saying, my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six, and feels a strange clenching in his chest. 

dee shoves it down and arranges his face into his typical boredom by the time he’s walking up to the front door, logan quickly falling into step behind him.

he opens the door—the chauffeur’s going around to the servant’s entrance—and by the time he’s stepping through the door, nanny has materialized at his side, and looks only slightly surprised that there is another teenage boy with him.

logan is too busy looking around at the entry hall—the rugs, the paintings, the furniture, the post-its stuck up on the front door—to really notice any of that, for which dee can’t help but breathe a little sigh of relief.

“hello, we have a guest,” nanny says. 

“i told granmè,” dee says, and his stomach sinks as nanny gives him a sideways look, as if to say you know better than to let that serve as a notification system anymore, before she refocuses on logan.

“your name, young sir?”

“um, logan,” he says, looking boggled that he’s being called sir, and adds, “sanders. logan sanders.”

“emily and richard’s boy?”

“their grandson, yes,” logan says, looking to dee for some kind of help; dee would shrug at him, if he wasn’t kind of enjoying watching the usually unflappable logan flounder a little bit.

nanny nods, and says, “welcome to the lavandelands,” which is technically the townhome’s name, but they only ever use it to introduce the house to new visitors, so dee forgets the townhome has a name at all until it comes up again—it’s the same with the manor, which is technically the hearthfields. logan doesn’t seem to notice, nodding at her like he can’t think of anything else to do.

nanny turns to dee, instead, and asks, “would you care for any refreshments?”

“just the usual tea should suffice,” dee says. nanny looks at logan.

“um,” he says again—dee is a little delighted, because he has never heard logan get so knocked off-center before, and after all this attempted antagonizing about his grades all it took was bringing him to his house—“just—just water’s fine. thank you.”

nanny nods, says, “i’ll be with your grandmother in the greenhouse. mr. sanders, it was a pleasure to meet you, please have mr. slange ring for us if you require anything,” and sweeps off.

“you have a greenhouse?” logan says blankly.

“we have a greenhouse,” dee confirms. “you can see it later, if you’d like. shall we go study?”

logan nods, and falls into step behind dee; dee considers going to the dining room, the way logan did when they were making posters at his house, but he wants nanny, bertie, ingrid, and martha to have plausible deniability in case his parents demand to know if they’d heard anything about this, and so he leads logan up the staircase and into his room.

it’s been cleaned today recently, he can tell; it smells like the lemon candles he likes, the ones martha lights whenever she airs out his room, so the room is in its tidiest iteration; vacuumed rugs, swept and mopped hardwoods, dust-free surfaces, with a made bed and no mess anywhere anywhere.

it practically seems like a hotel room, if not for the legal pad on his desk with his handwriting on it.

and of course, logan crosses almost immediately to the desk; dee only catches on a minute later, when he bends slightly to get a better look inside the vivarium.

“luke, leia, and han, right?” logan says, glancing at dee for confirmation before scanning the plants and rocks; dee crosses over, too, and gestures toward the rock in the back corner—mostly hidden by plants, but the sun lamp shines directly upon it.

“they like to nap here,” dee says, and he’s right—luke and han are curled up, sunning themselves, and logan makes an ahh noise when he spots them too.

“they’re larger than i expected,” logan says, staring at them, eyes lit up with curiosity.

“mm,” dee says vaguely. “females tend to be longer and bulkier than males. leia’s biggest, she’s a little over two feet.”

“where is she?” logan says. “you said she was the checkered one.”

dee tries his hardest not to seem surprised, but—logan remembers his snake’s markings. from a a throwaway comment he made nearly a month ago. 

“probably hiding,” dee says. “she likes to stick near the water, so she’s probably curled up under the lip—”

logan kneels down, all the better to see, and he says, “i see her!”

“asleep?”

“i think so,” logan says, and frowns. “i’m not as familiar with snakes as i am with other reptiles, though.”

dee blinks. “which reptiles are you familiar with?”

“frogs, mostly,” logan admits. “lots of frogs and toads would be around the pool, when we lived at the inn, and they’re very common in the pond there. salamanders and lizards, sometimes, during summers. i had a brief phase of hunting for reptiles and bugs, i thought i would be a reptile research journalist, or something—i kept bringing them home and dad had to pretend he wasn’t scared of any creepy-crawly bugs or scaly things, he’d call over virgil so that there was someone i could show all the bugs to who wouldn’t get freaked out.”

dee has a mental image, then, of logan—shorter, and baby-faced, holding up a salamander and babbling to this mysterious virgil about its various properties, who would nod and ask questions and generally care what a child thought, his dad shoving down his fear long enough to listen to logan, because it’s something that interested him, something that logan cared about.

and then a memory of himself, hip-deep in snake research books, trying to tell his new adopted parents all about why snakes were so interesting and cool, and receiving three snakes for his first birthday state-side and overhearing maybe she’ll shut up about the stupid snakes now, his mother saying at least we won’t have to see them, they’ll be in her room, maybe she’ll stay there more and children should be seen and not heard as nanny and martha tidied up the wrapping paper from his birthday party—

he squashes the not-jealousy with extreme prejudice. 

“oh, and the occasional turtle,” logan adds, breaking dee’s train of thought. “not many snakes, though; not many of the inn’s employees were keen on letting the five-year-old try to find out if one was venomous or not, so i’d be stuck watching if they ever found one.”

“...right,” dee says, unsure of what to really say to that. also, he’s a bit busy listening to the purposefully-heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

“so i’ve never seen snakes up close like this,” logan finishes, and dee just. nods.

fortunately, a knock on the door breaks any lingering awkwardness; dee calls out “come in!” and nanny comes in with a tray of a typical afternoon tea.

“just leave that on the storage bench, thank you, nanny,” dee says briskly, and so nanny sets the tray of snacks on the bench at the base of dee’s bed, before she presents a water bottle to logan, and says, “there’s a chilled glass for you on the tray.”

“oh,” logan says, and takes it. “um. thank you.”

almost as if he’s unable to help it, his fingernails tap-tap-tap against the water bottle as he looks at the design, whatever sense of culture shock that might have faded after looking at the snakes rearing right back.

“thank you, nanny, that will do,” dee says, and nanny nods to him, before she departs and closes the door on the way out.

“this water bottle is made of glass,” logan says, as if it’s a question.

dee arches an eyebrow at him. “do you not like water served in glass? do you only like plastic containers for your water? shall i call for nanny to get you a plastic cup?”

“no,” logan says, “no, it’s just—” and he squints at the label, before he looks up at dee and says, “this bottle of water is from a glacier.”

“you can keep the bottle, if you like,” dee says, “we have plenty more.”

“the source is only accessible from the ocean.”

“yes, i heard you,” dee says. “it’s not like i would already know this, since i have lived in this house and had that water for years, but do go on.”

“our goal was to create the world’s first luxury premium glacier water product with unmatched quality—purity—elegance. created from an award-winning source, from the hat mountain glacier in beautiful british columbia, canada, we have captured the hearts of water connoisseurs worldwide,” logan reads from the label, and looks up at him. “dee.”

“i don’t understand what your issue is with the water,” dee says, even though he’s very aware that logan’s issue is primarily you even have fancy WATER?! but it’s fun to see how absolutely bemused he is over it. “if it’s good enough for water connoisseurs worldwide, it should certainly be good enough for you.”

logan hesitates, before he sits on the bench at the end of dee’s bed, and picks up the chilled glass. oh, nanny set out to impress, that’s one of the nice crystal glasses that granmè only ever really brings out for parties.

it also has the added benefit of logan’s eyes becoming even rounder behind his glasses, and looking between the water bottle and the glass, as if weighing if he’s blue-blooded enough to consume it, or if he’s so much of a commoner that taking a sip of it will cause him death, like the false grail in indiana jones.

evidently, the combined hayden-sanders genes must win out, because he carefully pours himself a glass, and then looks even more hopelessly confused when he turns his attention to the tea tray.

really, dee at the start of the school year would be clapping his hands in absolute glee at how much he’s managed to catch logan off-guard.

“are these cucumber sandwiches?” logan asks faintly.

“ooh, yes,” dee says, plucking one for himself and promptly shoving it into his mouth, fast, so that sanders won’t notice while his attention is captured by their snack. “plus pear and stilton, here, and ham-brie-apple, and pesto chicken, and those ones are prosciutto-fig, i think. of course there’s scones and clotted cream, battenburg, crumpets...”

“you,” logan says, looking hopelessly lost, “you just asked for tea?”

dee looks at him, amused, even as he’s pouring himself a cup of tea. “my grandfather was english, sanders. it’s afternoon tea.”

logan blinks, before he says, “i didn’t know that. that your grandfather’s english, i mean.”

“and my grandmother’s french,” dee says. “my particular branch of slanges relocated to the americas much later than your branch of sanders did.”

“you know that?” logan says, startled.

“of course,” dee says. “sanders’ came over on the mayflower, daughters of the american revolution, et cetera et cetera. our grandmothers have been friends for years, did you really think i wouldn’t know?”

he waits a beat, before he adds, “and, well. know your enemy.”

“i suppose you took that much more seriously than i did,” logan says at last, before he reaches for a safe option—a blueberry scone—and cracks it open, spreading it with jam.

“yes,” dee says pridefully, “yes, i did.”

logan rolls his eyes, even as he plops a generous helping of clotted cream on top—

“oh, cornish method, interesting,” dee says, just to see that confused look come rearing back, and is immediately satisfied—

before logan shakes himself, and says, “why did your grandparents relocate here, anyway?”

dee tries his very best not to brighten too obviously, it’s just—it’s been so long since someone so blatantly handed him an excuse to spin stories on a platter.

“well, that’s a very interesting story,” dee says, leaning back, “and really, it all starts with my great-grandfather. or, rather, my great-grandfather’s very distant cousins. you see, my family had a lordship—”

logan looks at him, surprised.

“—a very minor lordship,” dee says, “technically barons, not dukes or anything. you probably wouldn’t have heard of them, it’s not like they were major members of the house of lords or anything. anyway, my great-grandfather didn’t know that, because again, he was a very distant cousin, and the main line of the family had three daughters. no women could inherit.”

logan frowns. “sexist.”

“mm, quite,” dee says. “anyways, they were counting on a closer cousin to inherit—a second cousin, i believe—but he tragically died in a boating accident, and so the family came calling to my cousin—who was a solicitor at the time—and brought him to the estate, which was called,” dee quickly casts about for an alike-enough name, “...upton priory.”

and so dee goes on cribbing details from the first three seasons of downton abbey, changing names and having a merry old time. logan gets close to realizing—he says “that sounds rather familiar, actually,” when dee reiterates the whole plotline of his supposed great-grandfather’s valet getting arrested for supposedly murdering his wife, to which dee says, “it was quite a scandal, perhaps you’re remembering the details from your grandmother, goodness knows she’d find it fascinating,” which buys him even more time until he kills off his great-grandfather, the matthew stand-in, after the birth of their second child.

logan frowns, and says, “well, that’s rather sad, but—i thought you said your grandfather was eldest? why would he give up a lordship?”

“why else, sanders?” dee says, and gestures expansively. “love.”

logan arches his eyebrows, and takes another sandwich—he seems quite partial to the pesto chicken and ham-apple-brie—and says, “go on, then.”

and so dee goes on stealing details and weaving a story, this time from the king’s speech, explaining how his grandmother was a divorcée (she is not) and his grandfather wanted to marry her anyway, as they’d met and she’d become his mistress during an outing to new york (possibly true, but in the same way that the moon landing being faked is possibly true) but as she was a divorcée (again, untrue) and he was a prominent member of the church of england (as far as he knows his grandfather was a catholic) to have a lord marry a divorcée had caused quite the drama between the family, and then dee cribs even more details from downton abbey to describe the fight, mounting and dramatic and full of high passions, going on for another fifteen minutes, until his grandfather finally decided—

“to abdicate the throne?” logan finishes dryly; they’ve picked the tea tray mostly clean of snacks, by now, and logan’s long since finished his water and has stolen a cup of tea. “i didn’t realize you were a descendant of edward the eighth. should i have been calling you your majesty this whole time?”

dee tries his very hardest not to pout, but he does cross his arms. “how long have you suspected?”

“around the time you said he gave a lordship ‘for love,’” logan says, “but i knew for sure when you started talking about how your grandmother became a mistress in new york. she’s french.”

“damn!” dee says, not really angry at all, but still, he had to keep up appearances. “i managed to fool brad with that whole backstory until he saw the king’s speech five years later.”

and then dee waits; he waits for logan to get mad, or to snap at him for wasting time, something that dee will attempt to brush off and maybe even laugh at. he waits for logan—journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded logan—to react to what was dee, essentially, lying straight to his face for about half an hour.

but then:

“well, that’s brad,” logan says, “it doesn’t take much to fool him, i’d imagine.”

dee smiles, pleased. “no, it doesn’t.”

“so where was the other stuff from?” logan says. “upton priory, i mean. i’m assuming that doesn’t exist. i know the story from somewhere.”

he’s… curious.

he’s curious??? dee repeats to himself—this is logan, who is, as stated, journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded—he doesn’t seem mad. he just seems… intrigued.

this bears much more investigation that dee would have thought prior to inviting him over.

“downton abbey,” dee allows. “i can’t believe you caught onto the historical significance of edward the eighth meeting his mistress in new york, and yet i throw three season’s worth of downton abbey at you and not even a little bit of recognition.”

logan shrugs. “i’m not very good with pop culture. that’s more—” and very suddenly he looks like he wants to slap a hand to his forehead, if logan was at all prone to dramatic, cliché gestures like that. “roman. he was going on for days about matthew dying in the same season they killed off sybil, that’s where i heard all of it before, it’s from roman.”

“the boyfriend,” dee says. 

“yes, the boyfriend,” logan says, “who is very excited for the excuse to wear a pretty ballgown, by the way.”

dee accepts this for the subject change it is, and digs out his notebook and a pen.

“right, then,” he says. “as previously discussed, i’m handling chilton participants, and i’m pleased to announce that with the addition of ana salazar, the entirety of the clairosophic society are involved.”

“oh, excellent,” logan says, and so dee goes on listing chilton students they’ve enlisted—he’d been right, recruiting the puffs and the skull and dagger had caused a wave of wannabes to join in too—and they discuss setting up a form for people to ensure that they’ve paid their way in, dee eventually digging out his laptop and making a couple drafts of one. 

as he does that, logan talks about the sideshire students (behind on payments, but they’re doing an ongoing bake sale at virgil’s, which, dee doesn’t know how small town things work, but he supposes he should trust that logan knows what he’s talking about) and logan taps his own notebook with his pen, going over all of the entrants and discussing anything that needs finer-tuning—not very much on their end, it turns out, but they’ll definitely need to have another meeting after what logan’s dad is apparently calling get cultured day, where he and logan’s boyfriend’s mother will teach everyone the dance they’ll need to know and the proper way to curtsy and so on.

logan scans over his notes, nodding in satisfaction, before he says, “we were a bit oversaturated on debutantes, the clairosophic society should help balance things out with escorts.”

“ana wants to go with janey,” dee corrects. “so she and janey are already taken, but otherwise—”

he blinks. “ana and janey are dating?”

dee looks at him, amused. “you know nothing about the social stratosphere at chilton, do you?”

“i don’t have much tolerance for gossip,” logan says. 

“really?” dee says. “i’d think that as a journalist you’d keep an eye out for these kinds of things.”

“i don’t report on gossip,” logan says. “what do i look like, francie jarvis? anyone else who lives and breathes that rag?”

“what, the jefferson?” dee says. “are you kidding? that’s the most useful thing that chilton’s ever provided me, and i’m including the education, here.”

“useful?” logan repeats, looking as offended as dee had expected him to look when logan would catch on to dee lying his ass off for half an hour straight. interesting. 

“well, admittedly, they can be rather behind when it comes to certain things,” dee says thoughtfully, “but the chaos that happens on the day it comes out? masterful.”

logan frowns. “i thought you wanted to work on the franklin.” 

“oh, i do,” dee says. “like i said, they’re not exactly cutting edge, i can do better with a well-coordinated social media check than they can do with an entire staff full of rumormongers. the whole,” and he flaps a hand, “truth and investigation thing, for the franklin, that’s interesting. besides, the franklin has more effect when it targets adults; with the jefferson, they just want to confirm that the algebra and the calculus teachers are having an affair, which they are—”

logan looks perplexed. “how do you—”

“—don’t ask,” dee says. “believe me, i wish i didn’t know.”

his eyes narrow, as if to say why should i believe you? which, good. he’s learning.

“but in the franklin, one can publish a deep-dive anonymous investigation and get shady male teachers tossed out of the schools on their ear for their too-frequent uniform checks and saying that uniform skirts are distracting. the franklin has more real-world power.”

“not that an investigation of an adult potentially preying upon teenage girls isn’t important,” logan says, “because it certainly is, but journalism isn’t about acquiring power. it’s about holding those in power accountable.”

“isn’t that the same thing?” dee points out. 

“no,” logan says. 

“but it is,” dee says. “because the concept of holding power is so multi-faceted. everyone’s idea of power is different. the upper class has power, the president has power, the people protesting have power. people like francie jarvis and tristan have power, but then, so do you and i. but all of those kinds of power are different.”

“well, that i agree with,” logan says cautiously, and then he frowns. “how do i have power?”

dee looks at him. he looks at him harder.

“what?”

“you’re kidding,” dee says. “you’re a sanders and a hayden.”

“the haydens are not particularly pleased that i am a hayden,” logan says. “the haydens would adore nothing more than to tidily remove me from the family tree.”

interesting.

“but they can’t tidily remove you being a hayden from everyone’s memory,” dee points out. “and, well. power can be privilege.”

“well, i certainly have privilege,” logan says. “i’m white, i’m a cis male, i’m attached to an affluent family.” he frowns, and amends, “families, i suppose.”

“oh, good,” dee says. “you’re a sane person who recognizes white privilege, i won’t have to kick you out.” 

also—attached to an affluent family, not part of an affluent family. more intrigue.

“anyways. you have plenty of power—take chilton, for example. say you wrote that piece on a pedophilic teacher that i was talking about. it would be due to your actions, your hard work and diligence, that removed him from his post. that doesn’t seem like power, to you?”

logan shakes his head, and repeats, “that’s what journalism’s about. just because there are effect from the story i write, to hold said teacher accountable, that doesn’t mean that is personally driven from me. that would be a response—from parents, from students, from headmaster charleston, eventually. there are responsibilities that journalists have, important ones, and we serve a purpose for society. perhaps the story has a powerful impact, or the story is emotionally powerful. that doesn’t mean that i am powerful. i didn’t direct people to fire him, i didn’t influence anyone. i would have presented the facts and exposed his wrongdoings, that’s all.”

“well, i suppose it does depend on your definition of powerful, that’s accurate enough,” dee says thoughtfully. “but the more philosophical idea of what is power? isn’t what i’m trying to address, at the moment, i’m addressing you. another example, then—academically, you’re powerful. tristan dugray would pay a tidy sum for any one of your study guides.”

logan frowns. “i wouldn’t cheat.”

“yes, yes, you’re very moral and ethical, good for you, you’ve passed the after-school special test,” dee says dismissively, “but specifically, for this definition of power, it’s a certain level of strength. but that’s a different kind of power, than, say—”

“tristan dugray never getting in trouble for his foolish pranks because of who his father is,” logan says.

“right,” dee says, “although you’re wrong on that front, he’s a prank on a bad day away from being sent to military school, but—yes, you’re seeing my point. power varies, power changes.”

“well, i never disagreed with that,” he says. “but those aiming for power—their main idea is almost never let’s be a journalist! unless they’re decisively within the yellow journalism era, or if they are fictional character charles foster kane. and even then, he was a media magnate, his attempts at journalism were just to manipulate public opinion and make a lot of money.”

dee sighs longingly and says, “if i were white, that would be my ideal era to work in.”

“what,” logan says, and suddenly they’re talking about yellow journalism—logan is very boring and against it, because he likes things like accuracy and facts—and then logan looks like he’s about to blow steam out of his ears when dee tells him that his ultimate career goal is to write for and maybe run something like the national enquirer, which leads to even more discussions on journalism, things like what qualifies someone to be a journalist and who decides what journalism is, and they’re on a little side-tangent about journalism as portrayed in films when there’s a knock on his door.

“mister slange, mister sanders, dinner is ready,” nanny says, and dee tries his best not to startle, because—logan’s been here for three hours. and he has not once gotten annoyed at dee for reasons outside of journalistic, ethical, or moral debate, and even then, logan seems to set all of that aside relatively easily.

and dee, apart from making up his entire ancestral backstory, has barely even lied.

“coming!” dee says, and then to logan, “i hope you like snail caviar.”

an expression of panic pops up on logan’s face, and dee laughs at him.

“kidding,” he says reassuringly. “it’s french onion soup and croque monsieurs.”

logan looks relieved, and he even laughs, and then proceeds to bump into dee, the way that friends on tv shows jostle each other when one tells a particularly biting joke, and then logan pauses, looking at dee.

very suddenly, dee thinks, oh.

does he think he’s my friend?

they’ve been debating for the better part of two hours, and dee lied to him for half an hour, and dee has been purposefully throwing as many rich-people things into conversation as possible to get logan looking baffled, and logan thinks that they are friends.

is that what friends do?

dee clears his throat, before he grabs logan’s bicep in a way he hopes is normal and does not at all give away that he has not had a friend since he immigrated to the united states, and says, “come on, then, i’ll let you stick your head in the library on the way.”

“you have a library?!” logan asks eagerly, following along as dee tugs him down the hall, and dee tries his very best not to smile too openly.

⁂

dee’s house is…a lot. it’s a lot.

(dee had pulled up a picture of his parents’ house to show off how it could be his own personal xanadu, when they’d been talking about citizen kane, and logan has mentally tabulated the publication he was talking about to fact-check that, because that—that was just absurd, even more so than this one.)

but the smell of french onion soup and croque monsieurs—essentially french ham-and-cheese, either sandwiches or baked lasagna style—is a little more comforting. logan knows these smells, baking bread and ham and melting cheese and onions—granted, virgil’s diner does a french onion soup, but he’s sure it’s not as fancy as what he’s about to eat with dee.

and, as they cross into the dining room, his grandmother, seated at the head of the table.

logan’s technically had lunch with mrs. slange before; it had been at the country club, and he’d been more preoccupied with glowering at dee, but he has met her and spoken with her. she’d been nice; she’d spoken to his grandmother quite a lot about landscaping, and flowers. azaleas in particular, he’s fairly certain.

she’s a rather diminutive woman, her already short stature shrunk down even more from age; her hair is thin and pure white, fluffing up in a way that makes logan think of dandelion fuzz. her face is wrinkled, especially with smile lines around her eyes, her mouth. she’s wearing a cardigan over a button-down, much like his grandmother wears on particularly casual days, but whereas his grandmother prefers solid colors, mrs. slange’s cardigan is white with embroidered pink and purple flowers; it matches her pastel pink button-down. 

by all accounts, she should register in logan’s mind as a fragile old woman; a nice one, one that seems to have more concern about her flowers than anything else. but there’s something glinting in her eyes—flinty, icy blue—that reminds him very much of dee, despite the fact that they are not biologically related.

it’s cunning, logan thinks, or intelligence—she must have both in spades, to help raise someone like dee.

she smiles at dee, and says something in french—logan can manage a basic spanish conversation due to his proximity to the princes, and he’s taking latin classes, but he’s absolutely hopeless with french unless he lucks out and they say something with a latin root word—and dee responds in kind. logan notes that their accents are different. logan puts together, barely a second after he notices, that one of haiti’s two official languages is french.

logan spares a second to wonder if dee can speak the other, haitian creole, before his grandmother turns to him directly and says—something in french. he has no clue what.

“il ne peut pas parler français, granmè, utiliser l'anglais,” dee says, looking almost a little amused at logan’s expense—well, logan can put together he can’t speak french, use english, just based off of context clues.

she starts a sentence in french, pauses, furrows her brow, as if unpuzzling it, and then continues in lightly accented english, “welcome to our home.”

“thank you very much for having me,” logan says, his dad’s be on your best behavior! text at the forefront of his mind, with his dad saying evelyn, right? i always liked her shortly behind. “your home is beautiful; the landscaping’s lovely.”

her wrinkled face settles into its worn lines she smiles.

“mer—” she begins, shakes her head, takes a breath, and then continues, “thank you very much. the roses are finicky little things, this time of year, i’m quite pleased with how they’ve turned out. i think they’ve thrown their last primadonna fit until fall rolls around again.”

and from there, it’s easy to prod her into conversation as they eat the soup course—logan mentally apologizes to virgil, but if he’d taste it, he’d probably agree that this french onion soup is better than his, too—just by asking about the various plants she tends to favor, the particular conditions that each seems to like. the conversation seems perfectly fine, if not for dee staring at the pair of them out of the corners of his eyes, as if monitoring their conversation to make sure neither of them says anything unseemly. 

which is a little unsettling—logan doesn’t think he’s said anything horribly rude to an old person lately, unless one counted his paternal grandparents last fall—but the conversation seems to be fine. logan admits that most of his knowledge of plants is theoretical, scientific, which prods her into asking about their shared science course, and dee takes over that conversation.

it’s fine. the whole dinner is fine, and it seems to be going well, even, and he keeps on thinking so and thinking so as he digs into the main course of croque monsieurs, and she says—

“how do you find the meal, christopher?”

it takes logan a second to register what’s wrong with that statement, and, as soon as it does, unwittingly, his eyes flash to dee.

dee has frozen, fork halfway to his mouth. it’s like he has to buffer for a moment before he visibly stiffens, setting the fork down. logan is about to excuse it as a slip of the tongue—she had known both his parents, surely, perhaps it was just a misstatement. most people in his grandparents’ sphere exalted his resemblance to christopher, even though he was quite clearly a carbon copy of patton excepting his sharper bone structure, straighter hair, and thinner frame, until—

“logan, granmè,” dee says, in a very gentle tone that does not at all match his fists curling up on the table. “this is logan, christopher’s son. do you remember? we had lunch with him and emily.”

her brow furrows, and she says, “right. of course. logan.”

she quite sounds like she thinks that dee is pulling one over her head, and she’s going along with it, the way one did when a small child was pulling an incredibly obvious joke on them.

she maintains that tone and slips a couple more times—christopher, how are straub and francine? as logan’s halving his croque monsieur; christopher, didn’t you say you were going out to california? when the maid, as tight-faced as dee, is setting dessert on the table. 

and it dawns on him, slowly: why dee had to prompt her to use english, when she was born speaking french, and why it had taken her a few seconds to clearly switch over in her head when dee went from french to english at the drop of a hat; why there were so many post-its near the front door; why the household staff had seemed surprised at a visitor, despite the fact that dee had told his grandmother he was bringing home a guest; why his grandmother had said she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat; dee keeping a keen eye out, as if he’s monitoring what they’ll say; not for him, logan realizes, for her. 

she has a disease. she’s aware enough that her gardens are in splendid shape, she’s aware enough that she clearly knows who dee is, but. but she can’t remember who logan is.

it is an exceedingly awkward dessert.

he can’t deny the chocolate-raspberry souffle is absolutely delicious, though.

⁂

the dinner is over. nanny is taking granmè to the library. logan and dee are left alone at the dinner table.

dee has been mentally preparing for this since his grandmother’s first slip—comebacks, things to say, particularly acerbic and witty things he could summon up if logan is rude about it. he’s ready. 

that is, until logan just says, “can i see the greenhouse?”

dee blinks at him. “what?”

“the greenhouse,” logan repeats. “you said i could see it after dinner. can i?”

okay, dee thinks. changing the setting of the argument. he isn’t sure what logan’s play is here, but—

“sure,” dee agrees, and stands, purposefully languid and unhurried. “follow me.”

and so he leads logan through the narrow hallways of the house, mostly ignoring logan as they go (“is that a velázquez?” he demands of a painting, which dee doesn’t really deign answer to—of course it’s a velázquez, does his family seem like the type to settle for a framed imitation) and at last comes to the door of the greenhouse, which he opens without ceremony.

logan walks in. dee expects him to maybe go to sit down, and ask dee why his elderly grandmother thought he was his estranged father, but no—logan beelines straight for the hostas.

well. okay. dee trails after him, meandering vaguely around the greenhouse. logan’s route seems to make sense to him, and only him, but he pokes his nose close to each plant, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he crouches to examine the soil, the roots; if dee was walking into this situation with no prior context, he’d think perhaps that logan was an enterprising botanist who had just gained entry to a highly regarded greenhouse.

but logan is just in the greenhouse of an old lady with memory problems, who he did not know was an old lady with memory problems until she repeatedly referred to him by his father’s name. 

and so dee follows as logan examines fauna, and flora, and the goddamn soil. everytime logan hums with interest, dee thinks it’s a precursor to the beginning of this conversation, but no, he’s just humming at the plants. the plants. they’re plants, his grandmother’s plants, so he’s used to his grandmother being very fond of them and rambling about them even if he’s mostly indifferent about them, most of his emotion toward plants being if it makes granmè happy. the key word in that sentence is granmè. he does not particularly care if these plants make logan happy. he cares what logan will say about his grandmother.

they’ve looped three-quarters of the way around the greenhouse by the time dee’s patience runs out.

“well?!” and it tears out of him in a kind of snarl. logan, from where he’s crouched beside the lilies, blinks at him, his fingers resting on the arm of his glasses, as if he’s about to adjust them again.

“what?”

“what,” dee repeats, then, “what?!” and before he can even think about it, he has his bowler hat in one hand, thwacking logan over the head with it.

“ow!” logan says, clearly more out of the surprise of being thwacked when he wasn’t expecting it. that, or logan is a big baby, dee didn’t even swing that hard.

“what,” dee repeats, jamming his hat over his head again before logan can see any semblance of hat hair, “what, are you kidding me, sanders, of all the times to go quiet when you clearly have questions, you choose now?! say something!”

logan blinks at him, before he says, very slowly, “about…”

“my grandmother,” dee snaps. 

“ah,” logan says, then, almost like he’s reciting something for his latin class, “i am… sorry that she is ill, and i respect your privacy during this time?”

dee actually leans forward because of the force of the Look he is giving logan.

“you know i’m bad at this kind of thing,” he says defensively. “what do you expect me to say?”

“i don’t—!” dee says, and nearly throws up his hands, but he is not allowing himself to get that carried away. “i expect you to say something! not just wander around the greenhouse and let me wait and see if you say something stupid!”

logan looks at him, and says, “was that insensitive of me?”

dee’s eyes must look close to popping out of his head, because logan’s hands are already rising to protect the crown of his head, like he expects dee to hit him with his hat again.

“do you,” he says, and gives dee a strange look, “do you want to talk about it?”

“not particularly!”

“that’s what i thought!” logan says. “i assumed the prior agreement of you wanting to speak to me about anything that particularly affects you would take precedence—”

agreement, dee mouths, and mentally backtracks, until—

“my parents wanting to out me and you coming up with this whole debutante plot and my grandmother having dementia are two different categories!”

“i didn’t think that a statement like ‘if you want to talk about it, i am here’ needed categorization!”

“the previously agreed upon ‘it’ was specifically about my parents’ plot to out me by way of american daughters of the revolution!” dee says, near-hysterical.

“okay!” logan says, “okay, fine, i put forward the terms of that particular definition of ‘it’ being broadened to anything particularly troublesome in your life and wait on your acceptance, or your proposal on how exactly to renegotiate ‘it’, does that help?”

dee stares at him, jaw hanging open, and says, “there is no way that you are an actual person, are you serious?!”

“i don’t know what you want from me,” logan says, near-mournful, and the absolute absurdity of the situation sinks in enough that dee starts laughing.

his parents want to very publicly out him without his consent, his grandmother has dementia that will only get worse and worse and it will only be a matter of time before his parents realize what is happening and send her into a nursing home and force him to move back in with them, the household staff who are the closest people he had previously considered friends have no choice but increase their focuses on spying on him for his parents in order to distract them from noticing anything wrong with granmè, or else risk unemployment, and logan is here talking about renegotiations like they’re on a legal team, and talking sure as shit isn’t an option, so dee can’t do anything but laugh.

“christ,” he says, and half-crumples, half-slides to the ground beside logan, who looks very bemused. “putain de merde, sanders.”

“i’m assuming that’s impolite,” logan says primly, and dee snorts.

“yeah,” dee says, in the same tone would say duh. “yeah, impolite, let’s go with that, shall we?” 

logan pauses, for a few seconds, as if allowing dee to get his bearings, before he says "dementia?" with a tone of curiosity that has dee swiveling his head to glower at him.

"sorry," logan says, not sounding particularly sorry.

"journalist habit," dee mutters, beating logan to the punch for his own excuse.

"yes."

they sit in silence for a little longer.

"i didn't know she knows that particular side of the family," logan says. "the haydens, i mean."

"oh, yes," dee says absently. "we probably lunch with them about twice a year, sometimes more—less now, though, now that they've moved away."

"huh," logan says, then, "what are they like?"

"what, you don't know?" dee says, glancing at him.

"not particularly," logan says. "i've only met them three times, and considering i was still in the hospital post-birth for one of them and was learning how to crawl for the other—"

"huh," dee echoes.

how weird it must be for logan, to hear that dee's had more regular interactions with his grandparents. both sets, probably; he would have remembered if logan had gotten dragged into various family gatherings the way he has.

"they," logan says, purses his lips, and says, "the haydens were particularly transphobic."

"yeah, well," dee says. "that doesn't surprise me."

"homophobic too," logan says, and he glances at his hands before he looks sideways at dee. "deviant was the exact word used in my presence. i'm assuming there was more, but dad kicked me out of the room before i could hear anything else."

dee rolls around various replies in his mouth. he could offer sympathy, or something equally socially accepted and something dee would have no problem letting roll off his tongue like a well-rehearsed monologue.

but.

he would tell all of those monologues to people who don't know that he's trans, that have never been to either of his houses, that have never listened to him spin a lie for half an hour and not be mad about it. he would tell all of these monologues to someone who didn't know that his grandmother has alzheimer's.

so dee doesn't offer a monologue. he offers something that he assumes logan might appreciate, something he'd recognize in a fellow colleague: curiosity.

"which dad?" dee asks. "patton or—"

"patton," logan says, cutting him off. "christopher walked me out, though, to make sure i actually stayed out."

another pause. it seems like curiosity hasn't been the outright wrong move, so dee strives for more questions.

"are you close?" dee says. "with christopher. i've only met him a couple times."

logan's mouth twists downward at the edges.

"i don't suppose you'd be willing to offer definitive parameters for close, would you?"

"no, not really," dee says. "closeness is subjective."

logan shrugs a shoulder. he looks almost uncomfortable.

"what?" dee says, interest now piqued—because if he didn't know any better, he'd say logan looked guilty.

"i," logan says carefully, "might have blackmailed him."

"you what," dee says, turning to face logan head-on, not even bothering to hide his shock. or his delight. he doesn't bother hiding that either.

"after the visit last fall, he," and the corners of his mouth twist down even further. "well, that doesn't matter anymore. anyway, i dug up as much of his public financial and legal records that i possibly could and made him a deal that i'd extend equal efforts in getting to know him as he would getting to know me. we have a standing weekly phone call now."

"you blackmailed him?" dee says gleefully.

"with public information," logan says huffily. "it's not like i hired a private investigator or anything—"

"nuh-uh, nope, you used the word blackmail," dee says merrily. "you don't even have to justify it with saying where you got the information, you still used information you dug up on him to coerce him into a deal. that is the textbook definition of blackmail."

"i don't know if it's the textbook definition—"

"nope!" dee says. "nope, i'm not listening to your semantics. you blackmailed someone."

"you don't need to sound so thrilled about it," logan grumbles.

"are you kidding?" dee demands. "this is by far one of the most interesting things i've ever heard about you. please tell me there's more misbehavior like this in your past—no, no, wait! i'll figure it out myself!"

"good luck with that," logan says. and then, almost randomly, "everyone says i look like him."

dee stays quiet—give the interviewee time to consider their answer, if it's short, mel had lectured once. always leave a couple of seconds for them to think about if they want to add on to their answer before you move to an entirely different question.

"i mean," logan says, and runs a hand through his hair. "other than this, i don't particularly understand why. i pretty clearly favor my dad—ugh, patton, i favor patton, this is the problem with two dads—but everyone says i look like christopher. my grandparents—both sides—their friends, a couple teachers. it's usually rather frustrating, and though i can't prove it, i have a feeling it's somewhat rooted in transphobia, for most of those friends."

he pauses a beat, as if understanding where he's going with this particular line of conversation. dee suddenly feels a lot less excited about the potential for uncovering any more of logan's past misconduct.  

"but," logan says. "it, ah. it makes more sense, if your grandmother has more recently had contact with that particular side of my family—"

"don't," dee says, and the exhaustion in his voice almost stuns him.

"don't what?"

"don't," dee says, and flaps a hand. "don't make excuses for her. she has alzheimer's, she's not stupid. everyone's patronizing her now and i hate it, even though i find myself doing it sometimes, it's like everyone's scared that they'll somehow catch the alzheimer's if they don't talk to her like she's a toddler."

and now logan's the one who's quiet, just for a little bit, like he's strategizing how to carry out the rest of the interview. 

except, dee thinks, this isn't an interview. this is a conversation. this is that talking thing that logan offered so readily, back when dee had come out, back before logan came up with this whole absurd debutante plan. 

it's just—difficult. to consider turning this strategizing, conniving part of his brain off. he isn't sure if he ever has, ever since he was first notified it was there in the first place. why would he turn this piece of himself off when it protected him, when it kept him aloof and above it all and safe to conduct himself in the way that felt most true to him? if it took lying and manipulating along the way, so be it. he has no patience for attempts at moralizing the way he lives his life. immanuel kant was a fucking moron who would have gotten himself and his friend killed because he decided his perfect duty was to always tell the truth. what was the point of something like truth if it hurt you? if it put you in danger?

it's not even a choice. 

or, at least. it has never been a choice. because logan is no murderer at the door, or machiavelli-wannabe gossip, or high-society rich person who held so much more power than one could even think of through backdoor deals and secret donations, who had adopted a poor orphan from haiti because it might look good as an accessory, and people would think them charitable, and they would barely even thinking about that poor orphan from haiti growing into their own person with pesky, inconvenient things like wants and needs and opinions.

telling the truth would logan would be... telling the truth to logan. logan, who lived in a tiny, pleasantville knockoff town with things like dance marathons and punnily-named cat-themed stores. logan, who had once blackmailed his own father in order to obtain a standing weekly phone call. logan, who had a trans dad, and who had a boyfriend that he had brought to the school dance, and danced with him, and kissed him, and it didn't even occur to him to care who might see, who might disapprove.

logan, who was once homeless and penniless, and who had extended various sources of information that dee had in his hands, ready to drop into the public eye at any given moment.

logan, who had just sat and talked about citizen kane with him and didn't catch onto three seasons worth of downton abbey but immediately clocked a reference to wallis simpson. logan, who had looked helplessly confused at the sight of fancy water and finger sandwiches and afternoon tea. 

logan, who might think that they are friends.

it might become more of a choice then, dee thinks. 

so when logan asks, very quietly, "how long have you known that she's sick?" it only takes dee swallowing down the saliva rising in his throat to be able to answer.

"she was diagnosed about three and a half months ago," he says. "but i've known something's wrong for a lot longer than that."

logan swallows, too, and dips his head in a brief nod, as if to show he's absorbed the information.

"i'm sorry," he says.

dee could say any number of things: she could live as long as twenty years after her diagnosis, but it's more commonly four to eight years. or one day she's going to forget who i am and i am absolutely terrified. or when my parents catch on they're going to send her away to a nursing home, and i won't be able to live here anymore, and i'll go crazy if i have to stay in that house for too long, their screaming and shouting will drive me crazy. or you don't even know the half of it, the household staff that you probably think are so nice and who practically raised me have no choice but to spy on every little thing i do because otherwise they'll get fired.

but for as much as dee can briefly turn off that part of his mind, he cannot turn it off all at once. there is no way he's opening the floodgates of information like that. they might be friends, but dee isn't in hysterics. he can control himself. he can control this. 

"yeah," dee says, and tips back his head to look up at the ceiling; half of it is glass, leading up to where it joins the rest of the house. the sky is bleak and black tonight, with no moon or stars in sight. "yeah, me too."

⁂

the chauffeur closes the door behind logan, and logan has to fight the urge to jump, even though the chauffeur was also holding the door open for logan to get into the car in the first place.

he has to shake himself before he turns to look at the front door of the lavandelands; dee is standing outside, letting the light spill out of the house and backlight him enough that logan can see him leaning against one of the columns, one arm casually wrapped around his stomach. his bowler hat overcasts his eyes.

"your address, sir?" the chauffeur says, and logan has to fight the urge not to jump again. he tells the chauffeur the address to virgil's, anyways, and turns his head to look at dee again.

haltingly, he lifts his hand and waves, just a little bit awkward. dee's shadowed form doesn't move.

there's a brief moment where logan's left with his hand raised in the air, and he cringes to himself ever so slightly before he starts to lower it.

but then, dee lifts a gloved hand, and tosses logan a lazy, three-fingered salute off his bowling cap, and logan tries to smile a little bit. he can't quite manage it, but he's pretty sure the chauffeur isn't judging him for not looking pleasant enough, as the chauffeur’s a bit busy pulling the car into a neat, three-pointed turn, before beginning to drive away.

logan glances over his shoulder, just enough to see dee, shoulders slightly slumped, re-enter the house. logan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and redirects his attention to his phone, which he's mostly been neglecting this entire bizarre sojourn at dee's.

he takes enough time to text his dad and virgil that he'll be dropped off at virgil's, so he can pick up a study snack before he heads back to their house, and reassures his dad that he doesn't have to wait up for him or anything. 

he reads a text from roman—a brief complaint about a girl in his dance class, not one of the ones he teaches but the class he actually takes, and logan sends a response that he hopes sounds like the proper, thoughtful response to a mostly inconsequential venting message from his boyfriend.

and then he sits and stares at his homescreen, still that selfie of roman, his dad, and virgil that they took last fall, when he was staying at his grandparents, before everything with thanksgiving and patton's pneumonia had rather tidily messed that week up.

because he has his dad, and his other dad, and virgil, who consists as a dad figure, and he has ms. prince, in her way, and he has roman, a wonderful supportive boyfriend who he has always been able to talk to throughout most of his life. he has rudy, even if he has never particularly leaned on rudy as a means of support. he has maria, and meredith and mark, and his host of cousins from the danes side of the family. he has his grandparents in their own strange ways, even if their relationship prior to this school year would best be described as stilted. he has friends from sideshire high and his teachers and mentors that he left there.

dee has practically no one.

it seems so obvious, looking back at the start of the school year, how dee had seemed so desperate to cling to his academic superiority over everyone in the grade, because that's what he has. he has an ill grandmother, and exceptional grades, and three snakes. he has a former nanny and the rest of a household staff who seem more preoccupied with his grandmother's care. he has his secretive stance in the chilton social ladder, but he didn't have friends. 

logan worries his lip between his teeth. he is incredibly ill-equipped to handle this kind of situation. honestly, he's probably fortunate he only escaped with dee hitting him with his bowler hat; anyone who attempted to have an emotion-centric conversation with logan knew that he wasn't exactly the ideal person to talk to. that's never been his forte.

it has always been his dad's. his dad, who dee had seemed fascinated with, who certainly had a certain level of similarity in their life experiences. and though logan, of course, would never betray confidences...

he could, perhaps, offer some of his vast support system for dee to partake in. leave the choice to him, of course, but. but at least logan would have tried.

and so logan takes a breath, and sends out a text.

Logan Sanders: Dad, would it be all right if I asked Dee sleep over the night of the Culture Day you're planning with Ms. Prince?

[transxfiles]

y’all i cannot express in words how excited i am for the new lumberjanes show to come out. 

i know a lot of folks on tumblr are hearing abt lumberjanes for the first time through the news tv show, but it’s based on a bunch of comics by lgbt creators, and those comics have helped me work through so much difficult stuff, and i don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that lumberjanes (and the current fandom around it) has actually saved my life. 

lumberjanes is a comic about a bunch of girls who go to a summer camp and solve mysteries and fight monsters and just hang out together and are best friends, and i love it so much. right off the bat, two girls are lesbians in a loving, healthy, caring relationship. the camp director is a butch lesbian. another girl is trans and her arc has nothing to do with being trans - she’s just one of the girls, and she’s trans too, and it’s part of her identity but she never experiences suffering around it. later on she helps a young nonbinary character realize that they’re nonbinary, and then the nonbinary character gets to join the girls at camp, and they’re so much happier there. there’s an entire section of panels about pronouns, but it’s juts a casual discussion, where one girl says, “what’re pronouns” and another says, “oh, they’re just words we use to describe ourselves, like ‘he/him’ and ‘they/them’ and ‘she/her’” and then the nonbinary character says “i'd like to use they/them pronouns please” and everyone accepts them. there are so many characters of color. there are so many diverse family groups (something we see in an arc where all of the parents get to visit their kids at camp for a day) including a girl who only has a mom, and a girl who has two dads, and a girl who has a mom and a dad and whose abuela lives with her family, and big families and small families and lots of siblings and only children. 

and lumberjanes is so sweet. it’s complex and well-written and absolutely hilarious, but it’s also so sweet and kind and soft and reading it feels like being hugged and handed a plate of homemade cookies. it’s about friendship and the complexities that entails. the entire motto fo the camp the girls go to is ‘friendship to the max’ and the story reflects that. and the girls get to be loud and goofy and wacky and wild, which is something we don’t see a lot in media. and they get to be soft and scared and sad, too, and then they get to grow from these experiences, and they get to learn and explore and be free. and that’s something i'd never really seen before, not represented in such an honest way. reading lumberjanes set me free. i found these comics in early middle school, when i was going through a really hard time both socially and with my own personal identity. i live in the bible belt, and i go to a school that isn’t accepting of lgbt kids at all. i'd recently been outed to my grade as lesbian by one of the girls in half of my classes, and in the meantime i was also dealing with my own personal gender struggles, specifically waves and waves of dysphoria that i was having a hard time understanding and defining, because i knew i didn’t want to be a girl or a boy, but i had no idea what that meant, and i had no idea that there was a third option, or a fourth option, or a fifth option, or thousands of options, because i didn’t really get the fluidity of gender, yet, and i didn’t understand that i could apply it to myself. but then i saw the characters in lumberjanes, i saw girls who loved girls and were proud of it, so incredibly proud of it, i saw kids who were realizing they didn’t identify with the gender binary and that they didn’t have to, and i do truly think that saved me. because there was a time when i was considering just ending it because i didn’t understand. and then i read lumberjanes, and it saved me.

and those are just the comics - the current fandom surrounding them has been so loving and caring and supportive of me ever since i joined it. we’re small - there’s only maybe forty of us, and the number of us who are actually content creators is so much smaller. when i first joined the fandom, we only had maybe twenty fics on ao3. now we have 93. i’m proud to say i’ve written fifteen of those, and i'm so, so happy to have found and talked with the people who’ve written the other 78. last year, when i started engaging with other lumberjanes fans online through tumblr, discord, and even the ao3 comments section, i was going through a really difficult time at school. it was my first year in high school and it was like the homophobia and transphobia were amped up to 200%, and people who i thought loved me left me, and so many of my closest friends had to leave the school to save themselves, and i felt so incredibly alone. so i said “fuck it” and i made a discord account and i started talking to some people i’d spent years admiring from afar. i spent hours goofing around with them, discussing fan theories and fanfiction and working through my personal life with them by my side. now, i consider them my friends. and i’ve picked myself back up again. i've figured myself out, for the most part, and i've got new friends and i’m staying in touch with old ones, and school is still awful now and again, but i have people who have my back. they saved me, and i don’t know if they know it, but they did. this fandom saved me. i love them so much. 

now, the lumberjanes show is coming out, and i'm so incredibly excited. the comics are niche. they don’t reach as many people. i know so many kids who are intimidated by comics, but don’t really know where to start, or who want to read them, but are scared their parents could find them. i understand that struggle. hiding a book is hard. you have to look for a space that you know no one can get to, under a bed or in a closet or in plain sight, with the cover of another book slipped over it. and so often, the risk isn’t worth it.

but hiding a bootlegged file of a tv show? that can be so much easier. 

i'm so excited to hear that noelle stevenson and possibly even other lumberjanes creators are going to be working on this show. i think that it will change lives, like the comics changed my lives. lumberjanes is a story about girls loving adventure, loving mysteries, loving each other. it’s beautiful and positive and uplifting, and in my case, lifesaving. i urge you all to please check out the comics. you won’t regret it. and please, support the show. 

i, for one, cannot wait to see it.

EDIT: you can 100% reblog this if you want to, whether you’ve read the comics or not!

[swearwolf-writes]

Sunset Curve not Sunset Straight (pt. 8)

It’s been a long day. Halloween is almost here and Flynn is raving.

“So we gotta get our costumes, matching, obviously. Oooh, maybe the boys can come as ghosts-!” She jumps up and down on Julie’s bed, it’s owner shaking her head. “They’re supposed to be from Sweden, remember?” “Oh, right.” She sat still, playing with Julie’s mic. “Your doodles are awesome - do the boys draw too?” Julie raises her eyebrows at her best friend, “Do you have a crush on them?” “Les-be honest,” Flynn wiggles her eyebrows, “you’re the only one with a crush on any of em.” Flynn still doesn’t know about Julie and Luke, Julie still trying to figure out how to tell her bestfriend that she’s dating a ghost.

“Julie has a crush?” Reggie saunters into the room and flops onto the bed next to them. “Do tell.” “I don’t have a crush!” She lightly pushes his shoulder, Flynn looking confused. “Which one-?” “Reggie’s here.” She points to the seemingly empty space on her bed, Reggie waving goodnaturedly despite the fact that Flynn still can’t see him. “He’s waving.” She grins and waves at thin air. The bassist turns back to Julie. “So what’s going on?” “Flynn here,” she gives the girl a pointed look, “thinks I have a crush on one of you guys. I told her I don’t-” Reggie and Flynn share a knowing look despite her not being able to see him. “-I mean isn’t there some sort of unofficial rule about bandmates dating?” “Boy, I hope not-” Julie blinks at him, slightly shocked. “Wait, did any of you guys date-?” He sits up, glancing between the girls suspiciously. “Are you winding me up or did you really not know?” “Know what?” “That they used to date.” Julie slowly moves her gaze over to Flynn. “Apparently Luke and Alex used to date?” Julie fills her in, the lesbian punching the air. “I called it!”

“Wait, you said used to? Why did they break up?” The girls stare at him expectantly, the boy raising his hands in defence of himself. “That is their business whether they tell you or not. But,” he jumps off the bed and moves towards the door, “I do have a bunch of polaroids from when they were dating.” She follows suit, grabbing Flynn’s hand and dragging her with them. “Lead the way!” “The way to where?” “Memory lane.” Julie grins and squeezes her hand, the girl not understanding her but going along with it anyways.

“Ta-da~!” Reggie brings the old box, down from the loft, setting it on their old table. Flynn creates a groove in the dust and wipes her dirty finger down in disgust. “This seems cool but my mom needed me home an hour ago. And remember, we’re matching this Halloween, alright? I’m thinking the creepy twins from The Shining. Or maybe we’ll be Ghost Busters.” “Hey!” Reggie complains to deaf ears as she smirks and walks out, waving goodbye. “I’ll think about it.”

She turns back to the pouting ghost and pats his knee. “We won’t bust you guys.” “I know, I know.” He shakes his head and turns back to the box, blowing the dust away as best as he can while Julie coughs in the background. “Pros of being dead: we don’t actually need to breathe so dust doesn’t make us cough either.” She continues coughing and glares at him, the boy quickly avoiding her gazing and opening the box.

“Aww, check these out.” He picks up some old pictures, smiling nostalgently. He shows them to Julie, watching as she smiles at the boys’ goofing off. “This is you guys and Trevor- Bobby?” “Yeah, Christmas, 1994.”

“All I want for Christmas is you~” Bobby sang along cheerfully to the song on the radio, taping mistletoe to the strings criss-crossed across the studio. The plant was all over the room, inescapable.

“Seriously, dude?” Luke walked into the studio, Alex and Reggie close on his heels. “If you’re gonna live in my garage, I get to decorate.” Alex groaned as Reggie whooped quietly, grabbing their camera and taking pictures of the bizarre décor. Bobby stopped the other boys in their tracks, pointing up above their heads. Mistletoe. “Seriously-” Alex stared at the rhythm guitarist with disbelief, only to be met with complete seriousness. The boys blushed as they met in a sweet kiss, Luke’s hand on Alex’s jaw, the taller boy resting his hand on the shorter’s waist. Bobby and Reggie cheered teasingly, the bassist capturing the moment in a picture.

“They were, like, together-together, huh?” “Bobby and I had a bet that they’d be engaged before they were 20.” Julie raises her eyebrows, cooing quietly. “And then you didn’t even live till 20.” Reggie side-eyes Julie goodnaturedly, gasping in mock-offence. “We died, Julie- that’s not something you joke about-” She raises her hands in defence, checking out the other pictures.

“Hey, you guys looked cute here.” She shows him a picture, the boys sat on Luke’s couch, Reggie taking a selfie with the four of them. They were grinning widely, Julie chuckling as she finds its sequel.

“Alright, I’m taking another-!” Reggie warned the band as he raised the polaroid camera. Bobby swung an arm over Alex’s shoulders, the quartet smiling brightly. “Say cheese!” Reggie took the picture, blushing brightly as Luke pressed a kiss to his cheek, the image holding that memory firmly.

Reggie flushes brightly as he spots the second image in Julie’s hand. He reaches over to try and take the picture from her hand, Julie jumping out of the way as she watches his reactions.

“Oh my God-!” “What?” “You have a crush on Luke!”  The boy babbles unintelligibly as his cheeks grow hotter. “No, you have a crush on Luke!” He pulls an Uno reverse card from his pocket, Julie bursting out into laughter as she sees the card. “I mean, we’re dating so I guess you’re right - but I don’t deny it - unlike you.” He relents with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck. “So maybe I have a small crush on Luke-” Julie bounces on the balls of her feet, slapping his shoulder wildly. “Awesome!”

He looks at her strangely. “You’re not mad?” “Why would I be?” “You got there first?” She shakes her head and flops, graceful as always, next to him. “You got there in 1994 or 95 - you just didn’t know it.” Reggie opens his mouth to protest but quickly closes it as he realises he has nothing to say to that. “That…. is true. Fair enough.”

They sit in silence, flicking through photos, Julie glancing back up at her bandmate every now and again. “You gonna tell him?” He splutters and sets the pictures down, mussing his hair. “Absolutely not.” “Why not?” She crosses her arms, setting the old polaroids on the table. “Because he likes you.” “He’s poly-” “Which doesn’t necessarily mean he likes me.”, he pointed out. “But it means he might.” She pokes his stomach, Reggie snorting and paling suddenly.

Julie looks back at where he’s staring, spotting Luke standing by the door, Julie’s old ipod still playing music from the earphones dangling in his hand.

“Luke! Look, Julie, it’s Luke. Lukester, Lukiepoo, Luke-a-” Reggie’s impromptu rambling is cut off by Julie, her hand plastered over his mouth. “Been there, done that - not fun.” She mumbles at him, smiling widely at the singer. “Hey, Luke!” “Hey.” He walks into the garage and spots the pictures, grinning brightly. “Oh hey, it’s Christmas!” Reggie moves Julie’s hand from his mouth. “Uh, yeah, I might have told Julie that you and Alex used to date and showed her the polaroids.” “She already knew, dude.” He kneels on the floor and looks between the old pictures, smiling sadly at the pictures of the four boys. “No, I didn’t.” Luke looks up in surprise at the girl. “I swear I told you-” She shakes her head, avoiding the urge to smile. “Oh- well, Alex and I used to date.” She shares a look with Reggie, their affection for the ghost clear in their eyes. “Who’d’ve guessed?”

She reaches towards the table and knocks some of the pictures off. “Oops- Reggie, help me pick these up.” She sends a sweet smile Luke’s way, her heart fluttering when he sends one back, and pulls Reggie down by the elbow. Luke raises an eyebrow, one earphone in as he hums and keeps rifling through the images.

“Ow-!” He hisses quietly as he hits said elbow on the table. The pair face each other, confusion all over the poor boy’s face. “Sorry-” She winces and shakes her head, slowly picking the pictures. “You gotta tell him-” She whispers, the boy frantically shaking his head. “I can’t-” “What’s the worst that could happen?” “Easy for you to say - you know he likes you.” He looks around, seeing Luke’s jean-cladded knees shuffle around he continues, seemingly unaware of their conversation. “I can’t ruin things between us. We’re family and I can’t-” “You won’t lose him,” she puts a hand on his knee, looking up at him, “he used to date Alex, right?” The boy nods, busying himself with the fallen polaroids. “And they’re still good, right?” “That doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt each other-” He sighs as he picks up the last picture. It was one of Luke with his family, taken only a few weeks before he ran away.

He was kneeling with his dog, Zeppelin, his parents smiling brightly as he tried to get the dog to stay still. “Stay.” The dog behaved himself, Luke swinging one arm over his back. “Good boy.” “Smile!” Reggie lifted the camera, snapping the picture just as the dog gets excited and jumps up, knocking Luke over and licking his face. The teenager yelped in surprise, laughing as he tried to shift the large animal. Reggie took another two pictures of this scene, the first image probably coming out blurry.

He’d kept the blurred image, one of the non-blurry pictures given to Luke’s parents and the other to Luke. He could still hear the scene in his head. “Luke’s been through enough. I don’t wanna hurt him-”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” The pair jump up from under the table, Reggie this time hitting his head, the rest of the pictures falling off the table. “Fuck-!” He groans loudly, pressing his hand against his head. “I get that we’re sorta tangible now but that doesn’t mean I have to keep hurting myself!” He yells at no one in particular. Luke moves next to the whining boy, looking at his head. “You’re fine. And, y’know, not hurt.” He whips his head, ignoring the mild pain in his head as his cheeks flare bright red. “Did you just call me fine-?” “Yup.” He grins and picks up Julie’s black cat, making soft soothing noises and stoking her soft fur. “Even Melody agrees, Reggie’s pretty fine.” Said ghost looks between Luke, Julie and the cat wondering if they were playing an elaborate prank on him.

“What…. is going on?” He tilts his head, setting the pictures on the table and moving to pick the rest of the pictures. The singer looks at Julie as he tries to come up with an explanation, scratching lightly behind Melody’s ears. “I might have been eavesdropping?” Reggie groans and covers his face, shuffling the images in his hands nervously. “How much did you hear-?” “Like all of it-” “God-” He puts the pictures down on the table, looking up at Luke who gave the cat to Julie.

“Look-” Reggie starts only to have Luke cut him off. “Can I actually go first-?” Reggie bites his lip anxiously, looking over to Julie who gives him a thumbs up. He smiles and nods at him, Luke sitting in front of him, their legs crossed.

“I like you. Have since ‘93 - I didn’t realise till I was dating Alex and so tried to push it out of mind. I didn’t know poly was a thing till now and I know now that I like my very awesome girlfriend,” he smiles shyly as he thinks of her, “and I like our very awesome bassist.” Reggie blinks at him in disbelief. Luke frowns and looks back at Julie who shrugs. He waves a hand in front of his face, Reggie jerking back instinctually. “You good, dude?” He just gapes, red spreading further over his ears. “My crush of two years just said he’s liked me for 3- This-”, he gestures vaguely at the group, “this isn’t possible-” “Is it really that hard to believe?” Julie raises her eyebrows at him from the couch. “That Luke Patterson has a crush on me? Yes.” “Why? You’re hot, you play at least three instruments and can read Shakespeare off the top of your head.” Reggie freezes. “You called me hot-” “Yes, Reggie. Y’see, I have these things called eyes- I get that yours don’t work as well as most people’s-” “Oh, come on; I haven’t worn glasses since I was like 15-” “That doesn’t mean you don’t need them-” “We’re dead, man. I’m pretty sure I don’t need them- or do I-?” They sit in silence as they ponder their afterlife, Julie watching her dummies.

She coughs, drawing their attention towards her. She motions towards the two of them, the pair blushing as they remember their conversation. Julie sighs and lets Melody go, marching towards them with her hands on her hips. The boys lean back, slightly intimidated. “Luke, you like Reggie?” “Yes.” “And Reggie, you like Luke?” “Yeah.” “Luke, do you wanna date Reggie?” The latter looks up at her in surprise. “Definitely.” Reggie stares at the ghost, pleasantly surprised. “Reggie, d’you wanna date Luke?” “Yes?” “Good - you are now dating. Congratulations.”

Reggie stares blankly at the girl. “Wait, what-?” “What what?” “That’s that? We’re suddenly dating now?” “Pretty much.” She nods and smiles happily, chuckling at Luke’s excited grin. “I have a girlfriend and boyfriend- awesome!” He gazes at the pair of them softly, Reggie giggling happily. “I have a boyfriend-” The pair beam at him. “My first boyfriend. Wicked!” He smiles brightly as Alex and Willie walk in.

“Finally!” Alex stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets, shaking his head at them. “I’ve been watching you two pine over each other for years.” “I wouldn’t say years-” Reggie attempts to defend them. “I would.”

Willie sits next to Julie and watches the exchange, taking his notebook out and tapping the table to let her know he’s there. “Hey Willie.” “Hey Jules.”, he says, writing it onto the pad, adding a smiley face.

“And we weren’t ‘pining’.” Luke backs up his boyfriend, Reggie nodding in support. “Are you kidding me- You look at each other like that cat from Shrek-” Melody hisses at the word cat before returning to grooming herself on top of Julie’s piano. Alex narrows his eyes at the cat. “Gremlin-” “Don’t be mean to my baby-” She tosses one of Luke’s shirts at him, the boy just watching as it passes through him. “Your ‘baby’ is mean-” He grumbles, sitting next to Willie.

“So how was your date?” Willie smiles brightly, lightly nudging the blond with his shoulder. “We went to the old Ghost Club and smoked weed mostly - no clue why but eating and stuff, still possible there, even without Caleb.” Willie talks and writes for Julie, Alex hiding his face in his cap. “There may have been some graffiti involved-” “Alex? Our straight-laced, trustworthy Alex broke the law?” Luke looks between the two ghosts, impressed but in complete disbelief. “Technically, the law doesn’t actually apply to us anymore. So, no, he did not.” “Alright, Alex! Welcome to the dark side; we break the rules and look good doing it.” Reggie pats his knee, groans escaping from behind the hat. He sweeps his hair back and puts the cap on, Willie staring at him with adoration in his eyes. “What-” “You’re cute.” “I’m-” The flustered boy takes a, technically unnecessary, breath. “Okay-” Willie giggles quietly at the pink flourishing across his boyfriend’s face, Luke, Reggie and Julie sharing a look.

Luke nods towards the door and the trio leave the couple to themselves. “So, they’re adorable.” Reggie remarks as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Right?” Luke walks backwards, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sleeveless hoodie. “Like, I can’t even see Willie and I can still tell they’re meant for each other.” Julie tucks a curl behind her ear, talking animatedly with Reggie, Luke watching them with a soft grin on his face. ‘My girlfriend and boyfriend - awesome!’ 

[thunderdilf]

What your MK OTP says about you

(based on ships I enjoy and/or have seen in passing)

[feel free to rebagel and add—ship hate will mean insta-blockage, for whatever that’s worth! I’m using the ship names I’ve krafted, and ballparking with others. I hope they give ye a giggle. If your ship isn’t here, PLEASE add it! I just went from memory. I love y’all.]

Caged Heat (Liu/Johnny): you’re here for a good time, not a long time—you like good tiddies and the word “angorny” means something to you. There is passion in both kombat and throwing someone’s luggage off a dock. Sparks, I tells ya.

Sonya/Johnny: you appreciate pegging and Cassie Cage (who doesn’t?). You like the story of a jerk with a heart of gold showing his true colors to a woman who is NOT easily impressed—and who also tops.

Shaolin Rowdy Boys (Liu/Lao): you’re here for a good time, not a long time… literally—you crave childhood friends to unexpected lovers and secret banging in temple broom closets! You see the value of a best friend who’ll go to bat for you, even against a 10,000 year old turboprincess, or maybe you ARE that friend.

Jadetana (Jade/Kitana): Kitana bottoms for NO man, but for Jade, she’d do anything. You love that dynamic of unswerving loyalty which secretly hides deep, abiding admiration and maybe a little lust—or a lot! Who knows what freaky shit Edenian gals can get up to in their private time? You. YOU know and may The Elder Gods™ bless you for producing kontent.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium (subscorp): old guy love is just the ticket—you crave the maturity of years, but you don’t want it boring; someone is getting speared because the love is more intense with age. Kombat to lovemaking is your kryptonite.

Warring Exes (Shang Tsung/Raiden): old guy love, but make it fashion—opulence meets chastity in a clash for the ages; you want an emotional roller coaster of “what if” and “why not”, where a mortal may teach a god to love himself, and love being loved… or perhaps not. Tragedy abounds. There’s enemies to lovers and then there’s this roller coaster. Do you really want good things for Raiden? Debatable.

Faraday Cage (Johnny/Raiden): old guy love, again, but this time it’s two dads finding comfort in a time when they need it most—you REALLY just want good things for Raiden and honestly, who doesn’t? Johnny is, decidedly, a good thing and you’ve decided that nicknames like “1.21 gigawatts” and “electric slide” are acceptable forms of foreplay. 

Cassie/Raiden: Faraday Cage 2: Electric Boogaloo—you might be a spite shipper (rock on) or you just dig visible age gap (because you know that every ship including Raiden or Fujin is EXTREME age gap) and you just want Cassie and Raiden to have nice things.

Jacqueda (Jacqui/Takeda): you watched them grow over the course of X and you were smitten. You’re convinced love really can bloom on the battlefield and kombat spouses appeal to you. The idea of Jacqui throwing down with Scorpion for Takeda’s hand appeals to you as well. Same.

Liutana (Liu Kang/Kitana): all those voice lines and character endings mean something to you—in fact, you may have cried; they’ve been fiddling about since 1995, goddammit, you just want good things for them! Is that so much to ask? I say make it happen.

Royal Pain (Shao Kahn/Sindel): the term “power couple” means something OTHERWORLDLY to you—you took one look at this terrible twosome and went “get me a freak like that” but no one was sure which one you meant and that was okay with you. You’re enamored with their grisly Gomez/Morticia aesthetic. They are awful and you LOVE it. Good on you!

Windwolf (Nightwolf/Fujin): you played Aftermath. ‘Nuff said. JK I’m never done. You love the dynamic of middle-aged person and deity falling in love, which is bizarrely specific, but you’ve found your niche goddammit and you’re going to fill it. You appreciate the koncept of the “god” not always being on top of things, or put-together and the idea of a mortal comforting such a being titillates you. The way Nightwolf stands, holding his belt buckle is, you’re convinced, what sold Fujin; it’s also what sold YOU. 

Windserpent (Shang Tsung/Fujin): you played Aftermath and while you didn’t think of it at the time, you’ve seen some REALLY nice art and batted the idea around a while and then settled on “yes this is for me”. The appeal is in the danger, from both sides—a nigh-immortal soul sorcerer and a god. Perhaps you crave a redemption arc, or a corruption arc; either way, this ship has serious potential and you intend to exploit it. How Shang Tsung of you.

Honor among thieves (Erron Black/Kung Jin): you dig age gap, unironic cowboys, and the idea of a couple of people who haven’t always been on the right side of the law finding themselves and their points of strength in the Kourt of an Outworld emperor. 

Kotal/Jade: you only needed a few cutscenes to tell you that these two are MADLY in love; what we lacked in pure kontent (after all, the game didn’t CENTER on them), they made up for in passionate exchanges. You appreciate the dynamic of respect between them and pegging is NEVER off the table.

Kano/Raiden: the aesthetic of filth-meets-purity appeals to you something fierce. The dynamic is unique and you love the potential for a redemption/corruption arc(s?). 

Shang Tsung/Kano: you saw the club scene in MK95 and you went “yes they’re boning”. Whether there is actual affection or not varies with your mood. You love the idea of disaster gay and refined gay coming together to make something dastardly. 

Bi-Hanzo (Bi-Han/Scorpion): you crave old wounds and aches and angst, drowning in memories of what never could have been, and regrets of what might have been prevented. This is an angst fest and it is YOUR cup of tea; drink that shit down, my friend, no sugar, no cream. Have at it.

Sonya/Jax: team mom and dad aesthetic appeals to you on a spiritual level. Someone’s gotta be in charge of this chicken shit outfit. AMERICA.

The Storm (Fujin/Raiden): your aesthetic includes the difficulty of a mortal’s inability to truly connect with and understand immortals and immortals finding themselves and each other in that realization. These entities who have existed since the beginning of all things understand each other better than anyone else could. Shine on.

Sindel/Raiden: this is team parents aesthetic on ‘roids. You’re probably a fan of the brainwashed Sindel theory and you’re of the opinion that only the love of a god is remotely worthy of the ultimate scream queen. Honestly, you’re probably right. Body worship is on your list of goals, right alongside worthy equals in a relationship—kinky. That being said, pegging is always a possibility.

Mileena/Scorpion: your aesthetic is danger—but alongside that is “lost souls finding love” and “shared burdens of infinite AGONY”. You dig angst and the potential for star-crossed lovers, meeting each other’s eyes across the arena of kombat. The idea of Scorpion as a consort (Kahnsort?) for Mileena might also appeal to you.

Rain/Mileena: the song “hatefuck” by the Bravery is probably your jam. You know there’s little love lost between these two, but perhaps kombat will bare their souls in such a way that they find some redeeming quality in the other—and the sex is VICIOUS. That’s what you’re looking for and by The Elder Gods™ you’ve found it.

Fanblade (Kitana/Sonya): you saw MK95 and went “I can fix this”. Kombat futch meets ancient warrior princess futch—this feels like hardcore xenabrielle vibes with a side of GORE because it’s mortal kombat, let’s be real. You feel as if Kitana would be foolish not to claim Sonya as her lover after watching her snap Kano’s neck with her thighs. You would be right.

Taleena (Tanya/Mileena): rebel, rebel—we love a good usurpation, don’t we? Power struggles are hot, both politically and in bed. Your kinks include overthrowing the bourgeoisie (even though you ARE the bourgeoisie) and seizing the means of production (meaning the flesh pits, probably). 

Shaiden (Shinnok/Raiden): your motto is fight and fuck—or enemies to lovers, for the more refined shipper. Maybe you prefer enemies AND lovers. Go hard or go home, I say.

Nightwolf/Erron Black: old guy love, but make it reformed criminal. The appeal here is that, very likely, someone has to convince someone else that he really IS out of the woods, to show him his true worth, and maybe give him some time off from the violent grind of kombat life.

Kablam (Kabal/Erron Black): black dragon buddies! In the depths of mercenary work, there isn’t time for love, not really, so you want to see these two assholes find some semblance of peace and pleasure amidst illicit activities. Whether or not Kano knows depends on what kind of quickie sex appeals most to you.

Jacquass (Cassie/Jacqui): military lesbians, friends to lovers, BFFs, this ship has it all. You’re in love with the idea of a couple of people who grew up together, suffered and fought and bled together, stumbling away from a battlefield, carrying each other and finding that perhaps they can keep carrying the other, maybe forever.

Kotal/Erron: The idea of watching someone go from bad to the bone, to actually CARING about something other than himself thrills and excites you. That kind of loyalty can’t be bought, even though you keep pretending that’s all it is. Very tsundere.

Kano/Kabal: “he’s a lowlife, piece of shit scumbag; you’re gunna love ‘im.” Nuff said.

[impossibleclair]

Airbender Ty Lee hcs

OKAY I’m new to the atla fandom but I’ve seen this concept around and I love it SO MUCH so here’s my own take on it!

Ty Lee is descended from the Air Nomads on her mother’s side. Her father’s side of the family is Fire Nation

Her great-grandmother escaped the massacre at the Eastern Air Temple, and went into deep hiding in the Earth Kingdom. She eventually married and had children, and then grandchildren (one of whom was Ty Lee’s mother). Since multiple births ran in the family, there was always at least a few of the kids who got the Air Nomad traits

By the time Ty Lee and her sisters were born, the family had been hiding their Air Nomad heritage for so long that it was simply never discussed

Ty Lee didn’t find out until she was about thirteen. Her grandmother was dying, and she spent a lot of time with her in those final days. The old woman babbled a lot about ‘the old days,’ and the more she listened, the more Ty Lee pieced together. By the time her grandmother died, her head was spinning

She spent a lot of time looking at herself in the mirror, examining her eyes, the shape of her face, thinking about how her hair was so much lighter than Mai’s and Azula’s, wondering how she’d never put it together before

She didn’t tell anyone. Not even her sisters. Partly because she was scared of what might happen if word got out about it, and partly because she wanted to keep it as her personal secret. This was something else she could use to build her own identity, separate from her sisters (even though she knew deep down that it was part of their heritage too)

Though she never talked about it, thoughts of her Air Nomad heritage were never far from her mind. Every flip, tumble and trapeze stunt brought up the vague shape of the question she’d never dared to ask: airbending?

Ever since she started learning acrobatics, she’d been able to feel the air around her, flowing over her, twining through her hands

It wasn’t airbending, she told herself. Just the childish illusion that the air around her was helping her, supporting her leaps, cushioning her landings

Just because there was a breeze when she laughed and a cold gust when she cried and howling wind when she was angry… that didn’t mean anything. It was just coincidence. That was all…

She never dared to try control it. She wants to believe it would work if she did try, but she’d be heartbroken if she tried and found she couldn’t do it. And what if it did work? Then she’d be an airbender in the heart of the Fire Nation. What would Azula say? What would Azula do to her? Maybe nothing. But maybe not

Better to live in ignorant bliss

But there were times that she used it without knowing

Like when Katara and Toph trapped her in the slurry pipeline in The Drill. For a short while there she was being bombarded with rock and water and mud with no way out, but she found if she curled into a ball she could keep a tiny pocket of air around her head so that she could at least breathe

Post-canon, when Ty Lee joins the Kyoshi Warriors, she starts letting herself think more about her heritage and airbending

She does research in her spare time, reading everything she can find about the Air Nomads (not that there’s a lot left, but she tries)

As she learns how to use the fans of the Kyoshi Warriors, she feels the air around her more and more. She learns fast, letting the air guide her motions and mold her practice

Even with the turbulent emotions that follow the events at the end of the series, the mindfulness of the practice brings her a lot of peace

 She starts bending without realising it

Her fan motions start creating huge bursts of wind. The air is more reactive to her emotions than ever before. Eventually she takes out the whole group during a training exercise, and she can’t deny it anymore

She’s an airbender

Suki contacts Aang, who turns up on Appa a few days later. He’s so excited, he’s losing his mind over the fact there’s another airbender. He can’t believe he didn’t see it before!

He offers to teach her all thirty-six forms of airbending, and the ways of the Air Nomads, if that’s something she’d want

A few years ago, she probably would have refused. But she’s not afraid any more. This is a new world, and she’s ready to embrace her freedom

As the Avatar, Aang has to travel a fair bit, but when they’re not travelling, they hang out at the Eastern Air Temple and train together

They fix the airball arena and play a game there at least once a day

The sky bison are long gone (wellll, maybe), but Aang teaches Ty Lee all about them, and when they travel, he teaches her how to fly with Appa

They find materials, and Ty Lee designs and builds her own glider. It’s pink, of course

She switches up her outfit a bit, including a few touches of red and orange Air Nomad fashion to her pink ensemble

(coincidentally her colour scheme becomes the lesbian flag, which she’s quite pleased with)

Aang had to practice a lot in secret, but after a while – once Ty Lee masters airbending – he offers to give her the traditional arrow tattoos of the airbending masters

She agrees

It feels like she’s finally doing her grandmother proud, carrying on her lost legacy

By the way, Mai and some of the Gaang come to visit periodically while Ty Lee and Aang are away training. Ty Lee loves showing off her new skills every time someone visits, and Mai always expresses how proud she is of Ty Lee’s accomplishments (‘I know I said I don’t believe in auras, but even I can tell how pink yours is right now’)

Ty Lee gets her tattoos done between visits from people

When Mai sees Ty Lee next, her hair is short and choppy, still growing back, but she looks happier than ever, wearing her blue arrows with pride

She’s an airbender, and now everyone can know, and she wouldn’t have it any other way

Bonus: I found a wonderful bender picrew (https://picrew.me/image_maker/429812) by @pidgedee​, and obviously couldn’t resist doing a lil Airbender!Ty Lee design (definitely needs more pink but CUTE!)

[josy72]

Portrait of a Lady on Fire 🔥

Intervista del 14 /02/ 2020

The Black List Interview: Noémie Merlant & Céline Sciamma on PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE

Kate Hagen

My favorite movie-going experience in 2019 may have been seeing Céline Sciamma’s exquisite PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE at the 105-year old Prytania Theatre in New Orleans as a part of the New Orleans Film Festival. Being in an ancient theater only added to my immersion in the film’s sumptuous, sensual world, created by Sciamma and her incredible lead actresses, Noémie Merlant and Adèle Haenel. I spoke to Merlant and Sciamma about how they built a welcoming atmosphere on set, the power of the female gaze in narrative, secrets in cinema, and much more.

Noémie Merlant

What was your experience like reading this script for the first time? What resonated with you about the portrayal of Marianne?

It was a huge experience reading this script, because what I felt is that it represented something we’ve missed — these images, representations, and stories that we’ve been missing so much of. I realized that while I was reading that because we’re in a society and culture that is so inside the male gaze that we don’t even notice that this is the male gaze, this is one gaze — while I was reading it I realized that. And then, everything was so detailed — everything was in the script so the script was alive. There was all the breathing, the looks, the movements, the desire that was crawling…it was slow, and it was taking the time to build this love story of a woman and it was all about details taking the time, building excitement, expectations and desire slowly with new images, like the sex scene.

And so I realized the power of this love story. Marianne touched me really deeply because she’s a really modern character. She’s a curious voyeur, she’s a painter, she doesn’t want to get married. She is modern in that way, and that represents all these women that we’ve forgotten and erased from society and history. These painters — hundreds of women from that period were just erased. Through this love story with Heloise (Adèle Haenel) she finds her style of portraiture, because of their collaboration. She feels so grateful to be a painter that she’s stuck in the rules and the ideas and the way of “do a portrait that’s very good” and she’s stuck in this vision.Heloise wakes her up: “This is not me, this is not you, this is not us. This is not a woman, this portrait is not representing us.” And at that point, my mind changed. This script, for me, was what Heloise was for Marianne.

Throughout the film, we’re breaking out of that idea of the male gaze too — challenging rules by the old masters to create something entirely different. What was the most challenging part of creating this character for you? What was your favorite part about playing her?

There was not one scene that was particularly harder than another. What was hard was to keep something, a feeling, present from the beginning to the end of shooting the movie — there was a lot of restriction because of the period and the costumes and the dialogue and the light and the focus, it’s candle-lit. Every movement was written. I was finding a way to make it alive, and include me and my vision as an artist, too. I knew that I couldn’t move much while I was sitting, that I had to say the lines and do a smile or a gaze…But it was really trying to find a new way to look at Heloise each time, to find a new way to breathe. As the story grows and the desire grows too: Having a smile more open, more large, having movement more free, dresses less tight, and everyone smiling more.

I think the film does a great job of exploring the necessity of the collaboration among women that happens around art, but I also really loved that the film is about female kinship on all levels. Whether that’s making a meal together, sleeping together spending time together. What was the atmosphere like on set as you guys were creating that little bubble of the three of you in the house spending time together?

On set, the way that Celiné works is to create an environment of respect and kindness. But it’s about having fun too— we’re of course being serious because we’re working, but at the same time, we’re having fun. For this movie, we were all together in a house, we called it “Champs Mer.” Like the movie, we were all together in this house, the girls were together, and we were always together in creating and discussing what we did. It was really a parallel of the movie and the experience of the movie.

What do you hope modern audiences take away from PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE, which is a very different take on a period film than we’ve ever seen before.

Despite the fact that it’s a period film, it’s modern because it shows things like the abortion scene that we’re not used to seeing. The sex scene is an entirely new image, a new representation of the lesbian story which has of course existed before, but has never been present enough. The female gaze and intimacy of women…that’s a story that hasn’t been told, with the woman as subject and not as object. This feeling of creating mirrors this new experience of love — the excitement of imagination and artist collaboration, and the desire that grows slowly in details and images.

Céline Sciamma

How did the initial idea for this film spark within you? What was your writing process like knowing you were going be directing the film as well?

Well, I wanted to write a love story, I wanted to dedicate a film to love and to desire. And to have these two emotions embodied very patiently — what the process of falling in love actually looks like, moving away from the conventional idea of love at first sight and romance.

The chemistry between Noémie Merlant and Adèle Haenel in this film stars with a smolder then becomes incendiary, as you mentioned. How did you work with the two of them in pre-production and on set to make their relationship be viscerally felt on screen?

This chemistry definitely burst in front of my eyes during the casting process. First, I met Noémie alone with my casting director — she made a strong impression. Then during callbacks, the second round was with Adèle, and when I saw the both of them in the frame I knew that this was right.There was this strong physical contrast that I was looking for, very cinematic, but there was a strong also sense of equality, since they’re the same age, same height, and both have very strong intensity. We stopped there! We didn’t rehearse at all, so that they would actually meet on the set and during pre-production. Sometimes I rehearse before shooting, it depends on the film — WATER LILIES we rehearsed a lot, GIRLHOOD we rehearsed a lot, TOMBOY not at all, and PORTRAIT not at all. Because it was about love and all the danger of the unknown, it felt right for all of us to actually also be in that position.

There’s a sort of pervasive sensuality in this film — whether its a smear of paint or crumb of bread, we’re immersed in the same sensual world that the three leads are in. How did you work with your various department heads to make the world of this film come alive?

By being really minimalist regarding set design. It’s a paradox — even though this film is period piece, this is a film where I had less innovation on the set design because we’d come to this castle in the Parisian periphery where we shot most of the film, and it was untouched for… 150 years? So, the color of the walls…we didn’t choose that. [laughs] We entered this room, and we decided that we were gonna leave it that way. And there was a vibe from the past that actually made me super confident — so whereas in my previous film [GIRLHOOD] there was a lot of set construction, even the teenager’s rooms, there was no fourth wall, so then we decided to put very few things in the frame, just wooden boxes and fabric that was very low-key: linen, cotton. This also extended to the costume design, but with fabrics that were silky. To anchor the film and the sociology of that particular moment in Brittany— period pieces are often mundane, you know. We built the bed, we built the table in the kitchen, we felt we were inventing very minimalist furniture.

There are so many elements in this film that reflect modernity and almost an otherworldliness that we don’t often see in period films, whether that’s the abortion scene or the ghostly visions, or the psychedelic sequence. At what point did you decide to bring in these contemporary trappings to a tradition period film?

They all came up along the way, like “Oh, I want Adèle to appear because it’s mostly about ideas. I want Adèle to appear as a ghost because it’s the present of a love story, but also a memory of a love story, the contagion of these two layers.” The idea behind this is the fact that the minute Noémie falls in love and she knows it, she’s already haunted by the last image that she will see of Adèle. And then, when you have this idea, you try to really be brave about it and be generous about it, not make it this little anecdote, but put it all over. That what happens with Orpheus and Eurydice for instance — I was looking for a scene, a sort of “Netflix and chill” scene between the three girls where they would be super involved in a climatic bit of fiction, and then talk about it, and do a whole show of suspense. And then I thought, it’s also a way to see the myth from a woman’s perspective, and from the perspective of Eurydice. Sometimes it’s just an image — like for instance, Adèle on fire is an image that came out of nowhere, but was immediately like “I want this.” Suddenly, it gives you the title, suddenly, you have to find, “Why would she be set on fire?” So it should be outside, it should be a great fire, and then it’s “Maybe it should be a bonfire!” It’s strange to believe in your intuition and connect things that are not supposed to be connected. You begin to build the plot around strong desire for certain images that have mystery, and suddenly, you bring enough in to not rely on the mystery, but to connect them and to build the narrative around them.

Your last four films have been about developing the female identity, however that may look. Do you feel like you’re making a films in similar thematic territory, or is each film its own thing?

Well, after the the sort of adolescence trilogy (WATER LILIES, TOMBOY, and GIRLHOOD) I really felt like I was departing with PORTRAIT because it’s a story about grown-ups, with professional actresses and a love story that is fully lived, whereas before there was always a love interest, but it was mostly desire as a way to discover yourself. With this one, even though they are discovering themselves, it’s about this iconic couple, this duo and how a love story involves immense patience.

I’m still thinking about the last ten minutes of this film — that art show sequence is so breathtaking, especially as it concludes with the book in Heloise’s hand. You were speaking earlier about finding images before finding the plot — did you already have the images in mind for that ending sequence at the start of the film?

The last scene I had in mind since the beginning, I basically did the film to land there. But I didn’t actually think about the fact that there would be three endings, because there are three endings of the film. For instance, from the book, the page 28 reference, that’s a totally different process — it’s really about looking at a lot of painting at the time and the art of portraiture. I liked the fact that there were little secrets involved, and I decided I had to hide a secret in the painting. I thought it would be in the painting that Marianne would do, but then maybe it could be in the painting that Marianne would see. I had a list of different types of secrets, it’s very codified — for instance, in painting at the time, especially for marriage portraits, there’s a cage and a bird inside, if the door is open, it means she’s not a virgin anymore, if it’s closed, she is. I was finding our own little secret code, and also relying on the audience’s pleasure and intelligence that I’m always trying to think the audience has, that the viewers are the most intelligent person. It’s also knowing that the pleasure of being a viewer in cinema is about being immersed in a film and speaking the language of the film, and as the film goes more and more and more, you speak the language of the film, and the page… it’s a fucking number, but suddenly it means something for you as much as it means something for the character. That’s the kind of thing I’m always looking for — I thought about it for months, finding just the right treasure.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Pokemon Master Quest, Episodes 19-20

In which old rivalry is freshened up, Ash picks up a new mystery box, and things go hilariously apeshit.

Better Blood

Well, I think it’s official; Gary’s actually a nice guy now. I know, I’m surprised too. But Ash isn’t the only trainer who’s been learning and growing since setting foot outside Pallet Town. We’ve seen Gary’s arrogant streak slowly diminish as time’s gone on, as experienced has made him more humble, if no less confident. And when he shows up to challenge Ash in episode 19, something kinda magical happens; they don’t antagonize each other. Oh, they compete like hell to defeat each other, but there’s no venom in their actions anymore. There’s no anger or jealousy or bad blood driving them. Gary’s genuinely excited to race with Ash and appreciates how far his rival’s come. Ash is actually grateful when Gary’s quick thinking saves him from taking a bad spill. And when Team Rocket shows up to cause trouble, they both save each other’s ass and fight to take them down together. Hell this might be the first time Ash has ever beaten Gary, and Gary just takes it in stride and promises to give Ash an even better fight next time. They respect each other now! No, more than that; they like each other! They’re not trying to tear each other down anymore; they’re just trying to build each other up. And it’s really damn cool to see how far they’ve come. Let’s hope their final showdown in the Johto League does them both justice.

Scrambled Eggs

In other news, we’ve picked up another Macguffin! Ash is now carrying a mysterious blue Pokemon egg of unknown origin, and hopefully, we’re actually gonna get to see what’s inside it this time. God knows we don’t need another GS Ball at this point in the show’s run. But hey, whatever happens in the future, at least it gives us an all-time great comedy episode to ring it in. Sweet buttery Jesus, episode 20 had me rolling on the floor. You’ve got Team Rocket going full Three Stooges in their attempt to swipe the egg, Wobuffet just vibing with a fruit bowl, and an Officer Jenny who moonlights as the world’s worst detective (and certified lesbian icon: ”And the fate of the beautiful Nurse Joy!”) There’s a chaotic energy to the proceedings where shit just comes at you fast and furious, from Ash’s bizarre nesting-doll-eggs nightmare to Brock being so lovestruck for Jenny that he gaslights himself into thinking he’s the thief (”I’m sorry! I couldn’t control myself! Hey, wait, what am I saying? I didn’t do it!”) It’s playful and ridiculous and utterly irreverent, and I enjoyed every last moment of it. God bless this show whenever it goes full Looney Tunes.

Best of Team Rocket

-”Quick, let’s scramble!”

-”We put all our eggs in one basket again!”

-”Well, whether it’s Pokemon or breakfast, we’re gonna steal it!”

-Lol at Wobuffet closing the door behind them. What a gentleman.

-”The boy appears to be dealing with some issues.” aksdjhskjhda rip Brock

Odds and Ends

-I appreciate Ash worrying about the safety of the Pokemon in these extreme sports. He’s a Poke-friend through and through.

-It just occurred to me that basically every Pokemon is born through an egg. Even the mammals. That just feels wrong.

-akjsdhkajhdas that poor Scyther trainer

-holy shit Ash since when did you take lessons from Tony Hawk

-The Cameraman Fucking DIes(tm)

-Lol, did Bayleef just whip itself to go faster?

-Ash has Big Mom Vibes confirmed.

-”After all of this, I think we’ll charge you.” Sassy Misty is always appreciated.

-”Our thieves must have had extremely long arms!” Can we keep this Jenny? I like her.

-It even picked up their face-plant what is this episode

Aah, that was fun. See you next time!

[comrade-meow]

Now Jackson is helping to lead LGB Alliance, which she co-founded with Kate Harris, in its fight against the promotion of gender identity policies and their corrosive impact on lesbians’ and gay men’s lives. And LGB Alliance enjoys the support of another of the Gay Liberation Front’s founders, as she revealed to David Bridle.

How did you first hear about the Gay Liberation Front meeting?

I was a student at LSE. I started there in 1969, I was studying maths, and I walked down the corridor and I saw a poster which said: “First meeting of the UK Gay Liberation Front.” It was the most astonishing thing because I had to translate it in my head as to what it might mean. I had heard that “Gay” was a new word for homosexual, and I knew “Liberation” was about freedom and “Front” sounded a bit militant. It sounded very exciting and I thought “I think I want to be on there that sounds right.” I went to this first meeting and there were 19 men there, and just one woman – me – so I was immediately voted on to the steering committee.

What happened in the first meeting?

Aubrey Walter and Bob Mellors had just come back from the United States where they’d been at the Revolutionary People’s Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, a meeting called by the Black Panther Party. They were real liberationists and it was very clear that this was going to be a revolutionary movement. What was very clear from the beginning was that gay liberation must be aligned with women’s liberation because they wanted to break through the sexist principles that society was based on. That was the theory anyway. At the second meeting there were a few more women.

How did the gay men and lesbian women get on?

I did notice that while a lot of the gay men were very interested in aligning with the women’s movement and breaking through sexist role patterns, there was also a certain amount of misogyny among some of the gay men. I can remember thinking it’s going to be difficult for men and women to work together. I was among the minority of lesbians who decided to work within gay liberation; most lesbians worked within women’s liberation because of feeling more in common with other women’s issues. The fact of lesbians being doubly oppressed both as women and as homosexuals is just a really important part of understanding what it means to be a lesbian. Some men really get that ­– and some men really don’t.

What was the first Gay Liberation Front demonstration?

We organised our first demo in November 1970 at Highbury Fields and that was just astonishing. We’re demonstrating and there’s crowds lining the street looking at us in disgust. It really is quite something to be walking down the street and to see these people looking at you with revulsion in their faces. You stand taller because you think we’re together and we’re out. Our main message was “Come out of the closet”, show the world there’s lots and lots of gays and lesbians – and your ideas about them are all wrong. I was the spokesperson for the demonstration and my telephone was the number for Gay Liberation Front. I spoke to the reporter at The Times and I said “It is important to know that we are not ashamed to be homosexual”. For years I thought what a very mild and rather timid thing to have said.

Bev Jackson spoke to The Times: “It is important to know that we are not ashamed to be homosexual”

How do you feel about that now in 2021?

I look back now and I think – God, we have to say the same thing again – that is insane! What on earth has happened? That’s what drives us, the idea that our legacy has been trashed. They’re making homosexual into a dirty word and even trying to avoid saying “gay” and “lesbian”. We’re not a string of letters. It’s absolutely fine to be attracted to people of the same sex. It’s beautiful. It’s wonderful. The idea that people are reintroducing the notion of shame into same-sex sexual orientation is quite appalling.

What was your most important experience growing up?

When I was 11 years old I went to a new school and I really wanted to make friends but I was Jewish in a very anti-Semitic neighbourhood. We had this teacher who kept making anti-Semitic remarks and then at one point she looked around and said “I suppose nobody here is Jewish?” And the whole class burst out laughing. They thought that was such a hilarious idea that anybody in the class could be Jewish – and I put my hand up. I said, “Please Miss, I have some Jewish relations” – in fact I’m totally Jewish – and then I had to go to the toilet and throw up. Later my class teacher found out and she said if anybody made any anti-Semitic remarks again, I should tell her and she’d kick them down the stairs. So it wasn’t the case that everybody was anti-Semitic. Having found myself able to speak out at that time, feeling the terror of being alone, but also the need to say the truth, that’s been the most important moment of my life. It made me strong. It enabled me to come out as a lesbian in a very hostile homophobic environment when I was 16 and it’s enabled me now to stand up against the forces in the wider LGBTQIA+ movement as someone who is critical of the whole concept of gender identity.

Was there a point – prior to the formation of LGB Alliance – when you personally followed the issues around gender identity and their impact on same-sex attraction?

In 2015 I was mostly involved with refugee rights. I worked with refugees on the island of Lesbos and I wrote a book about it. I was only vaguely aware of what was going on in terms of the LGB rights movement. I remember at Christmas 2016 expressing my views about children thinking there was something wrong with their bodies, and changing their bodies, and being critical of this. I discovered that this was seen as quite a reactionary view and I thought that was odd. It didn’t seem reactionary to me. So I started researching it and the more I researched it the more worried I became. What was happening that young lesbians were no longer welcome in the LGBT rights movement? It just didn’t seem possible and I thought people must be exaggerating. I researched it more and more, and then came that moment in 2018 when Angela Wild went to the front of the Pride march with her “Get the L Out” group, and I thought “what is she doing?” I soon realised that this action had actually been quite necessary because it attracted attention and focused people’s minds.

You wrote to Ruth Hunt who was then in charge of Stonewall?

I wrote her a very long letter with all my concerns about young lesbians having nowhere to meet, not being able to call themselves lesbians any more, about the way in which people were encouraging children to think that they might be born in the wrong body and a whole range of other concerns that really worried me. She didn’t write back. She ignored my concerns. Eventually I published the whole letter on Twitter because I wasn’t going to get a response. I also wrote to other people at Stonewall saying, “Can we talk please? I’m one of the founding members of the Gay Liberation Front and I’m concerned.”

What happened to Stonewall in the years prior?

What happened is in 2015 Ruth Hunt decided to add the T to LGB. It was basically following what had happened in the United States. In the US it had been LGBT much longer than that and there was pressure on her to do the same. Since the T has been added to Stonewall the whole ethos has changed. The emphasis is now all on gender identity. The issue is presented as if it’s about trans rights, but it isn’t really. I don’t know what a middle-aged man who’s got several children and then decides he’s a woman has in common with a 14-year-old girl who is feeling distressed for various reasons and feels that she must be a boy. It’s very difficult to see that those two people can come under the same heading. According to Stonewall’s website, “trans” includes crossdressers or people who are male part of the week and female another part, and people who are non-binary – and it’s not clear what that means either. None of these words are defined and therefore you don’t know what you’re talking about half the time. Laws are based on facts and it’s really important to define the words that are used. The shocking thing that’s happened at Stonewall, and at all LGBTQ+ organisations, is that the word “sex” has been replaced by “gender”. This is not a small thing. Instead of “same-sex attraction” they now talk about “same-gender attraction”.

Here’s this young lesbian standing up against this clinic and on the other side you’ve got Stonewall opposing her. How is this possible and why are people not seeing that Stonewall has stopped supporting gay and lesbian rights and is instead promoting gender ideology or whatever you want to call it?

What do people like Stonewall think gender means?

A lot of the gender identity campaign is about changing the meanings of words or making words slippery. So you don’t quite know what you’re talking about. Gender is one of the worst examples. As soon as they try to explain it they end up with stereotypes. There isn’t any other way to do it. What can it possibly mean? Is there some sort of girly essence that can live inside a male body? That is just the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not progressive. It’s awful. It seems to me that this whole idea of gender identity has been stuck in between reality – which is the sex of your body, you’re male or female – and the imagination, the feelings you might have, as a sort of intermediate thing. It’s kind of loosening people’s grip on reality. Look: you can be a lovely gentle male and you can wear dresses and you can call yourself Lilian and it’s absolutely fine. But you’re still a male and you can imagine you might be all sorts of things, but you’re still a male. And with girls what’s going on is really unfortunate, a kind of way to escape from being a woman because it’s not very easy to be a girl growing up.

Can you talk about the Keira Bell case?

Most astonishingly perhaps you’ve got Stonewall opposing Keira Bell, this young lesbian who sued the Tavistock GIDS Clinic for not giving her the care she had needed. Instead she was given puberty blockers and had her breasts removed and she now knows it was all a mistake. She won her case. The judges used the word “surprised” I think five times in the judgment because they were astonished that the clinic doesn’t keep proper records, doesn’t know the proportion of child patients who are on the autistic spectrum, doesn’t follow up patients after treatment, doesn’t keep notes on consent, doesn’t have evidence for the treatment. Here’s this young lesbian standing up against this clinic and on the other side you’ve got Stonewall opposing her. How is this possible and why are people not seeing that Stonewall has stopped supporting gay and lesbian rights and is instead promoting gender ideology or whatever you want to call it?

How was the inaugural meeting of LGB Alliance set up?

I was asked to take part in a commemoration in the run-up to 50 years of the Gay Liberation Front that was going to take place at LSE on 22nd October 2019. They sent me a train ticket and I was going to take part in the panel. Around the same time, I met Kate Harris. She had published a petition, together with Johnny Best, calling on Stonewall to enter into dialogue about the course it had taken. They refused to do so even though a massive 10,000 people had signed the petition. Then the LSE meeting was cancelled, but I already had my train ticket. So I said to Kate “why don’t we just have our own meeting on that day, and start something new?” We went looking for people who were expressing similar ideas and invited each one separately. We decided to have the meeting at Conway Hall because it had a history of involvement with social movements. We knew that if news got out there would be tremendous antagonism, maybe aggression, and so we hired four security officers just in case. But everyone kept the secret. Not one of the 70 people we invited gave away the meeting at which we formed LGB Alliance.

I was contacted just a few days ago, for the first time in half a century, by Aubrey Walter, one of the founders of the Gay Liberation Front in the UK, who edited a book about the early years entitled Come Together and now lives in Spain. He wrote to express his support for LGB Alliance. When I asked him to provide a comment for this article he wrote this: “What is our movement about if not same-sex love? Good to see LGB Alliance standing up for this principle against false gender ideologies.”

What would you like the Conservative Government to do?

We were very pleased that the government decided not to go through with gender self-ID. That would have severely undermined the rights of women and gay and lesbian people. The argument is always cast in terms of trans rights. It’s not about trans rights. Of course trans people have rights under the law and we fully support those rights. The argument is really about gender identity. We’re also extremely glad that the Department for Education issued new guidance saying that relationships and sex education has to be based on evidence – on facts – and schools should not be working with external groups that teach children that if they don’t fit into old-fashioned stereotypes they might have been “born in the wrong body”. We are paying attention to see that schools actually keep to the new guidance, however. Then there is the matter of single-sex spaces – in prisons, rape shelters etc. Single-sex spaces are guaranteed in the Equality Act but they are being misinterpreted. We do wish the government had gone further and cleared up these misunderstandings and also clarified that for a woman to request a female doctor is a perfectly lawful and reasonable request – and a woman, of course, is an adult human female.

Has LGB Alliance ever been invited to meet Stonewall, Pride in London or Mermaids?

No, and all our invitations are just ignored or declined. We did of course write to Nancy Kelley [CEO of Stonewall] when she was appointed to congratulate her and to invite her to meet us, but no.

LGB Alliance is often accused of being a “hate group”. Why has this stuck and is there nothing you can do to counter it?

Anybody who actually listens to us, reads what we write and watches our webinars gradually realises that it isn’t true. But it’s a very clever tactic. If you’ve got no arguments, what do you do? People have a right to their own beliefs but they don’t have a right to impose those beliefs on the rest of us – but in order to shut us up, all they have is insults. We certainly don’t hate anybody and more and more trans people are coming over to our side because they see that actually they’re really suffering from all this. They’re being drawn into this really nasty atmosphere which is not about trans rights. It’s about imposing a belief system that some people have on the whole of society. “No debate” and “you’re hateful” is all they’ve got. They have to stop us talking.

Gay men and lesbians need spaces of their own and they have a right to spaces of their own – and that we have to say this now in 2021 is an absolute outrage. We could really lose a lot here if we don’t stand together and fight against this madness.

Looking back on yourself going to that first meeting of the Gay Liberation Front in 1970 and now fighting for lesbian and gay rights all over again, how does it feel?

I feel I have a duty to expose this monstrous Injustice for what it is. Most of the people who oppose us and who call us a hate group, I think they’re probably very well-meaning. They’ve been misinformed. They listen to people who they trust and they say “that LGB Alliance, it leaves out the ‘T’. That sounds mean, it must be a hate group.” Since the Keira Bell case we’re getting some light now. People are starting to realise that something terrible is happening to kids who would in most cases be lesbian and gay if they grow up – that they are being persuaded that they need medication, and maybe surgery. How could anybody think that’s a progressive thing?

The Gay Liberation Front demands in 1970

What about single-sex spaces for lesbians and gay men?

We get messages all the time from young lesbians who are excluded from LGBT clubs because they say they’re not interested in people with penises. “Oh you’re transphobic!” they’re told. Where are they supposed to go? Why are there no places for lesbians any more? It affects gay men too. A very sad group of gay men who had their own reading club contacted us. They had run this group for years and are now being told they can’t have it anymore. They have to have trans men in there because otherwise they’re not being inclusive. They’re just totally baffled. Why are gay rights and lesbian rights going backwards? How dare anybody call this progressive! Gay men and lesbians need spaces of their own and they have a right to spaces of their own – and that we have to say this now in 2021 is an absolute outrage. We could really lose a lot here if we don’t stand together and fight against this madness.

What is your message to the people who once marched with you in the Gay Liberation Front but now attack you?

I would say that some of those who marched with us then see us, as the veteran gay rights campaigner Fred Sargeant sees us, as reviving the spirit of gay liberation. In fact quite by coincidence I was contacted just a few days ago, for the first time in half a century, by Aubrey Walter, one of the founders of the Gay Liberation Front in the UK, who edited a book about the early years entitled Come Together and now lives in Spain. He wrote to express his support for LGB Alliance. When I asked him to provide a comment for this article he wrote this: “What is our movement about if not same-sex love? Good to see LGB Alliance standing up for this principle against false gender ideologies.” – Aubrey Walter, co-founder of the London Gay Liberation Front, 1970.

What are LGB Alliance’s plans for the future?

Reviving LGB rights everywhere. There are now 15 LGB groups set up along the same lines as ours, from Brazil to Australia, from Canada to Poland. Our aim: global revolution!

For more information about LGB Alliance go to: https://lgballiance.org.uk