#but also the only positive (for me anyway) male role model i had???

[senshibignaturalz]

Coming to terms with childhood trauma is fucking insane because yeah I knew this fucjed me up but now that I'm thinking about it why the fuck did my uncle STAY FRIENDS with my dad after seeing me start crying after he called just to yell at me??? Bro what the fuck how could you be friends with someone who does that to a 7 year old??? Insane, and then having the audacity to, now that I'm an adult, be like "oh yeah I never liked him" man u used to hang out with him of your own free will???

[carlsdarling]

Might be a hard one. Carl first arrived to Alexandria, reader was a model before the apocalypse (so she's like really beautiful ). (Smut or fluff your choice <3) and he finds out that reader also has a crush on him. And he's just so proud that he got with a model, telling everyone about it<3 sorry if this is difficult. Love your work btw 💖

Beautiful

Carl has a crush on Y/N, but after his accident, he doesn't dare to ask her out... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (male receiving)

Before the fall, you were an aspiring model, you had already started as a kid and were planning to move to LA. But the apocalypse ruined everything.

When Carl Grimes arrived in Alexandria, you didn't pay much attention to him at first; he was just some guy. Of course he stared at you and had a crush on you - they all did, especially before the fall, when such things played a bigger role. But you weren't interested in Carl for a long time, he was your age and you liked older guys more.

It was only over time, when you started hanging out with the others more often, that you began to like Carl - his courage, his lovable character, his pretty blue eyes and the dark hair that always fell in his face.

Carl, for his part, had just gotten around to asking you out, but before that could happen, the accident occurred in which he lost his eye. After that, Carl withdrew completely, which you thought was a shame because you enjoyed his company.

Carl didn't want to see anyone anymore. You went to his house several times, but Rick or Michonne regretfully turned you away each time because Carl locked himself in his room anyway and wouldn't let anyone in. Eventually, though, you had enough. There was a big birch tree right below Carl's window, and you quickly climbed up it, scrambled onto a canopy and crawled up to Carl's window to knock vigorously.

An astonished sound could be heard from inside, then the curtains were pushed aside and Carl stared at you perplexed - out of the one eye he still had. The wound was covered with a bandage. It was the first time you had seen each other since the accident, and Carl seemed hesitant as to whether he should even open the window. "Carl!" you said indignantly. "Open up. It's cold."

He reluctantly opened the window, turning away from you. "What do you want?" he asked dismissively.

"To check on you," you replied. "You're just locking yourself in here."

Carl stood with his back to you. "It's my business."

"I thought we were friends?" Carl remained silent. "Won't you even look at me?" Dismayed, you noticed that Carl's shoulders were shaking and you realized that he was sobbing. Tentatively, you approached him to hug him.

Carl clutched your hand and cried. "I... I was going to ask you out," he confessed.

"And why aren't you doing that?"

"That was before I lost my eye," he said gloomily. "Everything's different now. Who wants to go on a date with me now?"

You carefully turned Carl around to face you and stroked his tear-stained cheek. "Me?"

Carl looked at you in disbelief.

"But you're so beautiful. Far too beautiful for me. It was like that before, but now..."

You put your hands up at your sides in disgust. "Carl Grimes! Do you think I'm that shallow? Are you? So if this had happened to me, you wouldn't like me anymore?"

Carl stumbled. "Yes, of course, I... I just thought..." You kissed him on the lips before he could continue. Carl was taken aback, but returned the kiss tenderly. You sank onto the bed, where you continued kissing and began stroking each other. Carl had his eye closed; apparently he wanted to concentrate completely on your activities. You could feel the tension he had been carrying around with him for weeks, all his muscles were hardened, and you came to the conclusion that Carl desperately needed some relaxation and stress relief.

So you slid off the bed, knelt down in front of it and positioned yourself between Carl's legs, gently pushing his knees apart and undoing his belt. "Uum..., what are you doing, Y/N?" Carl asked uncertainly.

"Just let me," you whispered, pulling down his jeans. There was a visible bulge in his blue boxers, and as a small wet patch spread across the fabric, Carl blushed. You let your hand ghost over the bulge slowly.

"You... you don't have to do that," he mumbled. „I can take care of it myself, later.“

"But I want to," you objected and also freed him from his boxer shorts. Carl squirmed, and his cock sprang free, and you were quite surprised by Carl's size - it was big for such a slender boy. Carefully you started to stroke and squeeze his dick and cupped his balls with your hand. Carl let out a soft, delighted sigh and closed his eye as he surrendered to your hands. A few drops of clear precum oozed from the rosy-red tip of his dick, and you rubbed them on the skin of his shaft to ease the glide of your fingers. Carl's moans became louder, he had sunk backwards onto the bed, and he was bucking his hips while you continued to caress him. You accelerated the movements of your fist and felt Carl's cock twitch under your touch, more precum flowed over your hand, and you could tell that Carl was beyond close, his hands clutching the mattress as he submitted to you completely. You let go of him briefly to stroke the soft line of dark hair that ran from his private parts to his belly button, then you breathed gentle kisses on the pale skin around his belly button, continuing on the inside of his thighs and finally sucking intensely on the tip of his throbbing dick.

Carl screamed out with pleasure, thrusting so hard into your willing mouth that you began to gag. "Sorry," he gasped as you let go of him, pleading for you to go on. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, he looked so precious and fucked out.

Once again you began to caress his cock with your lips and tongue. Carl whimpered uncontrollably and was writhing on the bed. "Y/N, I... I'm cumming," he gasped, leaving it up to you to decide whether you wanted to pull away or not. You closed your lips even tighter around his dick, then Carl's whole body tensed, he quivered, and then he released a considerable amount of seed into your mouth, a firework of sticky streams. You swallowed all of it and started licking and sucking Carl clean, then you lay down next to him.

You hugged each other. "That was incredible," Carl whispered in your ear, breathless and heated.

"Do you finally believe me that I like you?" you asked teasingly.

Carl just nodded, and from that moment on, you were inseparable and Carl was so proud to be with you.

--

Tags: @loveforcarl @tessasweet @taylormarieee @knochentrocken0808 @xxcarlswifexx

[starified-lizzy]

Y’all know that Hazbin Hotel meme that’s like

Random person: complains about something

Adam: 🎶Hell is forever whether you like it or not-🎶

TW// very vague mentions of the current serious issue

I just

I hate that it’s considered a meme because that is very much how I feel about all this-

Like, I really don’t want to be accused of memeing the situation, because there is nothing memey about it (therefore I won’t be tagging it with any of the resulting tags). It’s a shit situation with shitty people taking advantage of others. Just- from my perspective, I have experienced this roughly three times before with people I have looked up to in some degree. Like- first it’s two men I knew IRL turning out to be Pedos, and then Dream’s whole issue which I still don’t know if the final verdict was whether he’s considered a Pedo or not, and now the whole thing with Wil. I literally cannot seem to fucking escape looking up to them and then finding out those same grown ass men are being fucking idiots however many years later.

Anyways this is what my brain was assaulting me with this morning and- I mean- it was kinda funny when it first popped up? So I guess I’ll share.

Me: gets attached in some way or another to an adult male, hoping to have some other positive male influence in my life that isn’t from my dad (whenever he decides to bestow positivity unto me)

Also me: Finds out however many weeks/months/years later that they are really shitty people and I can’t escape that endless cycle of looking for positive male role models, only to find out they’re bad people.

Those same people: 🎶Hell is forever whether you like it or not-🎶

…

I really should’ve finished that fic that had him in it before we found this out… I really should’ve… now it’s gonna be glaring me down from my tabs because I can’t get rid of it because it’s an immaculately crafted fic… but it has him in it. GOD WHY MUST LIFE HATE US SO?

[transamorousnetwork]

Here’s Why Transgender and Trans-attracted People Love My Advice

There are a lot of people benefiting from advice I give here at The Transamorous Network. Every week, I get positive responses to stories I published. But this week takes the cake. It’s so confirming reading comments like the one I’m about to share.

It really makes the vitriol I get sometimes worth it. I started this blog to help transgender women and trans-attracted men find the love they so desperately want. The main thing I do with clients is show them the number one place they will always find consistent love.

That is from themselves.

But the great thing about finding love there is that once they find that, the world around them will reflect that back to them. That’s why people love advice I give. It resonates with people’s core awareness. Many aren’t as connected to that. But those who are find my advice powerfully resonates.

It’s great when I read comments from people getting inspiration from what they read on this blog. Let’s take a look at the most recent example (at the time of writing this).

Self-acceptance is everything 

If we don’t accept yourself, the world will reflect that back to us too. We’ll meet all kinds of people amplifying our stories. Not this person though. This person is getting it. Despite having characteristics society says are “disorders” this person is coming into loving who and what they are. I’m glad to see The Transamorous Network content contributing to that.

Check out what they wrote:

Hi! [sorry if I use any offensive terms, I'm just now learning] Just wanted to say these articles are really honest and thought-provoking. It's a lot to think about. I want to talk about my reasons for loving trans people.

I, too, am a male at the end of a long cishet relationship (18 yrs!). I never hid my attraction to trans people or cheated (we have an open relationship, communicate well), but I'm finding that I'm actually pansexual, with the strongest attractions to transfem people (femboys in my case) and also cis women. I could fall for the right guy, too. I need more, and it's not just a kink or a passing interest.

I myself have a fair deal of gender dysphoria, and I want to explore that with someone who knows where I'm coming from, you know?! I want to be more genderfluid and learn to be more feminine, express myself and my emotions better, change my appearance somewhat (I'm more dysphoric than dysmorphic, but still). I want to give and receive, be dominant and submissive, and learn to express positive emotions, not just the negative [read: masculine] ones.

As a male, most socialization and role models are toxic. Also, being in a cishet relationship is what society pushes one toward. It's easier to coast along and just be unhappy, or to fall victim to the sunk cost fallacy once you've started a relationship. It's especially easy to be stuck when you've had the example of parents or family members just being miserable and staying together anyway, as I have.

It's all quite the minefield, with bi- and pan prejudice/erasure being a thing, as well as poor reaction to male-presenting people who love trans people. I also believe that polyamory would be best for me, thanks to my neurodivergent needs (auDHD) and the desire to try many different kinds of relationships. Perhaps I'm playing on hard mode, as it were. But I finally know who I am, and that at least feels good. It simply took my life disintegrating for me to question who I was in the first place.

Let’s get radical

Let’s stop trying to fit in others’ boxes. Tear off labels people try putting on us. There’s no joy there. Only disappointment. And even if we do fit in the box, that box is just going to get tighter as what we are expands. And besides anyone who tries controlling people, in order to feel better, will feel better in the end. Politics shows that clearly, doesn’t it?

So let’s get radical. Let’s give up all that shit and just accept who we are, wherever we are. For transgender people and trans-attracted people our self-acceptance is a revolutionary act. It literally revolutionizes what it means to be human.

And that is our collective purpose. Stop trying to fit in. Find our own places, take up space, then watch the world shape around us as a reflection of our self-love. That’s the message The Transamorous Network offers. It’s great when folks get it. They are exactly the kind of people I like working with.

Are you such a person?

[slasherhaven]

Hello it’s me again could you please do Jesse Cromeans x single mother with a child whose deaf and the father of the child is abusive and trying to make the reader’s life horrible then Jesse crimes to the rescue lol hope it’s not too bothersome or confusing

-🖤

Warnings: abusive past relationship

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) X Single Mother with a Deaf Child and Abusive Partner:

You had been working for Jesse’s organisation for a little while but he never really noticed you, since you didn’t work that close to him.

His assistant had been off sick for about a week, and you had been assigned to take over her role until she got back.

That was the first time he truly took notice of you, instantly becoming a little intrigued.

He recognised the signs soon after. The way you acted around him and others despite nobody giving you any direct reason to fear them. How you apologised too quickly, worried about messing up, how quiet you were. You were good at your job, though.

When you had first headed to his office, to introduce yourself and explain you would be his assistant for a little while, he had gone to communicate through text to speech. You were quick to assure him that you understood sign language if he preferred to use that, your hands moving along with your words as if to prove it. 

It had made him smile. 

Placing down his phone, he used his hands to ask how you knew sign language.

“My son in deaf, sir” you explained with a small smile.

A son? Jesse knew he hadn’t spotted a ring on your hand, so you mustn’t have been married.

Over the week you spend together, he quickly learnt how to act around you. How to keep his distance as to not intimidate you, how to alert you to his presence so not to scare you.

But you quickly became comfortable around him. You knew he was a dangerous man but he had never been anything but kind to you.

Eventually you wondered when his usual assistant would be returning, only for him to tell you that you would be taking on the position permanently. A part of you wanted to argue, to ask more about the woman who’s job you were taking, but the pay raise just couldn’t be overlooked. Not when you had a son to think about.

So, you took to your new role easily. You worked closely to Jesse, the two of you hitting it off with a surprising ease. Perhaps it was because you could communicate so easily? He found talking to you less bothersome? You weren’t sure, but you enjoyed his company.

Normally you would greet him with a smile, two coffees in your hand. This morning was a little different.

When Jesse got to the office, his coffee was already sitting on his desk. Still warm. He found you at your desk, hanging your head, hair forming curtains around your face, scribbling something down.

He approached your desk with purposeful footsteps. He knew that you had heard him but you didn’t look up. 

He used the text to speech to say you name. You pause for a moment before looking up at him. 

Even through the make-up you had applied, he could see the bruise that had formed along your cheek. You knew he had seen it, you saw the anger in his eyes and how his shoulders tensed.

“What happened?” he asked simply, getting no response. “Come into my office” some people found it difficult to decipher tone in sign language but you had become an expert, his body language was tense but you knew the order held some gentleness.

You followed him to his office, he closed the door behind you both before guiding you over to his desk. You sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and he sat in the other, not putting the desk between the two of you.

He once again asked what happened, who had hurt you.

You had been working with him for a while now, months, and you had noticed how much safer you felt with him. You could smile and laugh without a care when you were with him, you had fallen asleep in his office once while working on some paperwork with him, and you had woken up to a blanket draped over you.

He had even met your son once. It was after work hours, he had called you asking for a file that he couldn’t find. When you realised you had accidently taken it home with you, you offered to bring it in. He hadn’t expected to see you step into the office with a young boy trailing behind you. You handed him the file and he thanked you for it before looking down at your son. He seemed a little timid, standing just behind you cautiously. 

From what Jesse had assumed, the boy didn’t have great male role models in his life and he knew he was an intimidating man anyway. You couldn’t help but smile when Jesse gave your son a small wave, which he politely returned. But when Jessed signed “what’s your name?” your son’s face lit up in a smile before telling him his name. Jesse also introduced himself. 

All of that just to say that you felt that you could trust him.

So, you told him everything. How you had broken up with your boyfriend, your son’s father, a long time ago because of how abusive he could be, you didn’t want your child to be put through that. How, for a while, the father stayed out of your life, seemingly disappearing. How he recently started calling and showing up at your door, demanding to be a part of your son’s life. How he had harshly slapped you for denying him access to your home only the night before.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, but you weren’t surprised that you had. Jesse moved out of his chair, kneeling down in front of you as you lifted your head to look at him.

“Is he still bothering you?” you nodded. “Has he called you today?” you told him that he had been blowing up your phone so you blocked the number but that wouldn’t stop him from coming to your home again. “Are you sure you’re safe at home?” he asked and you paused before giving him an unconvincing nod.

Of course you weren’t safe at home, but you didn’t want to burden Jesse, your boss, with your personal life.

But he knew you were lying, and he wasn’t about to send you back home to deal with him. 

“You can stay with me for a while” he offered as he stood up, your eyes widening as you looked up at him.

“No, I can’t do that. I’m fine really” you didn’t want to be any trouble, even if his offer was very tempting. You would be safe, your ex would never guess you were staying there.

You argued and protested some more but Jesse kept insisting, and you eventually gave in. The offer was generous.

He let you use his bathroom to wash your face and clean up in. The two of you finished work early that day and, since you usually take public transport to work, Jesse opened his car door for you.

He took you to your home, where you packed two bags. One for you and once for your son.

He then took you to pick your son up from school once the school day was finished. Your son seemed excited to see Jesse again, running up and hugging you hello before signing his greeting to the well dressed man beside you.

“We’re going to stay with Jesse for a little while” you knelt down to your son’s height, a little surprised but glad to see his bright smile.

Jesse also smiled, this being one of the few times you had called him ‘Jesse’ despite how many times he had told you to do so.

Jesse’s home is grand and modern and impressive, it managed to stun you a little. But your son was nearly jumping up and down with excitement.

“Do I get my own room?” your son signed up to you. You looked to Jesse for an answer, and he nodded.

Jesse didn’t have a kid’s room in his home but he did have some guest rooms, one of which he gave to your son. “It’s the biggest room” he had told the young boy, making his smile grow even more.

That night, your son went to bed with ease, having worn himself out, and you returned to the lounge where Jesse was sitting with a drink.

“Thank you, Jesse. You really didn’t need to do all of this, it’s very generous” you sat down beside him.

He told you that he considered you to be a friend, that he refused to sit by and let your ex harass you. He wanted to look out for you and your son, you were his assistant after all.

For a while everything was going well. You and your son were still staying with Jesse, the three of you getting along well and adjusting easily to your new living situation. 

Jesse found that he enjoyed having you both there. He was aware that he had developed some feelings for you and was fond of your son, so he really didn’t mind you staying with him. In a way, he was getting what he wanted.

Things got a little worse when you went to pick your son up from school one day, finding your ex waiting for you both. You had instantly called Jesse, waiting by the school for him to arrive so that your ex couldn’t bother you too much, it was too public.

When Jesse’s car pulled up in front of you, your ex was talking to you. Your son clinging to your hand, both of you clearly afraid.

As soon as your son saw Jesse stepping out of the car, his face lit up. He released your hand and ran over to the man, who gently guided the child to stand behind him. Jesse’s stance protective.

“Are you ready to go?” Jesse signed and you nodded, quickly walking over to him. 

Of course, your ex had never bothered to learn sign language, so he didn’t understand any of it. He was quick to start snapping at Jesse, asking who he was and to leave you all alone, to mind his business, he was just trying to talk to his son. Your ex has always been foolish and hot-headed, trying to pick a fight with a man so much larger than him.

As your ex got closer, Jesse placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back harshly. He looked over his shoulder and nodded at you, you quickly ushered your son into the car, getting in with him. Using the text to speech on his phone, Jesse threatened your ex. You couldn’t hear, you could only see that he was using the device, but he was threatening your ex to stay away from you and your son.

Your ex backed off and Jesse got into the car, driving the three of you home where you could comfort your son and he could comfort you.

It wasn’t too long after that when Jesse went on his first business trip since you started living with him. It felt strange to be living in his home without him but it had started to feel like your own home. Jesse made sure the two of you stayed in touch, talking everyday.

He returned home after about two weeks. As soon as he stepped through the door, your son had run up to him with a huge smile to greet him with a hug. The two had become close. Your heart warmed when Jesse lifted the young boy up into an embrace, flashing you a proud smile as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

So domestic, how a child should react to his father returning after two weeks away.

That night your son had asked if he could stay up late because Jesse was home, you couldn’t convince him to go to bed, but Jesse convinced him by promising to do something special on the weekend. It had you smiling again.

You and Jesse did stay up a little longer that night, talking and catching up. He asked if your ex had given you any trouble, you told him that he hadn’t. What you didn’t know was that your ex would never be bothering you again, Jesse had made sure of it.

That night you confessed that you had missed him, that your son had as well, and Jesse confessed that he had missed the two of you too.

That night was the night that Jesse finally kissed you, finally feeling that you had become comfortable enough around him, that you returned his feelings and didn’t think you owed him anything for his help. And you had returned the kiss instantly, glad that he finally made the move.

Jesse had already proven to be the best partner you had ever had, the best father figure that your son had ever had, and he seemed to want to be those things. You truly believed that the three of you could make this work, that this could be good for all three of you. 

You had fallen hard for Jesse and as he pulled you closer to him on the couch, deepening the kiss, you were sure that you had never felt this way about somebody before.

[bushdivingbushranger]

What was going to an all girls school like, if you don't mind me asking? :)

OK anon im so sorry this is so long and so convuluted I actually got so carried away jdbKJBGKSDBGH. i'm not even sure i properly answered your question i just got overwhelmed with Love for my same-sex schooling DHGKJSDFBHG anyway, if there's anything more you want to know lmk and I will try to be concise next time 💀

Essentially, my own experience at a single-sex secondary school was fantastic—however, I know my experience isn’t universal, especially since my school was a little bit different to most, I think.

That being said, I still think that sending your daughters to female-only secondary schools is something every parent should strive to do if they can. No other learning environment will ever be as good for girls as a same-sex school.

In terms of school staff, mine was about 95% female, and 5% male. The few male teachers we had were genuinely competent men and decent teachers, they were also watched like hawks. Our principal was female, all leadership positions in the school (such as House Leaders, Year Level Co-Ordinators, Department Heads, even the chaplain) were held by women. Our school psychologists, our nurses, our library technicians, our café ladies, our career advisors, our tutors—all were women. Our school houses (think like Harry Potter houses) were named after important women in our country’s history.

I went to a co-ed primary school. And whilst at twelve you might not have the words to describe it, graduating from a co-ed space, into an all-female space is really a giant weight off of your shoulders. You don’t realise how suffocating co-education is until you’re no longer having to bear it. It feels so much more natural, so much more free! You are welcomed as you are. You can be loud and unashamed of it. We joked frequently with each other and our teachers, laughed loudly and cared not whether our laughs were ‘ugly’. I found that teachers were far more supportive than they were in my co-ed school. For example, in a co-ed school I had been told frequently to ‘pipe down’ or to ‘reel it in’ from teachers, and more vexingly to ‘shut up’ from boys due to my boisterous personality. In high school? My teachers encouraged me to audition for the play because I had ‘great projection’. In every school programme (more on those later) that I was involved in, I was the one asked to give speeches about them at assembly. I was asked to be the lead of our house chants during our sports festivals. I was asked to join the debate team because of my passionate nature, which in primary school, had me known as ‘difficult’.

Likewise, I had a friend who was by nature quiet, and loved to draw. In primary school she’d doodled on the back of a work booklet, and when her teacher returned it, she’d taken off two points and had written a comment saying something about teachers in high school not accepting work that was drawn on.

Do you know what happened when she got to high school? Our English teacher had seen the eye she’d drawn on the back of our Romeo and Juliet test and had written, ‘beautiful!’ above it. The next test, she drew a two-headed cat with witches’ hats on both heads (I remember the left head was called Turpentine and the right head was called Esmeralda). Our teacher wrote, ‘wonderful!’ above it, with a smiley face.

The next day she got an email from our art teacher that had a PDF flyer of information on both in-school and local art competitions.

Anyway, she had questions and that teacher answered every single one of them. She also personally helped her select the works she wanted to submit. She ended up having two pieces shown in the school gallery, along forty pieces made by other girls. About five years later for our final year, on that art teacher’s recommendation (and tutelage!) she took all of the visual art subjects on offer. When she graduated, her final piece was shown at a public exhibition in our state’s capital city, that honoured the best pieces done by select graduating students in the state.

So yeah. Our teachers were pretty amazing. Of course, there was the odd teacher or two you would butt heads with but that’s just a universal school experience. Our humanities classes, like history, for example, often had a unit that would focus on the female experience of a certain time period. For example, when learning about WW2, we did projects on female resistance fighters et cetera.

We had health classes that were actually focused on female health. We learnt about female anatomy (even the clitoris! Though we were all about thirteen/fourteen at this time so we found it incredibly awkward to talk about), as well as symptoms of PCOS during our menstrual unit. We learnt about contraceptive methods and devices (however, as a Catholic school they did have to tell us that whilst these methods are available, the church-sanctioned method is of course, abstinence).

Whilst the majority of the girls shaved their legs and wore makeup, as someone who did neither of those things I rarely felt judgement about it (albeit, I think there was a little for my lack of makeup, but this only lasted the first two years). A good portion of our staff also did not wear makeup, I don’t recall this ever being commented on. And, by the time we’d reached about our third year, a good portion of my year level and the ones above did not wear makeup on a daily basis. Leg hair was not looked down upon by any of us I don’t think by this year either. In fact, if you were particularly hairy often your hairless friends asked to rub your legs!

We were never short of female role-models, our staff made sure of that. We had multiple days per year when guest speakers would come and talk to us, mostly these were women who were experts in their fields—whether that be neuroscience or computer science, linguistics and literature or mathematics, politics, et cetera. The only times we really had male guest speakers was when police officers (one male one female) came to give us an assembly about sexual peer-pressure and laws around sharing nudes that was basically, “these are common (male) manipulation tactics used to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, don’t fall for them”.

We were encouraged to take STEM subjects, and those of us that had taken interest in computer programming were sent to coding programmes in the city during school hours! That’s how keen our teachers were to get more women into the field! This was the same with the girls interested in politics, who got to go to Model UN events, as well as mock parliaments in the country’s capitol.

We had a lot of programmes generally. A few overseas ones for girls who were in LOTE (languages other than English) classes. A few interstate ones, too. And of course, local programmes and excursions. Most of them (aside from the LOTE ones which focused on immersion) were volunteer programmes aimed at helping women and girls. The rest were about furthering our own skills or learning new ones. Majority of these were year-level based, but a few depended on the clubs/groups/classes you were in. For example, I was part of the Writer’s Club, and we took an excursion to the state Writer’s Festival and listened to female writers as well as feminist panels. We also had self-defence programmes every year.

In terms of peers I generally found everyone to be quite amiable by the time we’d reached our third/fourth year. There’s a common myth about all girls schools being filled with ‘catty’ girls who are constantly bitching about one another, but I really did not find that to ring true. There were a few fights and arguments in the earlier years, I was part of quite a lot lol but that’s honestly… just something that happens at school, at any school. Largely, we were good to each other. If someone was crying there was always someone who’d ask her what was wrong. If you missed the notes on the slide, there was always a girl willing to share her notes with you.

I think going to an all-girl’s school, and not having that much interaction with the opposite sex generally for that six-year period truly does something, I think, to your psyche. We are socialised to look down on our fellow woman, socialised to look down upon ourselves. But actually being constantly surrounded by women, and almost ONLY women, really helps to undo that. Even now I could not describe the fierce love I have for all those women and girls I came in contact with during my time there—even the ones I bickered with. Each and every single woman I met there enriched my life in some way or another. I think that is the effect of consistently spending time in any female-only space: developing a true appreciation for women. It is the only reasonable conclusion to come to.

I have been out of high school for two years, and in university for one. Among the many men I have met since, none of them have even been able to hold a candle to the any women and girls I know.

Anyway. TLDR: it slapped, send your daughters to same-sex schools!!

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I don’t play WoW but I used to play Overwatch and Diablo and this touches on just the general issues that are inside of Activision Blizzard right now regarding the major decline of World of Warcraft and how they’re losing to Final Fantasy XIV, how if the latest WoW expansion or Overwatch 2 flop as they’re projected to do then Blizzard’s most definitely going to pivot almost entirely to mobile games, and how the differences in age demographics are actually dividing the company into multiple camps.

It’s important to note two things: 1) this could be fake but also 2) the link came from Grummz, a former team lead on WoW and producer on Diablo II and Starcraft. It still could be fake despite this, but if he’s sharing it then I feel like there’s at least some measure of truth in this.

Transcription below in case this gets deleted and/or you don’t wanna click the link. Warning, it’s fairly long.

“I’m dropping this here after getting chewed out for three hours over shit the chewee did at work so fuck it. Assume larp and let me vent.”

>Shadowlands is a shitshow. Critical response, Player drop off and just about every engagement metric outside of cash shop have been catastrophic. No higher up expected this because of their “we are too big to fail, if we built it they will come” mentality. They refuse to accept their focus on the world being a begrudged mechanic to funnel players to raiding is not appealing to the player base at large because it appeals to them. They have spent the last 4 months trying to course correct but there is no solid direction and the response to 9.1 has only made things worse.

>Sylvanas is planned to replace the Arbiter despite so many people in the company and god knows how many online saying this would be a total replication of Kerrigans storyline in Starcraft 2 that killed none competitive interest in the brand entirely and you can only go “no, no they WILL like it eventually” for so many real world years before its time to change course. Thus far that has not happened.

>The elephant in the room is FFXIV. To the people in charge they are acting like this came out of nowhere and don’t even seem to understand why its drawing players away in their tens of thousands. We have all tried to highlight things it is doing that are clearly appealing to an mmo audience and not, in my opinion, focussing more on mobile game style retention traps to keep MAU users and habit forming personalities logging in. Its not that they don’t care. They just seem so pig headed and digging their heels in with their fingers in their ears thinking all the problems will go away because WoW is “too big to fail”, there will never be real competition and “they will keep coming back”. But they aren’t coming back anymore. Not in the numbers they used to.

>The people making the spending choices know this. The new model for WoW is market the hell out of a expansion pack for a huge quarter then use 6 month lock ins to pad numbers for the quarters after that. Even if corona had not happened 9.1 still would have been dropping after the initial 6 month subs expired to “keep the chain holding”.

>The mood in the company is tense but also very much “its just a rough transition period”. Activision has been pushing hard for Blizzard to release more regular product and to generate more income per user. As far as i know this is going to be a transition over the next 5 years to a much larger mobile/tablet gaming focus. By all accounts not just WoW but Overwatch was intended to be the moneymaker in the interim but once again someone had the bright idea to kill a game casual players loved on the alter of e-sports hoping for another Brood War. From what i hear the “told you so’s” were loud and a lot of people walked beyond Kaplan.

>The sentiment that was shared quietly in private but being spoken more often is simply that the leadership at Blizzard are not bad people, nor incompetent people but people who had to fill seats left when the old guard jumped ship wether they were suited for it or not. Brack is a genuinely good man out of his depth, Ion is a fantastic raid designer put in charge of designing a virtual world he has no interest or real ideas for and so on. They have been taking form the roles they excel at to be put in positions where they get to do far less of that purely because there is nobody left with the experience to do so and the trickle down is a lack of concrete direction, ambition and focus.

>2021 has seen the playerbase, media and gaming at large “turn” on WoW to a degree i don’t think the leads in their “positivity dojo” bubble considered possible. Its gone from people going “This is how Blizz needs to fix WoW!” to “WoW is no longer salvageable, time for greener pastures” and i think on some level this was never considered as a possibility so there have never been any major plans beyond the usual “try and minimise player drop off by arranging releases around competitors launching updates/products”. The official forums being filled with talk of FFXIV and worse “why do we actually pay a sub?” hasn’t helped.

>There have been some testing the waters lately from certain higher ups if we can remove the line “No King Rules Forever”. Read into that what you will.

>There are still arguments going on about the Kael’thas Voice actor shitshow. I don’t know much about it but i know its heated, wouldn’t be the first time a knee jerk reaction only seemed to generate bad press. We lost a noticeable amount of pvp engagement after the Swifty thing.

>The Preach interview was treated as a disaster and there was talk of more strongly vetting interviewers for “bad actors” and only engaging with a list of questions Blizzard provides. Some pointed out that could just be used to create some form of Fireside Chat akin to the FFXIV “Live letters” but that fell on deaf ears.

>The two sentiments right now among the team are either “we really need a win” or “theres a dedicated cabal of internet trolls out to kill WoW”. Right now we are crunching hard to get 9.2 ready to wrap up the jailors storyline so we can get an expansion out early 2022. If that doesn’t happen there are talks of major shakeups coming down from Activision that have been threatened for a few  years now. Its an all hands on deck feeling thats been around to some degree since the “Is this an out of season April Fools Joke” Blizzcon. A make or break deadline is coming closer and things like Diablo 4 were not planned before then. Blizzard needs a significant win not just in initial profit but consumer goodwill. Nobody likes working at what the public now seems to see as “the bad guy” of the mmo industry.

>This has also made new hires decline. Not significantly but the “you WANT Blizzard on your resume” line doesn’t seem to have the appeal it used to. This has lead to more hiring via friend of a friend, to some rumblings about nepotism, and people severely lacking in experience “because they get great twitter optics”.

>On the topic of Twitter we are not being told to “disengage” from it. Multiple employees like Nervig and Holisky publicly attacking paying customers because they got too heated and couldn’t keep quiet is bad press that could have been avoided. A email reminder has gone around more than once lately stating “if you are not customer relations you should not be representing the company to customers, especially if you cannot remain professional”.

>Lastly the biggest elephant in the room is “yo’ boy” Asmongold. The newer hires cannot stand him. They have used terms like “toxic masculinity” and “dogwhistles to dangerous males” while some of the oldest crowd still remaining have called him “based” or “telling it like it is” which has lead to friction to put it mildly. People are told not to talk about him and the recent FFXIV stuff only made it all worse. The idea that an outside element can have such an effect on the product genuinely upsets people. Like Zach is engaging in some malicious act of cyberwarfare. Many of us have point out the now famous quotes by Naoki Yoshida about understanding that players will drift and we need to make something worth coming back to because they want to but some people for lack of a better word see out customers -or “consumers” as they refer to them nowadays- as some kind of antagonistic relationship where the goal is not being an entertainer putting on a show for a crowd but some kind of game hunter trying to trap a large, profitable kill. I wish i could blame Activision but this is a sentiment from more of the younger crowd than the “tech boomers”. Which personal opinion is probably why so many folks like Metzen and Morheim left.

>Before you ask, yes the topic of “wokeness” has shown up in group talks. Its not all some grand sjw conspiracy, people really do want to feel welcome and represented. However the “we need everything veto’ed by people not working on it to see if its inoffensive and bland enough” rubs some of us the wrong way. Like anything in life you can take something too far and lose sight of the core ideals and with everything gone on since Blitzchung it feels like people are forming little factions to pull people in different directions to decide “What Blizzards identity is now” and how to appeal to new players. There has been some drop offs with “go woke go broke” as the only answer in the survey when unsubbing but honestly we are losing subs in unforseen numbers anyway and still making more money than ever through cash shop “heavy users” so it honestly doesn’t make an impact.

>All in all things are rough right now. Blizzard doesn’t have the love of the customers anymore, is no longer treated as an industry giant and while D4,D2R and Immortal aren’t going to kill Diablo even if they fail the sentiment for World of Warcraft and Overwatch 2 are a lot more tense and stressful. The phrase “it might be good to brush up on your mobile development portfolio if we get another underperformer” has been doing the rounds a lot. If Shadowlands continues its stark decline and Overwatch 2 is looking to underperform like its current projections suggest i think the Blizzard of a few years from now will be imitating King a lot more than trying to learn any lessons from Square Enix’s mmo division.

[song-of-oots]

Fuchsia Groan: my (un)exceptional fave

A while ago a friend of mine was asking for people to name their favourite examples of strong female characters, and my mind immediately leapt to Gormenghast’s Fuchsia Groan because it always does whenever the words “favourite” and “female character” come up in the same sentence. In fact scratch that, if I had to pick only one character to be my official favourite (female or otherwise) it would probably be Fuchsia. There are not sufficient words in the English language to accurately describe how much I love this character.

The issue was that I’m not sure Fuchsia Groan can accurately be described as “strong”, and until my friend asked the question, it hadn’t even occurred to me to analyse her in those terms… 

Actually this isn’t completely true; Mervyn Peake does describe Fuchsia as strong in terms of her physical strength on multiple occasions. But in terms of her mental strength things are less clear cut. She’s certainly not a total pushover, and anyone would probably find it tough-going to cope with the neglect, tragedy and misuse she suffers through. In fact, this is something Mervyn Peake mentions himself – whilst also pointing out that Fuchsia is not the most resilient of people:

“There were many causes [to her depression], any one of which might have been alone sufficient to undermine the will of tougher natures than Fuchsia’s.”

Anyway, this has gotten me thinking about Fuchsia’s other traits and my reasons for loving her, going through a typical sort of list of reasons people often give for holding up a character as someone to admire:

So, is Fuchsia particularly talented?

No.

Is she clever, witty?

She’s definitely not completely stupid, and her insights occasionally take other characters by surprise, but she’s not really that smart either.

Does she have any significant achievements? Overcome great adversity?

Not really, no.

Is she kind?

Yes. Fuchsia is a very loving person and sometimes displays an incredible sensitivity and compassion for others. But… she can also be self-absorbed, highly strung, and does occasionally lash out at other people (especially in her younger years).

So why do I love Fuchsia so much?

Well, I’ll start be reiterating that I don’t really have the vocabulary to adequately put it into words, but I will try to get the gist across. So:

“What Fuchsia wanted from a picture was something unexpected. It was as though she enjoyed the artist telling her something quite fresh and new. Something she had never thought of before.”

This statement summarises not only Fuchsia but also the way I feel about her (and for that matter the Gormenghast novels in general). Fuchsia is something I’ve never really seen before. On the surface, she fits the model of the somewhat spoiled but neglected princess, and yet at the same time she cannot be so neatly pigeon-holed. It’s not just that her situation and the themes of the story make things more complex (though that is a factor); Fuchsia herself is so unique and vividly detailed that she manages to be more than her archetype. She feels like a real person and, like all real people, she is not so easy to label.

Fuchsia is also delightfully strange in a way that feels very authentic to her and the setting in general (which is particularly refreshing because it can all too often feel as though female characters are only allowed to be strange in a kooky, sexy way - yet Fuchsia defies this trend).

She’s a Lady, but she’s not ladylike. She’s messy. She slouches, mooches, stomps and stands in awkward positions. Her drawing technique is “vicious” and “uncompromising”. She chews grass. She removes her shoes “without untying the laces by treading on the heels and then working her foot loose”. She’s multi-faceted and psychologically complex. Intense and self-absorbed, sometimes irrational and ruled by her emotions more than is wise, but also capable of insight and good sense that takes others by surprise. She is extremely loving and affectionate, and yet so tragically lonely. Simultaneously very feminine and also not. Her character development from immature teenager to adult woman is both subtle and believable. She has integrity and decency – she doesn’t need to be super clever or articulate to know how to care for others or stand up for herself.

Fuchsia is honest. She knows her own flaws, but you never catch her trying to put on airs or make herself out to be anything other than what she is. She always expresses her feelings honestly.

She’s not sexualised at all. I don’t mean by this that she has no sexuality – though that’s something Peake only vaguely touches on – but I don’t really feel like I’m looking at a character who was written to pander to the male gaze (though her creator is male, I get the vibe he views her more as a beloved daughter than a sexual object).

Finally, I find her highly relatable. I am different to Fuchsia in many ways, but we do have several things in common that I have never seen so vividly expressed in any other character. This was incredibly important to me when I was a teenager struggling through the worst period of depression I ever experienced – because she was someone who I could relate to and love in a way I was incapable of loving myself. Her ability to be herself meant a lot to me as someone struggling with my own identity and sense of inadequacy. It didn’t cure my depression, but it helped me survive it.

What am I trying to say with all this?

I love Fuchsia on multiple levels. I love her as a person and also as a character and a remarkable piece of writing. I mention some of the mundane details Peake uses to flesh out her character firstly because I enjoy them, but also because it’s part of the point. Her story amazes me because it treats a female character and her psychological and emotional life with an intense amount of interest regardless of any special talents or achievements she happens to exhibit. She doesn’t fit the model of a modern heroine but neither does she need to – she’s still worth spending time with and caring about.*  To me the most important things about Fuchsia are how different and interesting and relatable she is – and how real she feels.

* To be honest, this is part of the point of the Gormenghast novels in general. The story is meant to illustrate the damage that society – and in particular rigid social structures and customs – can do to individuals with its callous indifference to genuine human need. Fuchsia is one of many examples of this throughout the novels. These characters don’t need to be exceptionally heroic in order to matter – they just need to exist as believable people. And despite how strange they all are, they often do manage to be fundamentally relatable.

Why am I talking about female characters in particular here?

The focus on “strong” female characters and the critique against that is pretty widely acknowledged. Growing up, I definitely noticed the lack of female characters in popular media and the ensuing pressure this then places on the ones that do exist to be positive representations of womankind – someone girls can look up to. It’s very understandable that we want to see more examples of admirable female protagonists, given that women were traditionally left to play support roles and tired stereotypes. The problem is that the appetite for more proactive female heroines can sometimes lead to characters who are role models first and realistic human beings second (characters who I mentally refer to as Tick-All-The-Boxes Heroines). It’s not a problem with “strong” proactive heroines per se, but rather lack of variation and genuine psychological depth (not to mention a sometimes too-narrow concept of what it even means to be strong).

Male characters tend not to have this particular problem because they are much better represented across the whole range of roles within a story. You get your fair share of boring worn out archetypes. You get characters who are meant to represent a positive version of heroic masculinity (and now that I come to think of it, having a very narrow and unvarying presentation of what positive masculinity looks like is its own separate problem, but outside the scope of this particular ramble). We don’t usually spend time obsessing over whether a piece of fiction has enough examples of “strong” male characters though, because we’re generally so used to seeing it that we automatically move on into analysing the work and the characters on other terms. And because there are often more male characters than female, they don’t all bear the burden of having to be a positive representative of all men everywhere. They exist to fulfill their roles, and often exhibit more variety, nuance and psychological depth. They are also often allowed to be weird, flawed and unattractive in ways that women usually aren’t (which is a damn shame because I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a weird outsider and yet this perspective is so often told primarily through a male lens).

Tl:dr; Fuchsia Groan is a character who feels like an answer to so many of those frustrations that I felt growing up without even truly understanding why. A large part of why I love her is simply because of how much I relate to her on a personal level. I admire her emotional honesty and her loving nature… But there’s also a part of me that was just so relieved to find a female character who exists outside of the usual formulae we seem to cram women into. She is unique, weird and wonderful (but non-sexualised). Psychologically nuanced and vividly written. She isn’t exceptionally heroic or talented or a high achiever – but she does feel like a real person.

Female characters don’t need to tick all the right boxes in order to be interesting or worth our time any more than the male ones do.

[woman-loving]

I’ve been reading some articles about lesbian identities in Indonesia, from the late 80s to the 00s, and wanted to share some quotes that highlighted a couple trends that I’ve also noticed in reading about butch/femme communities in other countries.

1) There are different expectations about sexual distinctiveness and marriage to men are attached to butch and femme identities. There is a greater expectation that femmes will marry men, and femmes more often do marry men, though some butches do as well. Marriages to men seem to be for convenience or in name only, and women may continue to have female lovers.

2) Distinctions are made between real/pure/positive lesbians (butches) and other lesbians (femmes) who are “potentially normal.” This shows the flexibility of lesbian identity, where they can be gradations and contradictions in what it means to be a lesbian (e.g. a woman being a lesbian but not a “real lesbian"). The category has cores and peripheries, rather than everyone being equally lesbian or else completely outside of it.

3) There are disagreements between members, which cross butch/femme lines, about the meanings of these identities and whose lesbianism or community involvement should be taken seriously. The first passage describes femmes as engaging in a “more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity.” The boundaries of lesbianism can potentially expand or contract as people struggle to define it.

4) People don’t always meet the community expectations attached to their identity.

I think these passages help complicate the picture of what lesbian identities can look like, and some of these same tensions and debates are common features of lesbian identity in many different cultures. I also think these issues--the (differential) weight given to relationships with men, the notion of positive versus negative lesbians, and the active appropriation of lesbianism by peripheral members--are relevant to bisexual interest, since these questions also shape bi women’s engagement in lesbianism/lesbian communities. (And we can say that without claiming that any particular women in these narratives are “really bisexual.”)

Anyway, without further ado... (this first one picks up right in the middle of a passage because I couldn’t get the previous page on the google preview :T)

From “Desiring Bodies or Defiant Cultures: Butch-Femme Lesbians in Jakarta and Lima,” by Saskia E. Wieringa, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

“[...]negative lesbians. We are positive lesbians. We are pure, 100% lesbian. With them you can never know. Before you know it, they are seeing a man again, and we are given the good-bye.”

Father Abraham, who had entered during her last words, took over. “Let me explain. … Take Koes. Again and again her girlfriends leave her. Soon she’ll be old and lonely. Who will help her then? For these girls it is just an adventure, while for butches like Koes it is their whole life.”“Yes, well, Abraham, … my experience is limited, of course, but it seems to me that the femmes flee the same problems that make life so hard for the butches. So they’d rather support each other.”

“In any case,” Sigit added, ‘they have become active now, that’s why they’re here, isn’t that so?” And she looked questioningly at the three dolls behind the typing machine, Roekmi and my neighbour. The most brazen femme had been nodding in a mocking manner while Sigit and I were talking.

“So we’re only supposed to be wives? We’re not suited for something serious, are we? Maybe we should set up a wives’ organization, Dharma Wanita,[23] the Dharma Wanita PERLESIN? Just like all those other organizations of the wives of civil servants and lawyers?” …

“Come on, Ari,” Sigit insisted, “why don’t you just ask them? You could at least ask them whether they want to join?” Ari found it extremely hard. Helplessly she looked at the other butches.

“Do you really mean that i should ask whether our wives would like to join / our / organization?” One of the butches nodded.

“Ok, fine.” She directed herself to the dolls.

“Well, what do you want? Do you want to join us? But in that case you shouldn’t just say yes, then you should also be involved with your whole heart.”

“You never asked that of the others,” the brazen femme pointed out, “but yes, I will definitely dedicate myself to the organization.” Roekmi and the two femmes at her side also nodded. (Wieringa 1987:89-91)

The above example is indicative of the social marginalization of the b/f community. it also captures in it one of its moments of transformation. The defiance of the femmes of the code that prescribes the division of butches and femmes into “positive” and “negative” lesbians respectively indicates a more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity. At the same time it illustrates the hegemony of the dominant heterosexual culture with its gendered principles of organization.

Yet, however much the butches conformed to male gender behavior they didn’t define themselves as male; their relation to their bodies was rather ambiguous. at times they defined themselves as a third sex, which is nonfemale[…]. [...] [Butches’] call for organization was not linked to a feminist protest against rigid gender norms. Rather they felt that nature had played a trick on them and they they had to devise ways to confront the dangers to which this situation gave rise. Jakarta’s b/f lesbians when I met them in the early eighties were not in the least interested in feminism. In fact, the butches among them were more concerned with the case of a friend of them who was undergoing a sex change operation. They clearly considered it an option, but none of them decided to follow this example. When I asked them why, all of them mentioned the health risks involved and the costs. None of them stated that they rather preferred their own bodies. Their bodies, although the source of sexual pleasure and as such the object of constant attention, didn’t make it any too easy for them to get the satisfaction they sought or, at least, to attract the partners they desired.

From "Let Them Take Ecstasy: Class and Jakarta Lesbians," by Alison J. Murray, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

Covert lesbian activities are thus an adaptation to the ideological context, where the distinction between hidden and exposed sexual behavior allows for fluidity in sexual relations (“everyone could be said to be bisexual” according to Oetomo 1995) as long as the primary presentation is heterosexual/monogamous. It is not lesbian activity that has been imported from the West, but the word lesbi used to label the Western concept of individual identity based on a fixed sexuality. I have not found that Indonesian women like to use the label to describe themselves, since it is connected to unpleasant stereotypes and the pathological view of deviance derived from Freudian psychology (cf Foucault 1978).

The concept of butch-femme also has a different meaning in Indonesia from the current Western use which implies a subversion of norms and playful use of roles and styles (cf Nestle 1992). In Indonesia (and other parts of Southeast Asia, such as the Philippines, Thailand’s tom-and-dee: Chetame 1995) the roles are quite strictly, or restrictively, defined and are related to popular, pseudo-psychological explanations of the “real” lesbian. In the simple terms of popular magazines, the butch (sentul) is more than 50% lesbian, or incurably lesbi, while the femme (kantil) is less than 50% lesbian, or potentially normal. Blackwood’s (1994) description of her secretive relationship with a butch-identified woman in Sumatra brings up some cross-cultural differences and difficulties that they experienced and could not speak about publicly. The Sumatran woman adopted masculine signifies and would not be touched sexually herself; she wanted to be called “pa” by Blackwood, who she expected to behave as a “good wife.” Meanwhile, Blackwood’s own beliefs, as well as her higher status due to class and ethnicity, made it hard to take on the passive female role.

I want to emphasize here that behavior needs to be conceptually separated from identity, as both are contextually specific and constrained by opportunity. It is common for young women socialized into a rigid heterosexual regime, in Asia or the West, to experience their sexual feelings in terms of gender confusion: “If I am attracted to women, then I must be a man trapped in a woman’s body.” Women are not socialized to seek out a sexual partner (of any kind), or to be sexual at all, so an internal “feeling” may never be expressed unless there are role models or opportunities available. If the butch-femme stereotype, as presented in the Indonesian popular media, is the only image of lesbians available outside the metropolis (e.g., in Sumatra), then this may affect how women express their feelings. However, urban lower-class lesbians engage in a range of styles and practices: some use butch style consciously to earn peer respect, while others reject the butch as out-dated. The stereotype of all lower-class lesbians whether following butch-femme roles or conforming to one subcultural pattern is far from the case and reflects the media and elite’s lack of real knowledge about street life. […]

The imagery of sickness creates powerful stigmatization and internalized homophobia: women may refer to themselves as sakit (sick). An ex-lover of mine in Jakarta is quite happy to state a preference for women while at the same time expressing disgust at the word lesbi and at the sight of a butch dyke; however, I have generally found that the stigma around lesbian labels and symbols is not translated into discrimination against individuals based on their sexual activities. I have been surprised to discover how many women in Jakarta will either admit to having sex with women or to being interested in it, but again, this is only rarely accompanied by an open lesbian (or bisexual) identity. I have found it hard to avoid the word “lesbian” to refer to female-to-female sexual relations, but it should not be taken to imply a permanent self-identity. It is very important to try and understand the social contexts of behavior, in order to avoid drawing conclusions based on inappropriate Western notions of lesbian identity, community, or “queer” culture.

From “Beyond the ‘Closet’: The Voices of Lesbian Women in Yogyakarta,” by Tracy L Wright Webster, 2004:

Most importantly a supportive community group of lesbian, bisexual and transgender women is essential, given that these sexualities are thrust together in Sektor 15. Potentially, a group comprised of women from each of these categories, that is lesbian, bisexual or transgender, may prove problematic to say the least, given that the needs and issues of each group are different. Clearly the informal communities already in existence in Yogya are indicators of this. Any formal or organized groupings would certainly benefit by modeling on current, though informal organisations. In the lesbian network, transgendered women (those who wish to become men or who consider themselves male) are not affiliated, however many ‘femme’ identified women who have been and intend to be involved in heterosexual relationships in the future, are among the group in partnership with their ‘butch’ pacar (Indo: girlfriend/boyfiend/lover).

Organisations of women questioning sexuality have existed in Yogya in the past. A butch identified respondent said she was involved in the formation of a lesbian, bisexual and transgender network in collaboration with another Indonesian woman, who also identified as butch, 20 years her senior. The group was called Opo (Javanese:what) or Opo We (Jav:whatever), the name highlighting that any issue could be discussed or entered into within the group. Members were an amalgam of both of the women’s friends and acquaintances. The underlying philosophy of the group was that “regardless of a woman’s life experience, marriage, children…it is her basic human right to live as a lesbian if she has the sexual inclination”. The elder founding member of this group, now 46, married a man and had a child. She now lives with her husband (in name only), child and female partner in the same home. Although this arrangement according to the interviewee “is rare… because the husband is there, she is spared the questions from the neighbours”. Here I must add that it is common in Java for lesbians to marry to fulfill their social role as mothers, and then to separate from their husbands to live their lives in partnership with a woman. This trend however is more common among the ‘femme’ group.

From "(Re)articulations: gender and same-sex subjectivities in Yogyakarta, Indonesia," by Tracy Wright Webster, in Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and the Pacific, Issue 18, Oct 2008:

Lesbi subjectivities Since gender, for the most part, determines sexuality in Java, sexuality and gender cannot be analysed as discrete categories.[64] For all of the self-identified butchi participants, lesbi was the term used to describe their sexuality. This is contrary to the findings of two key researchers of female same-sex sexuality in Indonesia. Alison Murray's research in Jakarta in the 1980s suggests that females of same-sex attraction did not like the term 'lesbian'[65] due to its connection with 'unpleasant stereotypes' and deviant pathologies.[66] In 1995, Gayatri found that media representations depicting lesbi as males trapped in female bodies encouraged same-sex attracted women to seek new, contemporary descriptors.[67] The participants in this research, however, embraced the term lesbi as an all-encompassing descriptor of female same-sex attraction and as Boellstorff has noted in 2000, Indonesian lesbi tend to see themselves as part of a wider international lesbian network.[68]

The term lesbi has been used in Indonesia since the 1980s, although not commonly or consistently. Lines, les, lesbian, lesbo, lesbong and L, among others, are also used. Female same-sex/lesbi subjectivities in Yogya are not strongly associated with political motivations and the subversion of heteropatriarchy as they were among the Western lesbian feminists of the 1960s. By the time most of the participants in this research were born, the term lesbi had already become infused in Indonesian discourses of sexuality among the urban elite (though with negative connotations in most cases), and has since become commonly used both by females of same-sex attraction to describe themselves, and by others. Most learnt from peers at school and through reading Indonesian magazines.

However, public use of the term lesbi and expression of lesbi subjectivity has its risks. Murray's research on middle to upper class lesbians suggests that females identifying as lesbi have more to lose than lower class lesbi in terms of social position and the power invested in that class positioning. This is particularly in relation to their position in the family.[69] Conversely, her work also shows that lower class lesbi 'have the freedom to play without closing off their options.'[70] As Aji suggests, young females, particularly of the priyayi class may not be in a position to resist the social stigma attached to lesbianism and the possible consequences of rejection or abuse. Yusi faced this reality despite the fact that s/he had not declared herself lesbi. Hir gendered subjectivity meant that s/he did not conform to stereotypical feminine ideals and desires.

With so much at stake, many lesbi remain invisible. Heteronormative and feminine gendered expectations for females in part explain why lesbians may indeed be the 'least known population group in Indonesia.'[71] Collusion in invisibility can be seen here as a protective strategy. The lesbi community or keluarga (family) is what Murray refers to as a 'strategic community' of the lesbian subculture.[72] The strategic nature of the community lies in its sense of protection: the community provides a safe haven for disclosure. Invisibility, however, also arises through the factors I mentioned earlier: the normative feminine representations of femme, their tendency to express lesbi subjectivity only while in partnership with a butchi, and their tendency to marry. Invisibility, as a form of discretion, however, may also be chosen.

Gender complementary butchi/femme subjectivities [...] Due to the apparently fixed nature of butchi identities and subjectivities and their reluctance to sleep with males, they are seen as 'true lesbians,'[79] lesbian sejati, an image perpetuated through the media.[80] Similar to the butchi/femme communities in Jakarta, in Yogya, butchi are identified by their strict codes of dress and behaviour which include short hair, sometimes slicked back with gel, collared button up shirts and trousers bought in menswear stores, large-faced watches and bold rings. Butchi characteristically walk with a swagger and smoke in public places. In her research in the 1980s, Wieringa noticed that within lesbi communities in Jakarta the strict 'surveillance and socialisation 'may have contributed to the fixed nature of butchi identities.[81] In Yogya, this is particularly evident in the socialisation of younger lesbi by senior lesbi (a theme I explore elsewhere in my current research).

The participants held individual perspectives on butchness. Aji's butchness is premised on hir masculine gender subjectivity and desire for a partner of complementary gender. Yusi expresses hir butchness differently and relates it to dominance in the relationship and in sex play. The participants who told of the sexual roles within the relationship emphasised their active butchi roles during sex. As Wieringa suggests, this does not necessarily imply femme passivity as femme 'stress their erotic power over their butches.'[82] It does, however, indicate one way in which the butchi I interviewed articulate their sexual agency.

Femme subjectivities, on the other hand, are generally conceived of as transient. As many of the interviews illustrate, femme are expected by their butchi partners to marry and have children: butchi see them as bisexual. In public, and indeed if they marry, they are seen as heterosexual, though their heterosexual practice may not be exclusive. In the 1980s, Wieringa observed that femme 'dressed in an exaggerated fashion, in dresses with ribbons and frills...always wore make up and high heels.'[83] In the new millennium, the femme I met were also fashion savvy though not in an exaggerated sense. Generally they wore hip-hugging, breast-accentuating tight gear, had long hair and wore lipstick and low-heeled pumps. Their feminine representations were stereotypical: it was through association with butchi with in the lesbi community that femme subjectivities become visible.

[bloodyspade0000]

30-day knb challenge: Day 1- Favorite Male character

↳ Haizaki Shougo

I am not justifying Haizaki's behaviour. I think he needs a tall glass of respect woman juice and therapy. This is just meant to explain why he is my favourite character and help you better understand him as a character. Do not send hate or take my words out of context. You will be reported, deleted and cancelled. Thank you and enjoy. :)

My favourite character is Haizaki Shougo *dodges tomatoes* a lot of people in the fandom hate this guy for many reasons. It's kind of funny how many people hate him and the amount of hate he gets just for existing. Like bruh; he's sixteen, leave him alone. 😂

His whole existence is just sad. He was literally created to be hated.

Like straight up, Tadatoshi Fujimaki even admitted that he hated Haizaki. Haizaki's sole purpose of existing is to make the Generation of Miracles look better even though they’re just as problematic as he. No one is fucking perfect and is about time people woke the fuck up and realized it. Your faves are problematic move the fuck on.

Yes, the Miracles are redeemable but so is Haizaki. Yet, unlike the Miracles, he does not get redeemable. No, he disappears and is never seen again. Like bitch, what the fuck!? if you’re gonna introduce a character to only have them disappear for a long time and either have them show up again or just never mention them again. Wasting the potential they had to be a very good character or not having them redeem themselves while the other characters who were just as fucking problematic get a fucking redemption arc because they’re fucking main characters!? What’s the point of that character even existing in the first place? What kind of bullshit is that? Just to have them exist to make the main characters look good? How the fuck does that make sense? Like where is my Haizaki redemption arc? Do I have to write it on my own? I will write it. I am writing one.

Haizaki is the only character I could relate to. Being second best, struggling to find somewhere to fit in and overshadowed and replaced by someone everyone thinks is better than you. It's fucking depressing, okay? You spend your whole life thinking you’re not good enough, and it hurts. I don't feel like going too deep into it because I don't owe you a detailed explanation of my trauma, okay?. So I'll save that for my fics where I self-project half of it onto Haizaki. It’s a coping mechanism, okay? Therapy is fucking expensive.

The anime ruined his whole character, got rid of his whole arc and shorted it down, and made him worse than he really is.

A post explaining how the anime did him dirty and goes more in-depth about his character

I am not trying to justify his actions, i.e. him manhandling Alex and beating Himura up. He does terrible shit. We all do lousy shit sometimes, but that doesn't make us bad people. Making mistakes is a part of being human, and we're supposed to hold people accountable for their actions and help them realize what they’re doing is wrong, allowing them to grow and change. Not condemn them and ostracize them, which leads to isolation and a lot of psychological trauma and self-hatred, and as someone who has dealt with—is still dealing with all three. It is not fun. It makes living painful. Highly unrecommended.

Haizaki does not have a positive role model in his life nor anybody he can turn to, everyone has already given up on him. Even Nijimura and Kuroko didn’t even try to help him, being more focused on the Miracles. (Yes, I know kuroko tried to stop him from throwing his basketball shoes away, but that doesn’t fucking count because after that Kuroko just gave up on Haiazki too). Haizaki has probably grown grew up knowing only violence and not a single ounce of kindness, turning him into the bitter and angry little boy he is.

Haizaki had so much potential. But instead of making him a great villain that potential was WASTED on fucking Kise.

Also, the Kaijo vs Seirin match in the winter cup was completely useless because Kise already got redeemed and he literally got no character development from it.

And Seirin was gonna fucking win anyways because duh thier the main characters. 🙄

Now some headcanons I think about a lot:

1. He gets abused. Some psychological behavioural consequences of child abuse are unhealthy sexual practices and juvenile delinquency, and Haizaki exhibits all three which are some external behaviours of most (NOT ALL) male abuse victims. Haizaki's a womanizer, aggressive, hostile and violent. Yet, he backs down when someone stronger than him comes around and puts him in his place i.e. Aomine and Nijimura.

a factsheet explaining the long term consequences of child abuse and neglect

How to help a friend dealing with family abuse or neglect

How to Handle Abuse

2. He's a victim. And when you're a victim, you either become angry and cynical with everything and everyone around you, swearing never to be a victim again and struggle with gaining back control of your life. Not wanting anyone to see you being vulnerable because being vulnerable makes you weak. Being weak makes you shatter. You always shatter like glass, cutting yourself every time you pick up broken pieces, watching as blood trickles through your fingers.

Your body is constantly on high alert. The default is flight or fight—survival to the fittest.

Or you bite your lip and keep your head down, bottling everything inside and looking for escapes or seeking validation. You want to be wanted and loved because you struggle with loving and accepting yourself. There's always a voice in the back of your head telling you, you're not good enough or that it's your fault. That everything is your fault. Self-hatred and self-doubt are your tormentors.

Or it's a combination between both—a constant struggle.

And I believe Haizaki portrays both from the way he acts and presents himself. Especially since his motto is literally "Survival of the fittest,” and he had once told Kuroko, " there are bad guys and then the really scary people," or something along those lines, which I believe he is talking from experience. You learn from your experiences. They either make you or break you.

3. He's touch-starved.

What Does It Mean to Be Touch Starved?

4. He's bisexual and has a lot of internalized homophobia. I can just feel his internalized homophobia rolling off of him. Bruh, I just know cuz I am bisexual, and I have struggled with internalized homophobia and still sadly struggle with it cuz I grew up surrounded by homophobic people.

I still live with them. 😭

Also, we live in a society that thinks straight is the default.

What internalized homophobia is.

5. His sexual awakening was probably Aomine or Kise. Could be both 😂?

6. He cries himself to sleep every night.

7. He's observant and a great judge of character. It's a fact. This guy literally predicted the downfall of the Miracles. Straight up warned Kuroko too. Too bad Kuroko didn't listen to him.

8. He's hilarious. When he first appeared in the manga, he literally called Himura a loser, lol. XD

9. He's a closeted softie and a total tsundere.

10. doesn't know how to react to kindness and will think you're threatening him or will feel really awkward and uncomfortable but will cover it up with his scowl, or he'll have a breakdown.

11. needs a lot of reassurance and head pats

12. swears a lot. Has no filter.

13. His bother is in the yakuza or some high position of power, and he feels inferior to him. It also explains why Haizaki gets away with things because he would have been kicked out of school if his bother wasn't either-or. I'm talking about his bother being in the yakuza, lol. XD

14. He and Momoi dated for a while but broke up on a mutual understanding that thier relationship just didn't work out. They're best friends and hang out sometimes.

15. Haizaki's good with kids and just genuinely likes them. He would be a great father and try his best to raise his kids right.

16. He gets sick really easily

17. He's clingy

18. He has no friends, mainly because he doesn't want people to get close to him because he's afraid of getting hurt again. Also, everyone in knb hates him.

19. He watches cartoons cuz he was never allowed to watch them when he was a kid. His childhood is trash, okay?

20. He hides in the closet because that's where he feels safe the most—rhetorically and literally.

21. Sleep-deprived and only runs on caffeine and spite.

List of fics that portray Haizaki better than the anime:

Heavy is the head by extrastellar

Idle Hands by DarkWoods

Another Chance by regretting my username_ (777imou_offline367)

What Matters is that We're Together by StrawFairy

06:00:00 of Haizaki Shougo (4) by ReiClien

This Is Happening by SharkGirl

What is Love by voices_in_my_head

A completely uncalled catharsis by oddball

One-shots

intertwined, under a spell by kornevable

ԼƠƔƐ & ӇΛƬƐ by Arthuria_PenDragon

delirium by extrastellar

me with you by doublejoint

Turn My Camera On by wordsliketeeth

At Summer's End by doublejoint

Taste by Hibari1_san

I Can't Get Enough of You by HisDarkSecret

I don't care if it hurts by llowsywriter

Ashes by doublejoint

broken things by lowsywriter

Series:

Finally found each other by suzakukills

This Is Happening Universe by SharkGirl

DNA by flowerway

My WIPS:

Isn’t it lovely?

Broken Crown

Love me, Love me, Love me

Grey skies

Rabbit hole

A playlist of songs that I believe fit Haizaki

Kuroko’s basketball’s manga

In conclusion, You can hate Haizaki as much as you want. But just keep it to yourself. Haizaki is my baby and I will protect him with my life.

[lovelylogans]

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

debutante

part of the wyliwf verse.

chapter one | next chapter

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

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

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

⁂

“i need a dress.”

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

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

“i’m coming out,” logan continues.

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

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

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

the double-meaning clicks in his head.

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

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

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

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

“you remember dee.”

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

“who came over to our house once.”

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

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

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

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

a cold feeling crawls uncomfortably in his stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so you’re okay with it?”

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

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

that cold feeling is back. “ah.”

logan blinks. “what?”

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

“what about—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⁂

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

“hello, mister slange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“where is she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“hello, granmè,” he says in french.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dee hides his smirk in his tea. 

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

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

she might not know. she might not even remember.

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s just not very… well. lived-in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the exit door opens.

shit. shit.

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

“are you skipping class?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“were you… crying?” logan says uncertainly.

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

“may i sit?”

“will you listen if i say no?”

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

“—i wasn’t—” 

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

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

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

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

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

“try again.”

“what?” dee says. “i could.”

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

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

“please,” logan scoffs.

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

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

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

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

except logan clears his throat, and dee braces himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

must be nice.

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

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

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

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

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

logan stiffens, ever so slightly, in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“why do you ask?” logan says.

“you know why.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“dee,” he begins, haltingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what if i stopped it?”

dee scoffs.

“what?” logan says.

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

“we can get you out of it.”

“the bill’s already paid,” dee says. 

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

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

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

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

“what?” dee says.

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

“what,” dee snaps.

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

“might,” dee repeats.

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

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

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

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

“dee?”

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

“if you want to talk about it—”

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

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

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

“okay.”

“but i probably won’t.”

“that’s fine.”

dee hesitates. “but if i do—”

“i’m around,” logan says simply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⁂

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it clicks. “alterations.”

“got it in one,” patton says cheerfully.

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

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

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

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

virgil thought too soon.

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

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

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

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

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

“oh,” virgil says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

virgil’s jaw drops. just a little. 

“oh,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what? no,” virgil scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

“wait, what, no way—“

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

“the tux is bad enough!”

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

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

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

a tux. tails. white gloves.

a cumberbun.

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

⁂

it’s been a shitty day so far. 

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

and it isn’t even eight yet.

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

dee rolls his eyes. typical.

except—

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

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

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

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

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

“excuse me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

except that isn’t even the only time.

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

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

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

dee pauses.

fight the patriarchy, tristan had said. trouble making.

“what if i stopped it?”

and then he moves immediately toward the locker.

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

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

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

presumably.

“what,” dee says, “was that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY!

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

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

i won’t be outed.

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

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

“old crows?” logan says uncertainly.

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

“the…?”

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

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

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

“only ten?!”

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

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

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

dee stares at him for a long few seconds.

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

a grin breaks out on logan’s face.

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

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

but he isn’t. obviously.

⁂

logan has his game face on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“liesl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

patton nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“quite,” logan says. 

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

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

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

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

patton holds his breath. here we go.

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

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

emily lowers her fork.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she’s calculating.

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

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

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

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

his mother!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“dad?” logan calls.

“yeah, kiddo?”

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

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

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

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

he still would have hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there’s a soft hmph.

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

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

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

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

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

he looks good.

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

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

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

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

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

“heels,” she says.

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

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

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

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

“that’s ridiculous,” logan huffs.

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

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

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

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

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

logan looks like he’s sincerely regretting it.

⁂

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i thought you were working?” patton says.

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

“it is,” logan says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh-huh,” patton says. 

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

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

“oh, absolutely agreed,” patton says. 

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

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

logan glances up, frowning. “lessons?”

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

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

“…what,” virgil says. because. what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

patton blinks. “putting them on already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“they hurt,” logan says, frowning.

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

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

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

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

“amen, brother,” virgil says dryly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it reminds virgil of logan learning how to walk.

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

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

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

logan’s far too big for that now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rk1kheadcanons]

AU after the revolution Connor becomes a “symbol of escaping your oppressors (esp sexually-conservative parents)” by becoming Markus’ partner and is very uncomfortable with everyone using him as just an object to project their fears and fantasies onto. He gets called a thot and “Markus’ good little slut” just for kissing and he hates it, the amount of pron people make of him makes him puke. No matter how hard they try, they can’t ignore how fetishized/objectified their relationship is becoming

You have no idea how vastly I love you for your prompt, Anon.

I took this prompt on for many reasons.

As an ally, it's imperative to respect and uplift all forms of love. It becomes a problem when we actively seek it out for the "entertainment value." There are people behind those alternative lifestyles with their own struggles on a daily basis. They are human, not 2d paper and pen figment of some of all perversions. They're not here to be anyone's form of sexual excitement, period. If someone asked me now why had so much more homosexual pairings instead of hetero, I got my receipts for each and every one of them, and I promise "they so cute" is not my first thought. If it is for you, well might give this a thought or two. And, no, I am NOT singling anyone out, never that.😌

Anyways, I'm off my soapbox now. I just felt l I owed it to my friends out there to say that they aren't just "quirky, gay babies, uwu."

That said, you'll have to pry booty shorts-wearing, nail polish bedazzling Connor from my cold, dead hands. I know he can be a BAMF, break my neck, and still be adorable while doing so. That's just gospel, sis. 😏

Markus and Connor had decided to go public with their relationship sooner rather than later for a myriad of reasons. There was a history between the two that no Android alive now would forget.

The famous deviant leader and the infamous deviant hunter now in a romantic relationship was the talk of New Jericho.

Of course, those hurt during the period of time that Connor had not Hu deviated was the louder voice heard from the masses. They didn't establish the 'ex' on deviant hunter for a reason. They were bitter, intimidated, and above all else, felt the relationship between the two men betrayed something that Markus had pledged to them. So long as Connor was just there acting as the security on his off time from the DPD, no one cared. As soon as he showed true signs of his deviation, that he could indeed understand the concept of emotions like love... Well, to many that was unacceptable. What about their friends and possible lost lovers in the original Jericho? They, the murmuring androids, knew that he would have been shackled to his programming, that until it was broken, he would have been just as much a slave to his protocol as they would have been in his place.

The funny thing about emotions though is it tended to make you irrational.

Connor was forever cautious when at New Jericho despite Markus and North, Josh, and Simon finally taking him under their wing. He heard those murmurs, though. It wasn't like he did not have good hearing. Then there were the social protocols that let him know that others were uncomfortable around him. Maybe they glanced away upon looking at him or more obviously changed positions to get away from wherever he strolled.

Connor hated the feeling but he wore the mass shunning like a Scarlet Letter around his neck.

Markus and the others knew of Connor's treatment. Markus often publicly condemned the behavior. It worked for some, others revolted against it. That's when they changed tactics.

Connor immediately became apprehensive about the sudden change in behavior over the next month. No longer did those who meet him look away or run from him, but more and more an odd behavior happened in some.

Connor was met with blushes, flustered looks while others, male, female, or other, looked at him with a look that could only be described as hostility mixed with lust. It caused him to recoil away from those who wore those looks, recalling how North had confided candidly in him, shared memories of how she'd been treated. Those human faces matched those of these Androids.

Markus had come to him without him knowing, so caught up in the sea of emotions he was, pulling him away.

When Connor looked at the other man, his face looked tired. He looked overall defeated and hurt. Before Connor could ask, Markus took him back to his office and gently sat him in his office chair behind Markus all in one desktop he used to interface with when going over things. It was not long before North busted in the office, Simon right behind her, both taking there side by Connor. Josh came in lathe st closing the door and locked it.

Connor was wary. What was going on? Markus began talking to him telling him about how about a month or so ago a new online group had been created, a forum. It revolved around their relationship solely. He told Connor that the maker of the room was in custody, as well as several of the main instigators, that he was heartbroken that this was happening, that he should have done more and to not concern himself, he was taking care of it and to never look at the site as they worked to close it down for good.

The LED on Connor's temple pulsed yellow and Markus had to stop him from searching for it, instead interfaced with the PC front of him on his desk. He knew Connor would want to go to it regardless. He was too inquisitive for his own good.

The website seemed pretty benign, it even had a cute shorthand for their relationship as 'RK1K' or 'R1000'.

Connor gently shed the human skin and interfaced with the site.

It was wasn't cute or sweet at all if the tightening if his other hand on the armrest indicated with the squeal of leather in the starkly quiet room. North's fiery glare was in one screen as well though she gently pulled his fingers away from the chair willing him to grab at her own hand, even if his strength in his stress crushed it. Simon placed a resting friendly hand on his thigh, sad eyes turned up to him.

Markus wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders and rested his head on one shoulder, also taking in the devastating effects of what misguided hatred could do again with Connor.

The tears came naturally to his eyes as he took in the sheer volume of disrespectful post one after another. Pictures and videos edit made to look very realistic of Connor in a very harmful or demeaning role in his relationship with Markus.

They really did have him as if he was just Markus' slave, literal pet, or even more insulting, just a hole to use, eluding Markus still remained with North but they agreed to this arrangement due to her history as a known sex model. This was insulting to not only him but also North, cheapening her struggle.

Others said that this was his new attack on the android leader: get him used to him, in a relationship with himself, and then when they were in the throes of passion he'd strike like some twisted black widow.

The group chat was abhorrent. Connor to them was little more than a beautiful carcass. He meant nothing to them but they'd be willing to bed him. The female-presenting androids made him little more than just some sort of soft, weak invalid that lived only for Markus to dominate in and out of the bedroom. Others just lusted for them both, striping everything that was Markus and Connor away to nothing but rutting animals, nothing further.

The screen turned off with the withdraw of Connor's hand from it. He was up and out of the chair on his way, away from here. He could not do this with these people.

Markus was right after him.

North and Simon were calling all Androids on the campus for a meeting while Josh had been working on ways to fully dismantle such an awful website.

About time Markus caught up to Connor, he was in a self-driving cab, whisking away from New Jericho, Markus knew most likely to Hank's House called his own to go there.

The meeting went exactly as one would expect from two extremely pissed leaders, one who could remain level headed regardless, and the third finally joined giving the names of the known accused and that the site was permanently shut down. There was no grumbling because they knew that it would be more issues. They all have seen Connor flee the compound, markus on his heels.

For however angry North was, nothing would compare to Markus when he showed that side of him to the people that caused this and the others that cast a blind eye to this sort of abuse, allowing for it.

When Connor reached Hank's door, he knocked hard but couldn't see well due to the tears. His face was flushed as they poured down his face. It was not long before the older father figure lieutenant let Connor inside just as Markus pulled up in his own taxi.

After Hank was assured Markus was not the cause of Connor's distress, he was admitted into the house as well. Markus immediately went and held on to Connor. They were both hurting from that level of hatred.

Of course, Markus would be upset and just as hurt as if the subject matter was him. He loved Connor and the sheer disrespect for the one he cared for was a slap in the face to him, as well.

The situation was explained to Hank, who was livid for them both, and sad that the other Androids couldn't see Connor for himself. Dad powers activated and Connor would stay with him for a while, away from Jericho.

Weeks pass, Markus is hurting and the rest of the leaders can see just how much Connor helped with smoothing the frayed edges in Markus own personality when he was tired, hurt. He tended to be snappish, not meaning to be. While he still did everything required, the whole of Jericho started to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sure, there would still be those who just treated the situation like Markus lost a favorite toy like Connor wasn't even a person, to begin with. As if Markus was throwing a tantrum in the face of genuine mistreatment.

Others though would likely see the pain they caused, fear what would happen if, though unlikely but improbable, Markus decided to walk away from all of this as a leader in the Deviants for his lover.

There are very real rumors.

It's not like they don't see Josh counseling his friend and brother daily when Markus anxiously paces the floor, the sometimes bitter and harsh words directed at no one stating the same grief he feels from this strife of his people and who he's chosen to love in the end. Or how he leaves all things that can be to the three leaders now, where before it wasn't an issue to wear that heavy crown of leadership primarily. Or how when he can he sneaks off to the old human Lieutenant's house to see the ex-deviant hunter and second he can because of that love.

Yeah, the vast majority of people are feeling like they fucked up, including any androids who dared to join in with this witch hunt for Connor and they were part of the group he directly deviated and saved from Cyberlife.

Fractions start to happen among the group, those for and against Connor's presence like finally some of those saved remembered some semblance of loyalty to him. North is fucking done with this shit. All she knows is that she misses her awkward murder baby that is so much more than just arm candy to Markus and it takes both Simon and Josh to keep her from charging into another dispute of Connor this week.

"Shut the fuck up! You have no idea what you are talking about, the person you are trying to tear down just because of his past and programming."

Of course, she'd vested. It was an explicit reminder of her own life before Jericho and how people, human and Android, loved to devalue someone with a sexual abuse past.

Connor's was mentally and emotionally abuse he suffered. The abuse was abuse at the end of the day. He had confided in her. She had seen Amanda...

From that day on, it seemed quieter about the Connor subject.

Six months.

It took six months of Markus creeping to see his lover that felt an outcast, North railing at any Android who dared speak ill of Connor, and Simon and Josh going to see him at the old lieutenant's house.

Simon had missed Connor, too. Though he was quieter about the whole thing, it didn't mean he didn't suffer the same.

Connor was so unique. He could be so cold and calculating in the heat of the moment, gun out, ready to go. But in private, talking about the 'family' dog Sumo, sharing snapshots of him, and talking about a new soft sweater he thought Simon might like as well.

Simon helped Connor with his identity as a homosexual man and as such, they bonded together. Between him and North scheming when they had a night out, it was so hilarious and refreshing.

He missed him.

Josh enjoyed Connor's brand of humor. It was dry as the Sahara, and typically delivered deadpan and it murdered him. Connor did laugh like a madman, but it was typically in Markus presence at his dry humor or sarcasm.

All the while Connor was gone, Markus and Connor talked about the dilemma. Whether Markus came and got him for lunch or they met after work at Hank's place, they talked about it, kept their communication strong, and their relationship stronger. It had been hard for them, and blame had been spread, mostly hurt fueled from Connor's side to Markus initially that this even happened under their leadership. Markus mutely had taken it, feeling as though he could have done more. Then Connor would apologize, realizing that his past was not anyone else fault but his own, that he deserved this treatment to which Markus would rally against, telling him he was good and kind, no he most definitely did not deserve this disrespect. In time, the storm calmed between them and Connor knew what to do.

On a cool, wet morning in October, Connor Anderson moved back into New Jericho, back into the living quarters with one Markys Manfred. Sure, there were murmurs but nothing like before.

One android saw this again felt some sort of way about Connor and his existence at Jericho. Just as she readied her verbal barbs, another shut her down before she could even start.

Connor witness it; Markus did too, as did North, Simon, and Josh as they were welcoming him back. A majority of people saw this brave soul stand up for one of their leaders as they had never done before.

It makes a difference in the way Connor is perceived and treated. Instead of the leadership having to police the situation, the fear of another common android speaking out for Connor and against the naysayer's curves the negative vibe that attempts to take hold again.

Connor is now welcomed back by the majority of New Jericho, not the minority, and things are back to running smoothly as before he left.

[mayzayaamervinn]

Learning the Hard Way

Growing up it was just my dad, my mom, and I and during that time they spoiled me. Fifteen years of nothing but me and what I wanted; school was good, my family was there, and it was a very important part of my life I learned to cherish. For some reason, freshman year, my parents decided to give me a little surprise they called, “birth control”. However, their form was not placed on or inside my body, it was a baby. I was so happy to have a sibling but of course just like any other person who grew up an only child, I knew it was going to be an extra responsibility I would have to take on. However, I didn’t know how big of a responsibility it was going to be until my father decided to leave not even two months after she was born. My father was already in and out of my life, so he was never guaranteed anyway. He also wasn’t the best male role model for a teenage female growing up, but out of all the bad he’s done he taught my most valuable life lesson. He taught me that nothing is ever handed to you in life, you must work for it.

I learned this lesson the hard way when my sister was born. After he left, it was just my mom and I, and I had to pick up where he left off; I had to become my sister’s father. My mom became a single parent who had to work hard to ensure we had a roof over our head and everything we needed especially with a newborn child. We didn’t have the extra money to go out to eat or buy the things I wanted anymore; it was strictly what we needed.

Everything changed so quickly, one minute it’s all about me and now it’s all about her. I didn’t care much about anything when I was growing up because my parents gave me everything anyway, so them being strict didn’t bother me.  When my dad left my mom loosened the leash a little bit, I got to go out but rarely ever. My mom worked, and because she worked, I had to watch my sister all day every day. I woke up with her throughout the night so my mom could make sure she got enough sleep to pull a 12-14 hour shift every day. I had to come home after school to watch my sister until my mom got off work and even on the weekends. I even sat in the house with my sister instead of being able to go out with my friends or just have time to myself. I had to grow up fast, and when most people hear that, they think in a negative way, but mine was in a positive. I refused to give up having my own life in high school, so I learned to compromise and make things work.

By my sophomore year of high school, I helped my mom find a babysitter so that I could still help my mom but also enjoy my life before it passes me. I continued to run track, something my mom insisted I quit to have more time to help her, but I enjoyed it too much to let it go. I also picked up two jobs so I could help pay for that babysitter with my mom and to help take the load of supporting me financially off her as well. Entering my junior year, I managed to maintain all A’s and B’s, while running track 6 days a week, working two jobs, and ensuring my sister is still properly taken care of. At that point, I felt I became a parent, the sacrifices and compromising that I maybe shouldn’t have had to do being a child myself, is what I did. It taught me how to strategize, learn patience, and build that emotional wall that is required in life especially professionally. It was hard, exhausting as some points, but one thing I never did was give up.

At this point, I have something worth fighting for; someone to make proud of me, who I didn’t want to experience the hardships I had to, my sister. My sister being born is something that I will always cherish; and most people say that when they have siblings, but she changed me. I went from being an only child who was always angry and only cared about herself to learning what love really is. She came in my life at a time when I needed her the most and I wouldn’t be the hardworking and caring women I am today is it wasn’t for her.

[viviane-lefay]

Yeah, no fucks to give here!

Really not into this ship - at least not in a romantic & sexual context.

—

At this point, I think it is best, if I put a little clarification here, before I continue:

This is just about my personal opinion, theories & headcanon - and by no means lays a claim to general validity (nor does your POV, btw).

I have more of a pick & choose approach to fandom subjects, anyway, so I can customize the experience exactly according to my needs and wishes. This is fiction, after all - the realm of endless possibilities - where anything goes, and where there is a place for the preferences of all of us.

That said, I really want to point out that I have nothing against people shipping the Dr. with Agent Stone - but since I, personally, prefer m/f ships, I’d rather choose the female OC approach, as it’s also my beloved villain x heroine constellation (not the subject of this post, though).

My take on the dynamic between the Dr. and his assistant is, therefore, quite a bit different from the fandom popular one. Well, to each his own.

What this post definitely is not, is an invitation for a debate regarding character interpretation, shipping choices, etc. - and all the potential drama that this might entail. If that is what you’re after, then I’d politely ask you to leave now, because all you are doing is wasting both of our time.

Let’s just agree to disagree and move on, k!?

I do my thing and you do you, guys!

I suppose, I made myself abundantly clear now.

—

Anyway, to return to the topic …

Where have all the male friendships & professional partnerships in fandom gone!?

Because, personally, I think agent Stone rather relates to his boss on that level…

Robotnik being a role model of some sort, that is - not unlike a kohai & senpai, or a younger & older brother constellation, actually - where the former looks up to the latter due to certain traits that he admires (and Stone certainly does). Regarding the age difference of the two, this could also make sense.

I’d estimate that Stone can’t be much older than his mid-twenties at most, since he’s in the position of a junior agent and assistant - still at the very beginning of his career path. And he’s very capable, disciplined and professional, at that, which is probably why he made it as Robotnik’s assistant at all (unsurprisingly, given the man isn’t the most patient).

Speaking of whom - I think, regardless of Jim Carrey being in his late fifties at that point - he, himself, can’t be that old, actually. My personal take (& preference) here would be late thirties, which would still make a lot of sense regarding his academic and occupational career. Being this overachieving genius, I guess that he finished school in time-lapse mode, skipping one, or even more grades - same goes for uni. Therefore, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was done by the age of 25 - his five PhDs included (bet he did two at once), which would still give him plenty of time to make his way as an agent and scientific government official up to the time of the events of the movie.

Aside from that, I can’t help but see parallels to the dynamic of Piett and Vader here, as well - a mixture of professional esteem and a bit of intimidation. But certainly no outright fear, as Stone is hardly under the threat of being strangled to death by his superior, like poor Piett is.

That is not to say that Robotnik’s still frequent misconduct towards him is ok (it definitely is not), but it certainly is more mild than he behaves towards, say, pretty much anyone else. Btw, that includes the “pin yourself to the wall”, grabbing him by the bottom lip and dragging him towards himself, while glaring at and chiding him (For what exactly!? Not being perfect, or as smart as him!? Chill, man, the boy is doing his best, and he’s doing a good job!).

Fandom, of course, does what it always loves to do - construe this as “evidence” for the alleged attraction between the two, which is pretty far-fetched, imho (…although you’re surely free to interpret it this way, if you so please. As I said, this is just my pov & to each his own. *shrugs*).

Anyway, you can clearly see Robotnik displaying this type of behaviour, along with the invasion of personal space, towards other male characters as well - be it “Major Nobody Cares”, “Officer Brainfart”, the big bar dude he threw out of the window, or Tom Wachowski. So, following this line of argument, does that mean he’s into these guys, as well!? Honestly, that’s pretty ridiculous!

If anything, it is a blatant display of asserting dominance, bringing the message home that he is the alpha male, while putting his opponent / subordinate in his place - and that’s it! What this behaviour definitely is not, however, is something remotely shipping related.

Besides, there are many examples of other male characters doing this for similar reasons, too - amongst others Darth Vader (remember that scene between him and Orson Krennic!?), and Severus Snape (after Harry invaded his memories during the occlumency lessons). And Robotnik does that quite aggressively in the cases above. In fact, it seems to be a fairly consistent behavioural pattern with him (not that he actually needed that though, but that’s an entirely different matter).

As for Robotnik’s personal attitude towards his assistant, I think Stone’s one of the very few people he actually respects, and even likes, because the young man’s esteem for him is so genuine, while everyone else regards him pretty much like nothing more than an asset, or a threat.

It’s not like he doesn’t somewhat encourage being kept in that position himself, behaving like he does - aside from actively reducing himself to his intellect & academic prowess. This isn’t all that surprising, as it is something he apparently gets his entire sense of self-worth from, and likely the only thing he got any appreciation for from others, which is, perhaps, also why he constantly needs to spotlight said trait (no behaviour someone truly at one with himself & his abilities would display, btw). Then, there is his little tolerance for failure - especially when it comes to himself. He truly expects to perform flawlessly, like a machine, and when he doesn’t, that really seems to unsettle him (that face when Tom points his unsuccessful attempts to catch Sonic out to him … he was so offended, he almost looked like he wanted to cry ^^;;).

So, of course it is likely that he becomes quite attached to the sort of attitude and behaviour that Stone displays towards him, even though he wouldn’t think of it this way - because, you know, emotional bonds with other human beings obviously are beneath him (Yeah, sure, we did see the veracity of that claim afterwards, didn’t we!?).

But, then again, growing up as an emotionally starved child and adolescent, used to being brushed aside, and, later, deliberately distancing himself from other people, he actually might have no clue whatsoever how to appropriately deal with things like these, and thus brushes them aside as “weakness”, which really does make sense, especially in the context that he was bullied as well.

Same goes for him eventually adopting the habit of pushing other people away via plain disagreeable behaviour. I think this phenomenon is called “hedgehog’s dilemma”, and it is quite ironic that he is more afflicted by it than his blue nemesis.

It is so painfully obvious that this guy has some massive issues, stemming from past emotional neglect and negative experiences - so much, that he even rejects all things human altogether, along with his own humanity.

His excessive idealization of and identification with technology, therefore, comes quite in handy as a defense mechanism in order to cope with said experiences.

Machines don’t ask much of you, they do what they are told, they are predictable, and they - above all - can’t suddenly abandon, betray, humiliate, and hurt you (which, I think, is the crux of the matter here).

Even though he might claim that his robots are everything to him, and that he doesn’t need anything and anyone else - his actions, however, prove otherwise … let alone his constant spiteful remarks on the matter, which just sound so damn bitter.

We can recognize that quite clearly when he is forced into involuntary seclusion on that mushroom planet at the end. This is where we see that what he truly is missing are not his machines (I bet he could have easily built a robot to accompany him out of the wreckage of his vessel), but one of the few people (maybe even the only one at that point), that he had apparently grown to value as worthwile company - namely agent Stone.

And, yes, it is very evident that he misses him (platonically, for me - but this isn’t even the point here) - he even tries to make a rock resemble Stone’s likeness in order to have someone to “talk to”, and mimic the social interactions he had with him.

Essentially, all those objects and machines are but a substitutive gratification that he tries to use, but that never come remotely close to the real deal, let alone are ever able to replace it.

In the end, he’s still a human being, along with all the human needs that go along with it - human contact and care included.

If the psycho-social and emotional makeup of his closest known relatives is any indicator to how his own might be structured - and it usually is (I’m speaking about the nature aspect, not nurture) - then he can’t be such a bad guy, after all - at least not inherently.

Taking his grandfather Gerald Robotnik, for example, who loved his granddaughter Maria (a total sweetheart) so much, that he was willing to do anything for her, in order to heal her from the fatal illness that was afflicting her - and who literally went insane with grief after losing her - then it shows someone with a strong emotional life, who feels what he feels very keenly and deeply. Furthermore, he is also someone that happens to bond very selectively, but if that is the case, it has this virtually absolute quality about it, with a love just as intense and profund to match (which is quite beautiful, actually).

On the other hand, though, that can also mean someone that has a high degree of emotional vulnerability, and who, therefore, is susceptible to sustain lasting damage from interpersonal traumatic experiences (which happens to be the case here, imho).

More often than not, it is this type of person that is likely to cork up their feelings and harden their hearts as a result - and who use every opportunity to deride the very traits, needs, and wishes they worked so hard to push away, if they see them in others. That is, amongst others, what gives them away. It’s pure projection - which is why I think that his caustic remarks should definitely not be taken at face value.

There are many, many examples of villains (or anti-heroes) that fit this type. Robotnik would hardly be an exception.

Besides, it is nice to see that Jim Carrey seems to have a fairly similar take on that matter (not that I actually care, but still):

“… and all it really comes down to is, he wants to be special to somebody, only it’s gone megalomania for him.”  [x]

Ouch! Poor guy, actually.

He seems a lot like Ozai in that regard. No wonder I dig this dude (aside from him being hot, that is, haha) - he’s totally the type of villain I fancy.

And also, like it’s the case with Ozai, I can’t help but wonder about his past, given there is known so little about it (aside from a few hints), so the following will be about some of my personal theories and headcanons about him, his family, and his past.

These are such important characters (main antagonists, no less), yet the creators can’t bring themselves to be more specific about the most basic facts concerning their families. Ugh, huge pet peeve here! Nobody expects a huge ancestral chart down to the tiniest details, but they could at least offer more info about their closest relatives - especially the parents, who happen to have the most formative influence on a person.

How old was he, when his parents died, anyway!? That they died seems pretty much a given, as that is what being an orphan is about, per definitionem (and he referred to himself as such). But how did they die? Did he witness their death, or was he absent?

Personally, I have this theory that their demise might very well be linked with what happened to his grandfather Gerald Robotnik, and his cousin Maria. Perhaps they were on that space research colony during the military assault, and were also amongst the “collateral damage” there.

From what I read, the recruited scientists lived there, so I reckon that they did bring their families with them, which is likely, since it is said that Maria was born there, so at least her parents must have lived there for an extended amount of time, as well. Since Ivo isn’t Maria’s brother, but her cousin, Gerald must have had at least two children, who lived alongside him (… and his wife!? No info about her, either.) on that station.

While I think both of Ivo’s parents were from prominent scientist families (after all, that is what the population of this space station was comprised of), it is still unclear whether or not they remained on that station. I am inclined to believe they might have split their time between there and Earth, as Maria and Ivo don’t appear to have been particularly close, such as, for instance, her and Shadow (who was pretty much her only friend there), but I think that might also have been the case due to a difference in age.

Maria was 12 years old when she died during the military attack on the station. Since Ivo apparently seems to have no significant memory of his parents, and seems to have spent his childhood as an orphan, he can’t have been older than 3-4 during this incident.

With Gerald arrested, and pretty much the rest of the inconvenient Robotnik family gone, aside from that small child, I think the military decided to take him along, simply because of the vast potential of this child, coming from a bloodline of geniuses, that was now theirs to mold and to exploit.

They likely left the boy in an orphanage afterwards, mostly to his own devices, and without any support, or caregiver whose bonds transcended the mere duty of keeping their fosterling alive - a lonely life, largely deprived of emotional warmth and attachment.

However, they did keep him under close monitoring, so they could intervene anytime they saw fit, to stir him in the direction they wanted - like a psychological experiment of sorts. I remember that in the movie the presiding pentagon guy referred to him as “a lab rat with teeth” - which is rather telling regarding how they perceived him, and pretty nasty, considering the implication.

The Robotnik name, though, they obviously did not refuse him - a decision they would come to regret later. While this allowed him the only tie to his ancestry, their legacy, however, didn’t do him much good.

Gerald Robotnik was a disgraced man, known to the world as the genius madman, imprisoned and sentenced to death as a criminal - which was, by far not the whole truth. And yet, he was turned into this idealised picture of a hero by his grandson, who so admired his achievents and strove to become a scientist because of it, despite knowing only the official version of the story.

The tainted reputation of his grandfather would haunt Ivo for a long time to come. It would also become the lens through which he was perceived and judged by the world at large, and this turned out to be the main reason he was rejected, and, furthermore, relentlessly bullied by his peers - irrespective of his own accomplishments, which earned him at least the praise of his authority figures.

That he eventually snapped and retaliated, did not exactly improve the situation for him. While the bullying did stop for the greater part, the peoples’ suspicion had turned into fear, as their concerns had come to pass after all, and, as a result, he was shunned even more.

In the following years, he was further on groomed to become this perfect military asset - a morally unchecked scientist and ruthless agent, that the government could deploy like the weapon they undoubtedly saw him as.

Unfortunately for them, however, their experiment didn’t quite have the outcome they had anticipated, as he not only exceeded their expectations on an intellectual and scientific level, but, at the same time, became increasingly unstable, unpredictable (”psychological tire-fire”) and, hence, potentially dangerous - to such a degree that they became very hesitant to deploy him at all (despite the “perfect operations record”), and even downright terrified of him.

Frankly, I think they’d also have ample reason to be afraid of him, other than just his obviously ambitious nature. The most prominent being a possible event, where he finds out about what truly happened to his family and himself, as well as their role in this. Needless to say, that he wouldn’t take this lightly, considering all the shit he had to endure because of it, and likely seek revenge. I’d really be curious about such a scenario.

[inviral-a]

Actually  wanna  talk  about  some  stuff  about  William’s  life  &  the  people  in  it  rn  so  I’m  going  to  smash  out  a  big  messy  post:  

In  my  hc  Williams  mother  was  pretty  awesome,  she  was  a  single  mum  but  she  did  everything  right,  up  until  Umbrella  got  rid  of  her  so  they  could  have  total  access  to  William  since  he  was  a  minor  (14) when  they  first  contacted  her  about  him  participating  in  the  training  facility.  It  wasn’t  anything  Linda  did  wrong,  she  was  a  good  person  & did  her  best.  William  has  extremely  fond  memories  of  her. &  maybe  it  was  this  positivity  &  warmth  in  William’s  early  life  that  ‘sheltered’  him  from  becoming  the  same  breed  of  monster  that  a  lot  of  his  collages  became.  

Anyway  we  also  have  his  wife  Annette.  She  was  smart  as  hell  &  also  apparently  a  bad  ass.  A  lot  of  people  judge  Annette &  make  fun  of  her  but  like  her  motive  for  behaving  as  she  did  in  RE2,  particularly  in  the  remake,  was  because  she  was  thinking  of  the  greater  good,  not  just  of  herself.  She  is  a  very  complex  character,  she  was  wracked  with  guilt &  took  it  upon  herself  to  try & stop  G/the  spread  of  G /  the  outbreak  in  the  city  herself,  which  though  seems  kind  of  silly  from  an  outside  perspective,  is  entirely  understandable  from  HER  perspective  given  how  closely  she  worked  with  William -  like  it  does  actually  make  sense  that  Annette  would  feel  full  responsibly  for  what  was  happening  & feel  driven  above  all  to  try & stop  it. I  also  think  she  was  a  huge  factor  in  William  being  motivated  to  leave  umbrella & take  G  elsewhere.   Annette  seemed  to  be  the  “voice  of  reason”  between  them  since  William  was  so  invested  in  his  work,  another  thing  that  made  sense  given  this  had  been  an  enormous  part  of  William’s  life  since  he  was  15-16.  William  needed  that  influence,  Annette  was  really  a  lot  of  William’s  connection  with  “reality”  or  with  the  world  outside  of  Umbrella  in  a  lot  of  ways. Makes  sense  for  them  both  though  given  it  seems  the  two  of  them  didn’t  actually  intend  for  G  to  be  a  weapon.  That  seems  to  be  very  much  in  line  with  Annette’s  character.  The  two  of  them  clearly  wanted  to  be  able  to  spend  more  time  with  their  daughter  as  well.  Annette  is  the  one  who  reminds  William  how  long  hes  spending  at  the  lab &  that  Sherry  misses  him.  Honestly  the  whole  letter  is  a  pretty  good  insight  into  the  Birkin  family  &  what  was  really  going  on  with  them.  I  think  it  really  shows  how  normal  they  were  outside  of  Umbrella. Honestly  it  doesn’t  make  sense  for  Annette  or  even  William,  to  be  genuinely  evil  people  with  this  in  mind -  I  mean  the  fact  Annette  &  William  ever  had  a  relationship  with  this  in  mind  indicates  that  William  wasn’t  the  same  breed  of  megalomaniac  sociopath  as  what  is  common  in  the  series.   Annette  seemed  to  love  William  because  he  wasn’t &  they  appeared  to  share  a  vision  of  improving  the  human  race,  genuinely,  genuinely  seems  they  had  the  idea  of  ultimately  helping  all ��people,  rather  than  wiping  out  select  individuals  they  didn’t  agree  with  or  who  weren't  “worthy”  of  “evolution”  & putting  themselves  as  the  rulers  of  this  ‘new  world’.  That  wasn’t  at  all  the  Birkin’s  shtick.

&  speaking  of  Sherry  herself.  Though  she  was  a  little  ‘neglected’  at  times  her  parents  clearly  both  loved  her  dearly.  Sherry  is  a  really  smart,  mature,  well  adjusted  kid  in  RE2.  I  mean  be  freshly  12   &  survive  what  Sherry  did.  She’s  not  a  child  who’s  ever  been  abused  or  who  has  not  been  treated  or  ‘raised’  right.  She  is  a  little  lonely  because  her  parents  worked  so  much  but  overall  she’s  credit  to  them &  you  don’t  often  have  a  kid  turning  out  that  way  if  you  don’t  love  it  &  nurture  it  to  some  extent.  Speaking  of  its  something  Annette  gets  mad  hate  for,  more  than  William  weirdly  enough  (  🙄 ),  this  idea  that  Annette  was  never  there  for  Sherry.  Not  true.  Out  of  the  two  of  them  shes  clearly  the  one  who  spent  most  of  the  time  with  Sherry.  Though  she  went  to  work  &  put  a  lot  of  time  into  her  work, out  of  the  two  of  them  its  obvious  Annette  is  the  one  who  went  home  at  the  end  of  the  day  &  cared  for  their  daughter.   William  was  the  one  who  worked  ridiculous  hours,  like  spending  almost  an  entire  week  at  the  NEST, without  coming  home.  He  was  also  noted  to  frequently  go  at  least  a  whole  day  without  sleep.  William  was  the  one  doing  all  the  hard  hours  at  the  lab,  away  from  Annette &  Sherry  who  were  obviously  at  home.  It  seems  Annette  only  worked  of  a  day  time &  came  home  during  the  end  of  the  day  to  obviously  look  after  Sherry.

I  also  find  it  super  funny/stupid  how  the  fandom  seems  to  pretend  that  the  Birkins  were  totally  cold  to  each  other,  with  William  being  totally  uninterested  in  Annette  who  was  just  there  because  she  couldn’t  take  a  hint  or  that   Annette  was  this  controlling  woman  &  William  was  just  her  dumb  bitch. Like  to  some  extent  maybe  but  overall  William  was  still  the  “breadwinner”  so  to  speak.  Like  what  I  think  was  common  for  most  families  during  this  time  period  William  was “the  man”  who  worked  stupid  long  hours  &  was  expected  to  handle  the  finances &  business  /  “important”  aspects  of  their  lives  &  Annette,  while  also  working  herself,  handled  the  family  aspect,  ie  raising  their  daughter  &  looking  out  for  the  welfare  of  all  of  them  ect.

Although  unlike  what  is  “expected”  of  such  a  family  I  think  Annette  did  have  a  big  influence  in  everything  because  William,  regardless  to  his  position  at  Umbrella,  respected  her  thoughts  & opinions  &  thought  she  was  fully  capable  of  making  decisions  for  them.  William  was  definitely  a  “ask  your  mother”  kind  of  guy  & I  don’t  think  he  was  doing  too  much  without  Annette’s  knowledge  or  approval  but  it  also  seems  that  was  actually  a  mutual  thing.  Annette,  apparently,  greatly  admired  William &  never  felt  he  was  incapable  of  anything  or  that  she  had  to  control  anything.  They  actually  read  to  me  as  equals  in  their  relationship,  not  one  dominating  too  extensively  over  the  other.

Also  been  meaning  to  talk  about  Wesker . .  .   I  think,  with  all  this  in  mind,  Wesker  was  probably  William’s  only &  strongest  “male”  role  model.  William  didn’t  know  his  father  &  never  really  bonded  with  any  of  his  mother’s  boyfriends.  He  doesn’t  remember  being  overly  fond  of  any  of  them  or  having  really  anything  in  common  with  any  one  of  them.   Keeping  in  mind  William  met  Albert  when  he  was  only  15  & Albert  was  17.  He  very  quickly  became  someone  William  admired  &  looked  up  to  because  he  was  just  that  ‘cool  older  guy’  that  William  was  so  alike  but  so  unalike  in  the  sense  that  while  William  was  a  little  shy  & timid,  Albert  was  confident  & collected  at  all  times,  they  were  completely  opposite  in  that  sense.  That  being  said,  its  probably  true  that  the  Albert  that  William  saw  &  who  lives  in  William’s  mind  isn’t  the  real  Albert  or  at  least  thats  not  who  he  remained.  Its  a  very  idealised  version  of  him.  One  that  was  born  of  William  knowing  him  since  they  were  basically  kids  &  being  so  close  to  him.

Which  is  why  he  does  have  trouble  believing  /  understanding  who  Albert  becomes  in  later  years.  Because  its  not  really  who  William  thought  he  was.  &  it  is  difficult  to  come  to  grips  with  that  or  understand  it  entirely.   William  &  Albert  started  to  ‘drift’  apart  during  the  “Alexia  incident”.  William  fell  into  his  depression  &  Albert  became  more  interested  in  Spencer  in  the  meantime  perhaps  as  a  distraction  for  the  ‘chaos’  Alexia’s  existence  had  caused  in  their  work  place  that  quickly  formed  into  its  own  obsession.  William  probably  always  assumed  Weskers  “odd”  behaviours  were  because  of  Alexia  as  well  as  he  didn’t  seem  too  pleased  by  her  either  but  regardless  if  Alexia  didn’t  happen  &  things  had  continued  at  the  Arkley  facility  its  possible  William  &  Annette  wouldn’t  have  happened  &  Wesker  never  would  have  became  as  focused  on  Spencer  as  he  did.  Just  seems  to  be  a  perfect  storm  of  events  to  me. 

This  is  the  time  where  everything  “changed”  between  them  &  they  began  going  “their  own”  ways.  Regardless,  William  never  stopped  thinking  of  Wesker  the  way  he  knew  him  so  knowing  Wesker  now  feels  like  an  entirely  different  person  &  it  feels  like  a  change  that  has  just  came  out  of  the  blue  for  William.  But  thats  one  of  William’s  problems.  He  doesn’t  notice  a  whole  lot  outside  of  his  little  bubble  so  when  he  does  notice  something  he  tends  to  feel  a  little  blindsided  by  it.  Again,  trying  not   to  speak  too  much  on  Weskers  POV.  I  am  majorly  speaking  about  my  own  take  on  Wesker  here  because  thats  my  default  as  I  don’t  have  one  I  write  with  or  anything.  I’ll  probably  make  a  HC  post  focused  on  him  on  my  multi  at  some  point  that  goes  into  things  a  little  more  too !  But  for  rn.  Wesker’s  probably  the  only  “negative”  influence  in  William’s  life  but  he  wasn’t  always.  Wesker  being  “evil”  is  kind  of  a  new  thing  for  William. 

[sinsatmidnight]

Promotion

Pairing - Kim Sihyeon x Male Reader

Words - 2304

Sins - Smut, oral

Someone asked for something with Sihyeon or Aisha, and inspired this! (Please note: I don’t take requests, this just happened to be the right timing.) Enjoy!

The ROKS Suwon. A Pohang-class corvette of the Republic of Korea Navy with a crew of just over a hundred men and women. And you are its proud commander, the youngest to hold the rank of commander in the history of the ROKN. Perfect marks when you were in the Korea Naval Academy, top of your cohort. Commendations from every superior officer you served under. A high-flier in every sense of the word, most of the navy expects you to get command of a bigger ship in a couple of years and eventually become the youngest ever admiral in the navy.

Before you can think of any of that though, you have matters to attend to in the present. A bunch of papers litters the desk in front of you, profiles of your current bridge crew. You need to do an assessment of the crew for promotion. A few of them might even follow you to bigger roles on bigger ships if you were so inclined to have them transferred with you in the future.

A couple of knocks on your cabin door interrupt your thinking. “You may come in.”

The door opens and in steps Ensign Kim Sihyeon, one of your bridge crew. By far the person on the ship who is easiest on the eye too. Tall, long-legged, fair skin, sharp features, big eyes. She would be a model if she weren’t on your ship. “Commander.” She stands to attention and salutes you. You rise from your comfortable leather chair and return the salute. “At ease, Ensign. And close the door behind you.” While she closes the door, you sink back into your seat.

“So, why are you here, Ensign?”

The ensign stands a couple of steps away from you; the cabin on a corvette isn’t excessively big, even for a commander. “I have something to say to you, sir.”

“Yes? What is it about?”

Sihyeon looks at you right in the eye. “I should be promoted, sir. I know you can only promote one person between me and Ensign Baek Byungjin. I’m as good as Byungjin. In terms of ability, I don’t lose to him. Or anyone else on this ship.”

This is the first time someone has ever come to tell you that they should be promoted over another person, the kind of behaviour frowned upon by many older commanders. She was right that you could only promote one of the two. Both ran shifts as communication officers on the bridge and so did the exact same thing. “That’s bold of you to say. I have your file right here.” You pick up a couple of sheets of paper from the desk and start to read off it.

“Ensign Kim Sihyeon. Top marks at the Academy, and this is your first posting since the Academy. Your everyday performance and conduct are exemplary, and the rest of the crew enjoy your company.”

She has a fantastic record so far, it’s true. You pick up another crew member’s profile. “Ensign Baek Byungjin. Top marks at the Academy, and this is his second posting since the Academy. His everyday performance and conduct are exemplary, and the rest of the crew enjoy his company.”

You stand up and look up at Sihyeon questioningly. “You’re quite right. You are just as good as him. But given that your ability is equal, why shouldn’t I give the promotion to him instead? He is older, with more experience. This is his second posting after the Academy, this is your first out of the Academy. What do you offer that he doesn’t, Ensign?”

Ensign Kim Sihyeon takes a step forward, now standing right in front of you.

“This, sir.” 

And Sihyeon kisses you, full on the lips. You didn’t expect this twist but given that you have been stuck on your ship for the past three months, you are sure as hell going to enjoy it. Her tongue slips into your mouth eagerly as her hands take hold of yours and guide them to the buttons on her uniform.

She pauses the kiss and looks at you with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye and while biting her lower lip. “I’m feeling really hot, sir. Permission to remove my uniform, sir?”

“Permission granted.” You say even as you are already assisting her with evacuating from her uniform. Your hands hurriedly undress her, top and bottom. Soon her uniform and boots are gone from her body. And you are pleasantly surprised to see that Sihyeon is a fan of lacy red lingerie.

“Nice underwear, Ensign. Do you dress like this every day or is this specially for me?”

“I dress like this every day, especially for you, sir.” Sihyeon smiles as she runs her hands over her perky breasts and toned abs.

“How have I never known?”

Sihyeon smirks. “How have you never asked to see?” She licks her lips. “So many of the crew want to, some of them have even asked.” She has a point there, it’s unsurprising to hear many of them want to be in your shoes now.

“And have you shown any of them?”

“Only to you, sir.” Sihyeon’s hands come up to your chest and she gently pushes you back down to your seat. She gets on her knees and her head hovers just over the bulge in your pants. You can feel her warm breath and you harden a little bit more. The bulge rises just that little bit more.

“Sir, it looks like your groin may be hurting. Permission to remove your pants and administer treatment, sir?”

“Just suck my cock already, Kim Sihyeon.”

‘Yes, sir.” Sihyeon grins naughtily and removes your belt and pulls your pants and underwear down to your ankles and then off completely.

“I need to make a note of this in my appraisal of you.” As her soft pink lips engulf the head of your cock, you grab a pen and make some additions to your assessment of the seductive young woman giving you a blowjob.

“Ensign Kim Sihyeon shows great ini-ugh” It is hard to concentrate on writing when Sihyeon is doing her best to give you a sloppy wet blowjob. “Initiative in tackling problems and creativity in solutions to those problems. She marries that to a healthy respect for her superiors and-oh fuck” Sihyeon just deepthroated you there. “And their authority. Despite the challenges of being in a confined and narrow environment, Ensign Kim Sihyeon has also shown herself to be very committed to maintaining a high level of physical fitness. I hereby recommend her for promotion to Lieutenant, Junior Grade.”

Sihyeon pulls her head off your cock as she flashes you a happy smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not so fast, Sihyeon. You’re going to be promoted, make sure that you prove yourself worthy of your new rank in the future.”

“I’ll prove it to you whenever you want, sir.” To emphasise her point, Sihyeon takes your cock into her mouth and goes straight to the base in one fluid motion, leaving you gripping the sides of your chair in pleasure. She holds her head there for a few seconds before withdrawing. Her hands take over as she strokes your saliva coated cock slowly.

“I have a request, sir.”

“Another one? You’re making a lot of demands of me today, this had better be worth it.”

“Can I please fuck you, sir?” She bites her lips and looks up at you, almost pleadingly.

“Permission granted.”

Sihyeon gets to her feet and pushing the soaked fabric of her panties to one side, slowly sinks all the way down on your cock. She is warm, wet and tight and everything that your cock has desperately wanted the past ninety days.

“Fuck…” She moans softly as you stretch her out. Sihyeon unclasps her bra and tosses it aside, then leans forward and peppers your lips and jaw with soft, wet kisses as her hips begin to move up and down on your cock.

“Commander…” Sihyeon whispers as her tongue traces the outside of your ear. “When you get promoted and leave this ship, take me with you.” Her tongue then makes its way along the side of your jaw to end up back at your lips and she kisses you deeply and passionately, with a lot of tongue wrestling.

It isn’t just the promotion she has in mind, Sihyeon is clearly thinking for the long haul. Almost her entire career in the Navy, if she plays her cards right. She is ambitious, capable and cunning, this one. Not that you mind. Stuck on a ship for anywhere between weeks and months at a time, with next to no female crew…and not all female crew on Navy ships are as stunning as Sihyeon either. Someone like her isn’t exactly a common occurrence, even outside of the Navy, let alone on your specific ship.

When Sihyeon’s lips finally part from yours, your answer to her is simple.

“Only if you’ll let me take you with me when I leave this ship the next time that we’re on shore leave.”

Sihyeon smiles, plants another kiss on your lips and then pretends to think for a moment. “Permission granted.”

You decide to change positions, and as you move to stand up, you wrap one arm around Sihyeon’s slim waist while she wraps her long smooth legs around your waist and locks them there, pulling your body closer to hers. “I can’t leave this ship without your blessing anyway. You approve the leave for all crew members.” Sihyeon adds while laughing. “But you also can’t leave my pussy without my blessing.” And Sihyeon’s legs tighten around your waist just a little for emphasis.

Her laughter is cut short when you push yourself as deep as you can into her, bracing her against the wall. Sihyeon bites her lips hard, trying not to moan loudly; she really doesn’t want to get caught fucking the commander. You pull back somewhat and resume bouncing her on your cock at a good rhythm.

“And why would I ever want to leave your pussy?”

Sihyeon kisses you deeply for a full minute in response. She breaks the kiss then smiles smugly at you. “Because my mouth feels just as good.”

You have no answer to that, not that you need one. She already knows she’s won this exchange. You might have the military authority, but she has just secured a promotion for herself and also has you happily wrapped around her finger.

You can feel Sihyeon getting close to an orgasm. Her body is tensing and pulling you ever more tightly to her. Your lips have discovered that her neck is a sensitive spot and you lay down a barrage of kisses and nibbles onto her skin there. You can feel her whimpering and panting into your ear.

“Permission to cum, sir.”

“No.” Sihyeon might have seduced a promotion out of you, but you still have the upper hand here though. Good to flex occasionally.

“Please, sir.” Sihyeon starts begging breathlessly. “Please…”

You thrust into her a few more times wordlessly, leaving her hanging. Her fingers are digging into your back, her toes curling as she tries to stop herself from riding the wave of pleasure just yet.

“Permission granted.” You say as you thumb her clitoris with your free hand to help send her over the edge. Sihyeon’s orgasm is silent. She shivers and shakes, and you feel her muscles contract all around your cock. But barely a sound escapes her lips as she bites down hard on them.

On your end, you keep fucking her through her orgasm, feeling yourself close to cumming as well. Sihyeon is slowly coming down from her orgasm, her grip on your body loosening, the legs around your waist not holding as tight.

“I’m close.” You mutter to Sihyeon as you feel ninety days’ worth of semen building up below. “Cum in me, sir.” Sihyeon states as she suddenly tenses again, and you can feel her legs wrap ever tighter around you, preventing you from pulling out.

“Are you-” Sihyeon kisses your question away before starting to urge you to let it out all inside her. “Cum for me, commander, please fill me with your cum…” She moans breathlessly into your ear. “Commander, please…” A few short sharp thrusts later, you feel spurts shoot from your cock, quickly filling Sihyeon up. She moans as your warm cum spreads inside of her. You hold Sihyeon close to you, and she peppers you with soft kisses as you recover. You kiss her back a few times as well.  

You could really get used to the unique power dynamic and chemistry you share with Ensign Kim Sihyeon. It feels…exciting.

“You know, I love your ambition, Ensign.”

Sihyeon breaks into a wide smile and laughs. “And I love your cock, sir.”

“That makes the two of us.”

You eventually let the ensign down and watch as white fluid slowly trickles down her leg. “Lucky for you, the commander of the ship is the only person with his own personal shower. You should clean up before you go.” Sihyeon reaches down with one finger and scoops up some of your cum with it. That finger goes into her mouth and she licks and sucks it clean. “Lucky me.” She smiles slyly, beckons you to follow her with a finger and walks into the shower.

A thought comes to you as you watch Sihyeon’s naked form sashay away from you, hips swaying. “Ensign, when does your next shift start?”

“In three hours, sir.”

That was more than enough time. You get up to your feet and join Sihyeon in the small showering space.

“Belay that last order, Ensign. Clean up, but you’re not going anywhere yet.”

Sihyeon licks her lips as she smirks seductively.

“Yes, sir.”