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ficsforeren · 2 years

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Blissful Ignorance - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader

Genre: Pornstar AU, Smut, Fluff, Light Angst, Romance, Humor

Series Summary: Over the last four years, you’ve become a rising star in the adult entertainment industry. Yet, you can’t seem to forget one of the actors you met in the very beginning of your career — Eren Jaeger. You might even say you’ve got a bit of a crush on him with how often you watch his videos. When you’re hired by Bellesa Films to shoot a sex video, they allow you to choose your partner, and without hesitation you request Eren Jaeger. And while the sex is bliss, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, you’re ignorant to the truth behind your years-long crush.

Chapter Summary: Broke and desperate to earn some pocket money, Eren Jaeger decided to do a part-time job in the sex industry by helping his older brother, Zeke, direct a porn movie. Little did he know that it would be a start of his romantic journey with you, a pornstar who was about to film a foursome right before his eyes.

Content Warnings: foursome, threesome, sex while being filmed, cream pie, sex with other people present in the room, rough unprotected sex, blow job, cunnilingus, face-sitting, squirting, fingering, hand job, orgasm denial, overstimulation, deep throating, heavy swearing, use of a leash and bondage, incest, dub-con, cum eating/cum play, degradation, praising, pet names, sex toys, choking, humiliation, spit play, tongue piercings, slapping, spanking, dacryphilia, public sex, female and male masturbation, 69.

Word Count: 12k

Poster art by the most talented @rainbuniart (follow her on Twitter)

Eren Jaeger never dreamt of becoming a pornstar, but then again, maybe none of them ever did.

Just like everybody else, if you had asked him twenty years ago what he wanted to become in the future, he would say, “I want to be an astronaut!” Or perhaps a doctor, just like his father Grisha was, that would’ve been a lot more normal. Even until now, four years after he made his first professional sex tape, he’s still not sure why he keeps thrusting his dick inside someone’s cunt for a living. Money is obviously the first reason, and, well, getting paid to have sex is still a lot better than, say, having to earn a doctoral degree in engineering just to have his application declined by an old man working in NASA. It’s not the worst job in the world, being a pornstar. And with his 8.3- inches long cock and a face pretty enough to surpass forty percent of the females working in the sex industry, Eren can go a long way.

Except he doesn’t want to go a long way. He doesn’t want to keep fucking strangers or sex dolls or his own fist just so other people can cum all over their keyboards. But he's not brave enough to quit and find a normal job either. What if it doesn’t work out and he has to go back to live with his grandmother again? Those days after he graduated from high school, doing part-time jobs ranging from delivering pizza to playing small, unimportant roles in porn movies, Eren doesn’t want to do it again. He was poor, broke enough that he couldn’t even afford to have a cellphone. If it wasn’t because of his brother Zeke who frequently invited him over to work with him on set, he would’ve probably had tears for breakfast, sweat for lunch, and air for dinner.

Now, he gets paid ten thousand bucks a month, gets to cum at least five times a day, and motorboats a new pair of tits every twelve hours. So what if he has to suck a fat man’s balls every once in a while? People in prison do that all the time and they’re not getting paid for it. Life isn’t so bad for him, is it?

But of course, we always tend to crave what we can’t have, not appreciate what we do have. Eren wants to be better. He really does, he just doesn’t know if it’s the right path for him to take. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what the fuck he wants to do with his life. He just goes along with it as if he had no other choice. It’s always been like that for him.

Switching off the light on his nightstand, Eren heaves the heaviest sigh as he lies down on his bed. His arms are folded underneath his head, the ridges of his abs look pasty underneath the moonlight that seeps through his window. Today was rough. He had to have sex with two different girls this morning in the middle of the woods. Sure, he got to keep his jacket on, but he was freezing his balls off—literally. He was forced to get an erection quickly with almost no stimulation at all, had to have constant control over his ejaculation, and had to maintain his erection every time his co-star’s makeup was getting fixed. And if they had to fix their make-up for thirty minutes? Eren had to wait for thirty fucking minutes with his fingers around his dick and his testicles turning blue. Honest to God, it was torture.

“I want to quit,” he mumbles to himself, vacant eyes fixated on the ceiling with only darkness greeting him in return. Not a second after, his phone screen lights up, casting a white glow to his pale walls. With boredom in his eyes, he slides his thumb across the screen. Petra Ral, his manager, just texted him with an offer of a new gig. He snorts, talking to whatever deity he believes in by casting ice daggers to the ceiling. “I said I want to quit, you obnoxious fuck. See, this is why I don’t go to church. You never listen to me.”

His phone screen flashes again and this time his eyes widen in shock. He’s invited to shoot a forty-five minutes long video with Bellesa Films, a studio he has never worked with before—only because they’re a huge player in the industry and Eren’s acting skills suck ass (yes, pun intended). But that's not what causes his heart to palpitate.

It’s the fact that you are his next co-star.

Now, to be clear, Eren never gave a fuck about who he’d be working with. Shit, he never even went as far as remembering their names. It wasn’t like he was going to moan it during sex or anything. But you… You’re his favorite actress, aren’t you? And not just in the entertainment industry, you’re his favorite actress in the whole world. Sure, Florence Pugh is talented but can she give a lap dance to her man as you did to Jean Kirstein in the video you shot together in Belfast? Barbara Palvin’s beauty is unworldly but Eren knows for sure she’s not going to look as pretty as you were in your frilly lingerie with your tongue darting out as you waited for Armin Arlert to shoot his cum all over your face. You’re the prettiest fucking thing in the world but he adores you more than just your appearance.

Eren likes to think that you’re an angel, sent down from heaven to save his poor, poor soul (and wallet too) and bestow him with your beauty and grace. Of course, the only right way to worship that angel is to have one hand around his cock, the other one massaging his balls, and his lip bitten to suppress his moan as he watches that angel’s pretty mouth gets fucked by a BBC (funnily enough, Eren doesn’t know that BBC also stands for British Broadcasting Corporation, so when he followed BBC News’s official Twitter account, he was disappointed that he didn't get to see some deep-throating action on his timeline).

Except he doesn’t do it. When he watches your video, he doesn’t have his hand stroking his shaft. He doesn’t imagine himself being in your co-star’s position. He only watches it to see you, to see the way you act around your partner, the way you pucker your lips in a preparation for a kiss, or the way you moan, “Ah, yes, that dick feels so fucking good.” He only watches it to prove that you're lying.

Because you don’t smile like that, do you? Not in front of him, you don’t. You don’t moan like that either. You’re exaggerating it, performing as you should. But Eren knows. He knows exactly how you look when you feel good. He still remembers perfectly the way you moaned his name, moaning it in a way that doesn’t sound similar to any other noises you made with everyone else. He can still feel the way your walls clenched around him when you cummed hard on his cock, your toes curling in pleasure that was so intense, you cried out his name in this beautiful, sultry whine. He knows you. He remembers you.

And whenever he slept with someone else, both for his job or just for fun, Eren would close his eyes and imagine you in their place. It’s a shitty thing to do but he’s a shitty person to begin with so what else is new? He would try to recall the way you whimpered his name or the way you said, “Kiss me. I want to feel your lips on me,” a moment before he released his hot seeds inside you. To anyone else, it would just be a line that you’d probably practiced in front of your vanity mirror a few times. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because he knows you rarely kiss your co-star, as you would find it too intimate. You only kissed back, never initiated it. But with him, you seemed so desperate for it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, immediately punching down numbers to his phone. “Petra? Yeah, hi, about that offer. I’m in.”

“You’re sure?” A feminine voice speaks from the other line. “I’m still bargaining since you don’t get paid as much as she would—”

At this rate, he would even pay the studio to let him have this job. “It’s fine. I’m in.”

“Err… Okay. Whatever you say. I’ll text you the address. Don’t be late this time, Eren, or I swear to God, you’ll have to fuck a horse on your next gig.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

***

Eren may be a half-assed pornstar, but today he’s a perfect gentleman who stays true to his words. He’s not late for the appointment. He’s three hours early.

Dressed casually in a washed-out denim button-down shirt with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and three of his top buttons unfastened, Eren stepped down from his car with his wayfarer sunglasses sitting low on his nose. He combined his outfit with a pair of dark jeans and high tops sneakers, looking like a high-class fashion model who tries to blend in by dressing up as your typical college student on his way to seduce his professor to raise his grades (which he would definitely be doing if he was enrolled in one—he’s a slut, no matter what universe he’s in). He had his long hair tied up neatly in a ponytail at first, but he changed it into a messy bun before he climbed down his Ford, not wanting to look like he’s overdressed for the occasion, even when he probably had sprayed half a bottle of his Bvlgari perfume this morning (on his neck, his chest, his armpits, and his… nether region, just to be safe).

“Looks like somebody is excited,” the female director for the day, Hange Zoe, greets him with a handshake and a smile too wide to be natural. Eren almost looks down, afraid that he's popped up an erection (because, frankly, he had been thinking about you in that unlined lace plunge babydoll you wore on your latest video on his way driving here), but thankfully, Hange continues with her words before he’s dumb enough to do it. “I thought you were one of the staff until I saw how pretty you were. None of my stars ever arrived this early.”

“I, uhh…” Eren scratches his nape, his blush blooms beautifully on his strong cheekbones. “I was dropping my niece at her school this morning and—well, it was closer to get here than to go back to my house—apartment, so, umm,” he clears his throat, “I just… I went here.”

Hange presses her lips tightly in a white line to keep her smile from breaking. “Well, I hope you fuck better than you lie. Have a seat, Eren. Can I call you Eren?”

With his face practically bursting into flames, the boy sighs. “Yes, you can call me Eren.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed as requested, facing the director who sits on a wooden chair with a cup of brewed coffee being held in one hand. The king-sized bed he’s perched on has square pillows with the words Bellesa House written on them, and Eren knows, from the way the room is set-up—with lightings and three cinema cameras directed toward the bed—it’s going to be the place where he gets to embrace you later on—in two hours and forty-eight minutes, to be exact, not that he’s counting (he just… glances at his phone screen every two minutes).

“Well, since you’re early, why don’t we start with your interview?” Hange suggests with a smile and Eren nods. It’s not like he has something more important to do. His only plan for the next two hours and—he takes a peek at his phone again—forty-seven minutes from now is just daydreaming about how soft your lips must feel against his (and how hard he’s going to fuck you later, obviously, but he tries not to think about it as it would be awkward to explain why he has a raging boner in a room full of people munching greasy hamburgers for breakfast).

“My interview?” Eren frowns. “I thought you were going to give me the script.”

“Oh, we don’t do that here, love.” Hange takes a sip of her coffee before she hands it over to her assistant, Moblit. “Okay, I’ll start asking you questions now,” she says, not noticing that Eren still has his forehead creasing in confusion. “We’ll start rolling the cameras on three. I want you to relax, okay? Just act casually like how you normally do. What I need to see right now is your honesty. You’re as handsome as a dream, honey, but you can’t lie to save your life so don't even try.”

“Hange,” Moblit chastises firmly, nudging her with his elbow. “You can’t say that to an actor.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” She winces. “Sorry.”

Eren can’t even utter a word. Partially because he thinks it’s true. He can’t act for shit.

“What I mean is right now I want you to be yourself,” she clarifies, glancing at Moblit for approval. The second she sees him nodding, she breathes in relief. “Treat me as a friend, okay? We’re just two besties in our underwears talking about boys—or girls—you know, whatever your sexual prefer—”

“Girls. I like girls.”

“Okay, girls then.” She beams at him, making gestures at the cameraman behind her. On her count, Eren straightens his back, preparing himself for the camera.

“Hi, welcome to Bellesa House,” Hange says, speaking with her professional voice from behind the lens. “How are you today, Eren?”

The boy probably can’t lie to save his life, true, but in front of these cameras, he somehow feels more at ease, as if it’s something that makes him feel at home. “I feel great. Never been better actually.”

Hange can see it too, the way he lets his taut muscles unwind, his legs stretched out casually as he speaks. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“So I assume you already know your co-star for today.” Eren nods with a sheepish smile forming faintly on his lips. “This is going to be the first time you’ll be seeing her again in like, what, three years?”

“Three and eleven months,” he blurts out, which he quickly corrects with, “Not like I’m counting or anything.”

Hange and Moblit secretly smile to themselves, finding his honesty to be adorable. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous? Do I look like I’m nervous?”

“You kinda do, yeah.”

“I’m dying, actually,” Eren admits with an awkward laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my four years working in this industry.”

“Why is that?”

“I just…” He looks down as he places both hands on his lap, making a steeple out of his fingers. “I’m a huge fan of hers. She’s a fantastic performer and she's just... She's so beautiful.”

Eren seems like he wants to say something more so she waits for a few more seconds before continuing. Changing his mind at the last second, he nibbles on his lower lip, sitting rigidly on his seat like a thirteen-year-old boy facing his crush—which, in a way, he is because mentally he’s thirteen.

“Yes, she’s very beautiful,” she says, “And you’re a very handsome man too.”

His timid smile only adds more beauty to his face, another shade to his personality. “Thank you.”

“I was informed that she was your first partner on the screen?”

“Yeah,” he admits it bashfully. “And I still feel sorry for her.”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean, it was my first time.”

“You think you were bad at it?”

He pauses for a good two seconds before he answers with a feeble nod. “I just… I didn’t have any experience in, you know, performing in front of cameras before, so… I’m sure she didn’t enjoy it.”

“Is that so? I don't think she'd ask to film together with you again if she didn’t enjoy it."

“Huh?” Eren blinks, lifting his face to read her expression. “She asked for me?”

“You’re adorable.” The director titters at the sight. “Yes, she chose you to be her partner today.”

“She—” He swallows thickly. “She did? I thought her agency decided to film with me.”

“Honey, didn’t your manager tell you about this? Here at Bellessa House, we let our performers choose who they want to have sex with. This is why I’m doing this interview with you. I want to know why you both chose each other.”

Oh yeah, shit, Petra did mention something like that, Eren remembers. He was just too busy drowning in excitement to actually let her words sink in. “She chose me…” he’s mumbling to himself, still somewhat baffled. “I can’t believe she chose me…”

“Yes, she did. I’m sure she enjoyed her first time with you.”

Eren’s skin contains enough melanin to stop his blush from becoming too apparent, but even so, he still turns as red as a ketchup bottle. “My ears are buzzing right now.”

“Don’t explode just yet,” Hange chortles. “Seems to me you have a little crush on her.”

“I have a huge crush on her, it’s insane,” he says, his mouth running on its own. He’s dizzy with anticipation, engulfed by elation that he can no longer remember the three cameras that record his reaction from each side of the room. Right now, he just sees Hange as someone he can finally pour his feelings out in the open. And boy, only God knows just how much he wants to let his emotions break free.

So, when Hange asks him, “Can you tell me what you like about her?” He just lets himself loose.

“Every time she looks at me, I just—” His thoughts are running too fast for his lips to form the words, but his eyes are expressive, filling all the blanks as they gleam full of wonder. “You see, when I have a girl that actually gives me eye contact that really makes me feel like I can believe her when she says the things that she says, I’m all about it. It brings back memories of my younger days when I didn’t have to lie about what I felt, you know? Cause, like—” He pauses to catch his breath. “In this job, we have to lie to each other almost every second because we don’t always get to work with the people we want to work with. So when you actually get that feeling of this person who just really wants to be around you, it kinda sticks with you. And you want to keep feeling that. It’s addicting, you know? To be wanted for who you are and not this persona you display every time you’re on camera.”

“You feel like you can be yourself when you’re with her?”

“Yeah…” Anyone who sees him right now can tell that he’s lovestruck, even when he, himself, hasn’t realized it yet. “And I feel like… she can be herself when she’s around me too. Or, at least, I hope so.”

The way he speaks so softly, the tenderness in his gaze—they morph Hange’s mischievous grin into a smile full of warmth. “What was it like the first time you saw her?”

“Oh, man…” He chuckles, his hand unconsciously moves back to his nape, a habit that shows whenever he gets embarrassed. “It’s a funny story actually.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

Eren can barely keep his smile to himself as he digs back into his memory. He’s repeated this one scene so many times in his head, jerked off to it more times than he has ever had sex in the last four years, which, to his dismay, is saying something.

It was at the beginning of spring, just like any other love story, he supposed (bold of him to even call this a love story) when you walked into his life. Perhaps he was just an idiot whose brain was only able to process things slower than normal people did because the second you walked past him, it felt like his entire world turned into slow motion. He was twenty-one at that time, but he was gawking at you like a twelve-year-old finding out that he just had his first wet dream.

Speaking of his wet dream, you were her. The girl who showed up in his dream. The girl who said absolutely no word and just straight up took off his pants and went down to her knees. That girl—that fucking goddess who graced his dream(s)—had your hair, the same curve of your lips, your eyes, your nose, your tits—your eyes. He meant eyes. Fuck, he’d said that. Well, she had your face and your body. And if that girl had spoken a word, Eren knew she would’ve sounded like you. You were the girl of his dreams. Literally.

Or, maybe you weren’t, but at that moment, he decided to make you one. Who cares, right?

“Done drooling yet?” His step-brother, Zeke, asked him, and when Eren took a second longer than necessary to answer, he slapped a thick bundle of his script against his head.

Eren groaned, rubbing his skull to soothe down the pain. “Jesus, what the fuck is that?”

“The script you should be handing to our lead.” He smacked him again, just for fun, before he pushed it to his chest. “This is the first time I’m taking you to my workplace and you’re drooling all over my carpet. Shame on you.”

“What, I can’t appreciate a pretty girl?” Eren snorted as he took the script in his hand.

“Oh, you think she’s pretty? Do you?”

“Yeah, speak louder. I don’t think she heard you yet.”

Zeke actually screamed out your name, garnering attention from literally everyone in the room. Panicking, Eren slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid monke.”

Zeke licked his palm, leaving Eren with no choice but to retract his hand in disgust. “You’re here as my assistant for today, so, please, for God’s sake, please actually do your job for once.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! I never—”

“Hey, Director, I think I heard you calling my name. Is there something wrong?”

Eren spun around so fast, he felt like he was a fucking ballerina. There, standing right before him, was the prettiest angel he’d ever seen in his life, no matter how corny it sounded in his head. Your voice was even more beautiful than he had imagined, and you looked so damn adorable with your eyebrows stitched together in curiosity, your face slightly painted over with concern. You were staring at Zeke before, but then you shifted your gaze toward him and Eren swore, he felt like he received enlightenment. The world was suddenly ten times brighter. You were shining, blinding his eyes. You were basically the sun and he was just a tiny speck of dust about to be blown away by the wind. His existence didn’t matter, not to you, not to anyone else, but yours meant the world to him.

“Hey,” you tossed him a polite smile, which caused him to gulp. “Is that for me?”

Eren looked down at his body, trying to figure out what you meant. What were you referring to? Is she talking about my dick—

Zeke smacked him on the head again, using his bare fist this time. “Her script, you idiot.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?” You checked up on him, landing a hand on his shoulder before you directed a scowl to his brother. “Did you really have to hit him that hard?”

“Jesus, not you too.” The blonde man rolled his eyes. “I’m literally gonna pretend you both don’t exist in my life until the cameras are rolling. Try not to flirt and memorize the script for me, yeah?” Then he walked away just like that, exchanging conversations with Colt Grice, the actor you were going to work with for the day.

“You all right?” You asked him again when you noticed Eren hadn’t said a word. He had his eyes on you, staring at you like you were the hardest equation to solve. You tilted your head to the side, practically holding a neon sign above your head that said, “HEY, LOOK AT ME! I’M SUPER CUTE!” which forced him to look away with a blush painting his face.

“I’m—I’m fine,” he said, moving the script toward your direction. “Here’s your, uh, your thing—the script—your script.” Oh my God, I’m gonna kill myself, he thought to himself. There was literally nothing more embarrassing he could have done than stammering out his every word.

Except he pushed the script a little too far and he accidentally grazed his knuckles against your chest.

He gaped, eyes shaking in horror as they blatantly stared at your boobs. This is it, isn’t it? He screamed in his head. This is the end of my life. The end of the fucking world.

He expected you to scream at him, probably even slap him in the face just like how the girls behaved in those hentai mangas he read (he was broke, okay? He couldn’t afford to jerk off to a playboy magazine). But to his surprise, you were laughing at him. Taking the script off his frozen hand, your smile was as angelic as the rest of your features. You introduced him to your name, offering him your hand. “May I know your name?”

He answered your question by restating your name then he shook his head and said, “Eren. I’m Eren.”

“Eren…?”

“Jaeger.”

“Oh, no wonder you two seemed close! You’re Zeke’s younger brother?”

“I’m his younger step-brother,” he felt the need to clarify. “You?”

“Uhh… I’m his actress for the day?”

Sometimes, sometimes, Eren wished he could just shut the fuck up. Literally every word he said just made him look ten times dumber. “Ah, yeah… Of course, I knew that. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

Cause you’re so pretty and I’m so stupid. “Cause you’re pretty stupid.”

There was a moment of silence before your mouth shaped a little, “What?”

Then he blinked. He blinked again. And he blinked again.

Then he combusted into flames. “I—” He was so traumatized by himself that he lost the courage to speak. “I’m an idiot, sorry. I will just… go.” And he did. He just fucking walked away with one hand pressing against the side of his temple, his brain trying to find the quickest way to die without exuding more pain than he already felt.

Eren had always been awkward with girls, but he had never been this awkward.

This was just painful to watch.

But, of course, God was not on his side that day—just like any other day, actually. Because by the time they started shooting, a staff member came by to inform them that one of the extras couldn’t arrive on time. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Zeke groaned loudly into the air. “Eren, come here!”

And just like that, he was upgraded from being an embarrassing and fucking cringe director’s assistant to a super embarrassing and fucking cringe extra on set.

“So we were in a club and we sat on a couch,” Eren recites his story to Hange. “The main guy—Colt—was sitting right next to me, and she was on the stage, and she was stripping. You know how strippers always look sexy in the movies? Well, I don’t find them that way in real life. I just find them awkward, and like… I don’t know, it’s just a massive turn-off for me. But when I saw her on that stage… God, it was like a life-changing moment for me. She was the one who regained my faith in strippers. She was… She was breathtaking. So gorgeous. I actually went back and watched that scene a few times more and I got a massive erection the whole time. I was like, if I had dollar bills, I would’ve given her all the fucking money I owned.”

His rambling only stops when he hears Hange giggling from behind the camera. Then his face catches fire. “Wait, this is just between us, right?” Eren panics. “You’re not gonna show this interview to her, are you?”

“No, of course not,” she says, assuring him with a sweet smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

***

“So, Eren said he really enjoyed that performance of you stripping.”

“He did?” You gasp, a palm rising to your mouth to cover your gleeful grin. “Oh my God. It was so embarrassing for me to do that ‘cause I’ve never really danced in front of people before. I was so nervous about it.”

��Was him being there one of the reasons why you were nervous?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” you admit meekly. “More than anyone else.”

Just like Eren two and a half hours ago, you’re now sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed but in a different room. You’re dressed casually in your favorite shirt that showcases your curves and a pair of denim shorts that ride up your thighs. You have your hair cascading to your shoulders as you remember well how he said you looked even more beautiful with your hair down. You’re doing your interview with Hange, just like he did, while Eren is still locked up inside the other room, not allowed to see you just yet.

“Was there an attraction which added to the nervousness or…?“

“Yeah, definitely,” you answer, giggling lightly as you feel heat creeping up your cheeks. “Whenever I felt his eyes on me, I couldn’t concentrate on what I was doing. He was sitting on the couch in front of me, right there next to my co-star whom I should be focusing on, and I kept telling myself to don’t look at him right now. Just focus on the script, you got this.”

The waves of laughter that depart from Hange’s mouth indicate that she’s satisfied with the actors she hires today, as you both are so head over heels for each other. “You thought he was cute?”

“Oh, Hange,” you dreamily sigh. “I thought he was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” And your smile speaks nothing but sincerity, just like your eyes. “But you know what really attracts me to him? It’s his smile. His little crooked grin and his personality—that combination for me—it’s the first thing that pulls me toward him. And his eyes… God, have you seen his eyes? They’re gorgeous. But, yeah, his smile and personality are what make him so much more attractive to me. He can be everything at once. Shy and confident, brave yet timid, loud then quiet. He’s adorable. Even from the very first time we met when he was still so awkward around me, I already thought, like, oh, I think I have a crush on you.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right?” You feel bashful now that you say it out loud. “This is bad, please don’t let him know I’m fangirling over him like this.”

“Are you his fangirl?”

“Big time.”

“So you’ve watched his videos?”

“Every single one of them, yeah. More times than I’d like to admit.”

“Have you ever touched yourself when you watched it?”

“Hange!” You gasp before you both trade laughter. “Off the record, though—and I mean it, Hange, I want you to delete this part.”

“I promise I’ll delete it.”

“Okay, well then, yeah, you got me.” You throw your hands in the air before you raise your legs and hug your knees to your chest, burying half of your face behind them. “Yes, I’ve touched myself several times to the thoughts of him. How can you not, though? He’s Eren Jaeger. There’s a reason why he’s so popular among the ladies.”

“He told me the story of your first meeting with him. He said he messed up real bad.”

You giggle, your chest warmed by the thought of him still remembering your first encounter. “Yeah, you’d think with a face like that he’d be all suave and smooth with the ladies, but no, he was just like… this shy boy next door. He’s so charming. And whenever he smiles, you can just feel like a little…” You gesticulate, trying to find the right words.

“Butterflies in your stomach?” Hange offers.

“Yes!” You almost shout in agreement. “Yes, exactly. I’m like, hmm, baby, do it again.”

“You’re now one of the most popular rising stars working in the industry. You could’ve chosen literally anyone you wanted, but when we asked you, you immediately requested him without even having to think about it for a second.”

“Yes, it was a clear choice for me. I’ve always wanted to do this with him. We haven’t had the chance to hang out much because we’ve always been busy with our own schedules, but our first time on screen was… This may sound corny, but it was… magical, to say the least.”

“You don’t hear the word magical often when you talk about sex in the adult entertainment industry.”

“Yes, exactly! I thought we really hit it off. We have good chemistry with each other, and like I’ve mentioned literally a thousand times before, he’s really adorable. He’s so sweet and gentle to me. You know when you meet somebody and you just, kind of, know—like, you feel that pull and you’ve got that mental connection that you can’t find with anyone else. I feel that way when I’m with him. And when he took me to bed, the only thing I could think of was… Oh, this feels right. So, I’m just trying to take it a step further now.”

“Toward what? Getting married?”

“Hange!”

“Okay, one last question before we get on with the show,” your director chortles as she dodges the cushion you threw at her. “Tell me the story of your first time together. Tell us what happened behind the scenes.”

“Oh, shit, okay. Wait, let me prepare myself.” You clap both palms to your cheeks, hoping it would soothe down the burn. “Okay, so, it happened around three months after we first met.”

***

It was in the middle of a hot, summer night when you met him for the second time four years ago. The weather itself was sweltering enough to drench your clothes with your sweat. You could only imagine just how uncomfortably hot it would be when you had to perform a foursome in about forty-five minutes from now. You were holding your script in your hands, your eyes running over your lines, remembering the positions they wanted you to do, as your stylist worked on your hair, doing a final touch on your make-up. You were reciting lines to yourself, mumbling under your breath, when suddenly, you heard Zeke screaming, “Oh, fuck me senseless!”

You observed from the vanity mirror, listening to him grousing and yelling at a female staff, though he didn’t particularly direct his words at her. “Out of all fucking days, he just had to have his hernia acting up today, huh? Fuck this. I can’t reschedule again. I already have five other jobs lining up, I’m not gonna waste my time just because Mr. Bertholdt fucking Hoover can’t show up on set.” He pitched his voice higher, whining mockingly as he imitated Bertholdt’s German accent. “Oh no, my intestine is bulging out, boo fucking hoo!” To say that Zeke was upset was an understatement. He was pissed. “We’ll change the script. Let’s just shoot a threesome.”

Another staff member raised a hand, interrupting him. “But Sir, we’ve already paid the actors to shoot a foursome.”

“Well, tell them to return half the money.”

Porco Galliard, one of the lead actors for today’s shoot, bellowed. “No fucking way, bro, a deal is a deal.”

“Oh my God, then somebody please be helpful and find me a new actor now! I need him to show up on set in five minutes!”

Eren was filling in as his assistant for the day too, but you hadn’t had the opportunity to say hi as you were dragged toward the changing room the second you arrived on the set. You had noticed him stealing glances at you, and the way he immediately looked away with a hand rubbing his nape whenever your gaze met in the mirror. He was adorable.

“Dude, chill,” Eren said, moving closer to where Zeke was standing with his fingers buried in his hair, yanking at his roots in frustration.

“I can’t just chill, you idiot,” his brother spat back—literally spat back, as you could see Eren wiping something off his face with his thumb. “Go make yourself useful for once. Find someone to replace Berholdt before I go insane. I don't have enough money to pay for another session of therapy, fuck me.”

Eren sighed. It was so unrealistic to have someone agreeing to a gig that fast, but an idea popped up in his head. The brunette chewed on his lip, contemplating his decision. Should I really do this?

You stayed mute on your seat as you kept your eyes on him through the mirror. For a brief two seconds, you saw Eren glancing at you again before he turned around and whispered in Zeke’s ear.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” the bearded man snorted. “You think my job is a joke, don’t you?”

“Shut up and just hear me out for a second!” Eren dragged him to the corner of the room where they could speak in private. You could see their limbs moving as they hissed at each other, but they were out of your hearing zone.

“I know it’s insane,” Eren uttered, his cheeks reddened by his own offer. “But I really feel like I can do it.”

“You’re telling me you want to be a pornstar,” Zeke repeated back to him, staring flatly at him. “That’s what you’re saying.”

Honestly? No, he didn’t. But he had read the script that he was supposed to hand over to Bertholdt, and he knew that there were a lot of nasty, nasty things they planned to do with you. And he wanted it. God, he wanted to be with you so bad, he didn’t care if he had to fuck you in front of twenty strangers in the room just to have a taste. Of course, he could try and ask you out on a date like a normal person, but with the way he acted during your first meeting—all stupid and awkward and just downright embarrassing—would you really say yes to him? He’d been staring at you like a creep too. You must have felt disgusted with him.

So Eren thought, if he couldn’t have you that way, at least he could try and have you... well, this way. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Well, it’s not my dream job but—”

“Eren.” Zeke placed both hands on his shoulders, sighing exasperatedly. “I love you, I do, but for the love of God and everything holy, please shut the fuck up.”

Yeah, it was probably too far of a stretch to be asking his brother this so suddenly but Eren was desperate. He wasn’t proud of his next tactic, but he knew for sure this was the only way to win his brother’s heart. “Brother,” he called him with a little pout, and he could see Zeke turning stiff. Eren rarely called him ‘brother’. It was always “Dude,” or “Dipshit,” or “Stupid fucking monke." Even having his little brother call him by his name was already something to be grateful for and today, right at this moment, Eren—practically with tears in his eyes, Zeke’s delusional mind said—called him, “Brother.”

And with those puppy eyes too, my God. “W-what is it?” Zeke swallowed.

“You can use me,” Eren convinced him, trying to look as vulnerable and innocent as possible, just like how a little boy would ask his brother to play ball with him when it was raining outside. “I swear, I won’t let you down. I never did, right?”

Oh, Eren had let him down many times before. It was a wonder Zeke hadn’t called the police on him yet. His little brother was a demon, Zeke knew that for sure, even in his good days, he was satanic. But right now, Eren looked nothing but an angel to his eyes. Fixing his glasses, Zeke turned away from him. “It doesn’t matter if you want to or not, Eren. You don’t have what it takes.”

And when Eren lost his patience, they started yelling at each other again. “Dude, why are you like this?! You’ve never even seen me in bed! Go ahead and call my ex. I’m sure she’d say that I’m a beast when it comes to fucking ass.”

“First of all, eww,” Zeke made a face. “I did not need that information. Second, having sex in porn is different than having sex in real life.”

“How is it any different?!”

“For starters, you need to hold your erection for a long time—”

“How long? Thirty minutes? Forty? Fifty? I've done it. Give me a fucking viagra and I can hold it for three hours.”

“Jesus Christ.” When Zeke prayed to his Lord to give him a chance to have a heart-to-heart moment with his favorite little brother, he should’ve stated his prayer more specifically because this conversation he was having here right now? This wasn’t it. “Look, even if you can, I still can’t hire you.”

“Why nooooooot?” Eren was whining, maybe he would’ve even stomped one foot on the ground, throwing tantrums like a child, if he didn’t remind himself that he was a fucking adult trying to land himself a gig in the sex industry. "Look, I’ll even do it for free."

"That's not the problem."

"Okay, I'll pay you then."

This is getting ridiculous, Zeke groaned internally. Eren didn't even have a penny in his wallet to begin with. "No."

"But why—"

“IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE A SMALL DICK!”

There was silence and Eren was sure that the whole room could hear him (you couldn’t, though, they were still too far away for you to catch on their words). “You think I have a small dick?” Eren questioned him, his voice suddenly turned deep.

“We took a bath together when we were kids, Eren. I know what your dick looks like.”

“I was five.”

“Pretty small dick for a five-year-old. I’m sure it hasn’t changed much.”

“Yeah?” Eren took a final stride toward him, closing whatever the gap between them as he unfastened his belt. Unbuttoning his jeans, he hooked his fingers around his waistband and his underwear and tugged them forward, far enough for Zeke to be able to take a peek inside his pants. “Go on then, have a look.”

From your point of view, as you were still eyeing them from your vanity mirror, it looked so fucking weird because they were yelling and spitting at each other’s faces before, and now Zeke was blatantly staring at whatever it was that was hiding inside Eren's pants, gawking at the sight. Then they both looked into each other’s eyes and suddenly, Zeke turned around and clapped his hands in the air, “Everybody, get the cameras rolling!”

Once you and Pieck Finger—another actress they hired to be Bertholdt’s partner for today—have finished with your make-up, you both stepped into the bedroom where you were going to shoot three different sex scenes with the boys. And by boys, you meant Porco Galliard and—

Eren Jaeger.

“So, Eren,” Zeke said, rotating on his heels to face him. “You’ve read the script, right? You've memorized all your lines?”

Eren nodded, a faint blush still painting his cheeks whenever your eyes met even in a fleeting second. “I’m paired with Pieck first, and then…” His gaze drifted toward yours again, his face turning a shade redder as he croaked out the words, “W-with her.”

Zeke smacked him on the head. “Stop blushing, you idiot.”

“I wasn’t—I’m not blushing!”

His older brother left to take a seat on his director's chair (it was really just an old wooden chair, but Zeke insisted it to be called one), positioning himself behind the camera once he was finished with his final briefing. The story was simple. You, Pieck, Eren, and Porco were four college students hanging out in your dorm. You and Pieck were dressed in skimpy clothes—tight tank tops and shorts that do absolutely nothing to cover the bottom half of your ass. Porco had the most basic white tee thrown on him, combined with gray sweatpants and the perfect slicked-back hair. Eren looked sharp, wearing a red flannel shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, allowing you to notice just how protruding his veins were. He must have been lifting weights, or maybe he was really good at sports. Either way, his whole attractiveness just increased by tenfold.

Zeke was still conversing with the cameraman about the angle they were planning to use when you approached Eren and tapped him on his shoulder. “Hey.”

Eren noticeably gulped at the sight of you tilting your head up to meet his gaze. He was so tall, tall enough for you to have to stand on your toes just to capture his lips in a kiss. Your height difference also gave him a nice view of your cleavage. “H-hi.”

“So, we meet again.”

“You remember me?”

“I tend to remember guys who were brave enough to call me pretty stupid during our first meeting.”

He looked like he was about to pass out. “I swear that was not what I wanted to say.”

“What did you want to say then?”

“T-that I was stupid and that you…” He did it again. That thing where he scratched his nape as he cast his gaze downward. “You looked pretty.”

Your lips curved beautifully into a smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

With the way you were leaning in close, trying to see the expression he tried to conceal, you just looked a hundred times cuter than before. It left him dizzy, leaving his mouth running beyond his control again. “I do. You're so pretty, I can't stop myself from thinking about you all the time."

His sudden honesty, the way he blurted his sentence and looked like he was about to explode right after, caused your heart to throb harder than it ever did. And you felt overwhelmed by it, leaving your thoughts blank for a moment before you turned yourself to the side, landing your gaze at the staff who ran back and forth on set, trying to assure everything was in order.

“So, umm…” You cleared your throat. “Your name’s Eren, right?”

The way you called his name—God, he wanted to hear it again. You made his name sound ten times prettier. “Yeah.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

“T-thanks.”

“Are you from Germany?”

“Umm… No.”

“Oh, sorry. I just thought I heard a hint of a German accent in your voice when I heard you talking to Zeke. I took German back in college—well, before I dropped out anyway. But I must have heard it wrong.”

He could feel it, feel the way his heart just fell a little harder for you. “Well, my grandparents are Germans, yes, but I was born and raised here in the states.”

“So you do speak German then.”

“Whenever I’m with them, yeah. They can’t speak English so I had to learn their language to talk to them. It’s something I’ve picked up ever since I was young, as I was raised by my nana. I think I learned German first before I knew English. Why?”

So, he’s over six feet tall, looks like a model, smiles like a fucking angel, has broad shoulders and the most stunning green eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, probably has washboard abs too, and he speaks German, you thought, looking up at the ceiling. You really do have your favorites, huh?

“So, Eren. Have you done this before or is this your first time?”

“My first time having sex with a stranger? No,” he admits it rather diffidently as if it was something to be shameful about until he remembered that you did it for a living. Then he straightened his back, trying to be respectful. “But yes, this would be my first time performing in front of people. And, well, being recorded too.”

“You’ve never recorded yourself having sex for fun?” You teased him with a naughty twinkle in your eyes. “Such a shame. Would’ve paid to see that.”

His fingers reached his collar, tugging on it as he felt like it was choking him. “H-how about you? How long have you been doing this for a living?”

“A couple of months. That time when we first met? That was my second gig.”

“It was?” His voice rose in surprise. “Wow, I never would’ve thought. You were so good at it.”

“At what? Having sex?” He almost choked at your words. Wanting to tease him even further, you slid your hand up his arm, feeling the way his biceps tense underneath the fabric of his shirt before you wound your hand around his neck. Pulling him lower, you whisper alluringly in his ear. “In a few minutes, you’ll get to see just how good I really am.”

Eren choked. He really was choking on his own spit this time, and you walked away with little giggles breaking past your lips, joining Pieck who was already sprawling on the bed.

“Dude, pull your shit together,” Porco said as he walked past him. “If we have to re-do takes just because you keep blushing like a fucking schoolgirl, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Eren honestly thought he was going to mess up a lot too, probably enough to get himself fired in the first ten minutes. But surprisingly, everything went smoothly. Zeke always prioritized getting a clear shot of your expression or Pieck’s, alternating between taking close-up shots of the way Eren’s cock was sliding in and out of Pieck’s cunt or Porco’s tongue circling your clit. The director knew well that Eren’s decision on filming the scene wasn’t because he was certain that he wanted to join the sex industry, which was why Zeke was being as careful as possible to not film his face.

It worked well for Eren, because that meant he didn’t have to act much. He delivered a few corny lines at the beginning, acted shy when both you and Pieck were taking turns in seducing him—which in his case, took zero acting skill as he was indeed very embarrassed about it. Then he kept his dick hard while Pieck continued to edge him by giving lazy strokes around his shaft—which, again, took zero acting skill but massive talent, Eren would argue, as it was very hard (again, pun intended) to stop himself from ejaculating too quickly. Because although he had zero interest in Pieck, her hands were very pretty and they curled around him just right. The sight of you rubbing your pussy against Porco’s face wasn’t helping him either.

Foreplay was torture for him, but fortunately, Zeke asked them to move on to the next part of the script. Both you and Pieck settled yourselves on the bed, facing each other as you both went down on all fours. Eren, no matter how much he wanted to protest, was directed to position himself behind Pieck, while Porco stood on his knees behind you. From where he was kneeling, Eren could see your face clearly. You had a smile plastered on your lips when you told her, “Sorry, I gotta borrow your boyfriend for a while.”

“Are you my boyfriend, Pokko?” Pieck asked the blonde man with mischief misting her slanty eyes.

Porco, stroking himself to maintain his erection, reciprocated with a snort. “We’re fucking engaged, Pieck.”

Both you and Pieck laughed and Eren felt a bit left out. He didn’t know these people, he only knew you and so he kept his eyes on you, focusing on your cupid’s bow lips, memorizing how pretty they looked when you grinned, or laughed, or giggled in such a juvenile way. He felt like he wanted to ruin you, turned that titter into a breathless moan of his name. And your eyes—the way they gleamed, the way they twinkled, the way they stared back at him—he wanted to see his reflection on them.

Fuck, she’s looking at me. Eren felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You okay there, big boy?” You asked him, biting the corner of your lower lip to keep yourself from grinning. Was it a form of seduction in your case, Eren didn’t know, but man, you looked like the sexiest devil he could only dream of visiting his room at night.

Eren nodded, it was the best he could offer you right now and you smiled again. That cute little fucking smile. he wanted nothing more than to feel it on his lips.

On Zeke’s cue, Eren and Porco entered you and Pieck at the same time, pushing you both forward and forcing your lips to meet. You moaned when you felt Pieck’s mouth parting yours, her slick tongue plunged and plundered. Eren sank his nails a little harder on Pieck’s hips as he pounded his hips faster, encouraged by the pretty sounds of your whine. Eren had watched his fair share of porn, but damn, none of those girls ever sounded as sensual as you.

How are you going to sound when you moan my name?

You broke away from the kiss, letting out a little, “ah, ah, ah,” with every thrust Porco gave you. Eren’s eyes darkened. Jealousy gnawing at his chest like a hungry wolf.

It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.

He punctuated each of his thoughts by driving his cock harder inside Pieck, forcing her to mewl in response, her toes squirming in pleasure. The sight of her drowning in rapture stole a giggle out of your lips again and Eren’s jaw hung slack on his face, eyes hungrily absorbing every bit of your lewd expression.

“Feels good?” you asked Pieck but you kept your eyes on Eren’s viridian ones, as if you were asking him instead.

He grunted in response, slamming his hips forward until Pieck fell face first on the bed, wailing, “Ah, fuck yes, right there!”

You were biting on your lip again as you watched the muscles in his stomach flex with every movement. Funny how he could barely maintain your gaze longer than three seconds before, and now he was staring down at you like you were his prey. He wanted to ravish you, devour every inch of you, and it showed vividly in his eyes. He gathered Pieck’s hair in one hand, bunching it together in a messy ponytail before he used it to keep her in place, tugging on her roots as if he was pulling on a dog’s leash. Pieck rose back to her hands again, her elbows shaking as she maintained her weight and the pressure of Eren’s forceful thrusts on her palms and knees. He never let his gaze falter away from yours as if he was showing you what he could do, what he was capable of, and what he was planning to do to you later. Your skin burned in anticipation, your stomach somersaulted.

“Ah, harder, baby,” you keened with a sense of urgency. People behind the camera would think you were encouraging Porco with your words but you didn’t even pay single attention to your co-star. None of you did. The world, right now, only revolved around you and him. You were urging Eren to go faster, telling him to fuck her harder, commanding him to show you just how strong and virile he could be in bed so you could imagine him doing the same thing to you.

Pieck finished first and she cummed with a broken whimper escaping her lips. Eren could feel it, could feel the way her walls flutter around his cock, clenching him tightly. You could see how intense Pieck’s orgasm was from her face, and it sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins too as if your body mimicked hers in reflex. Your brain kept thinking about Eren driving himself to the hilt inside you.

Ah, I want to cum, you both thought at the same time, two pairs of hazy eyes locked together.

I want to cum inside her.

I want to cum on his cock.

“And cut!” Zeke’s voice rang like a clap of thunder, striking you both and slapping you back to reality. “Good job, everyone. We’re gonna take a ten minutes break before we shoot the next scene.”

Pieck was panting hard when Eren pulled away from her, his cock twitching in his hand, still eager for some heat and friction. Porco did the same, sliding out of you before he went to Pieck’s spot, checking on her face with gentle fingers. “You okay?” he asked, and she smiled in response, completely fucked-out. Her fiancé helped her get up from the bed, casting a menacing glare in Eren’s direction before they both stepped down the bed.

Red bruises were forming on Pieck’s porcelain skin, a shred of evidence that he was holding her too roughly before. “I’m… I’m sorry,” Eren told him awkwardly as he jumped down the bed, stepping away to give them some needed space. He wasn’t sure how to behave around them, now that he knew they were a couple and not just co-stars sharing a scene.

“It’s fine, you were just doing your job,” Porco replied, but he did it through gritted teeth. There was anger, clearly, though not as intense as his jealousy. But Porco and Pieck had been working in this industry for a while. They knew how to keep it professional.

You stepped down the bed when your stylist called you over, wanting to fix your make-up before the next scene. As you walked past Eren, still nude with sweat coating your skin, you let your hand glide from one side of his waist to another, tossing a little inviting smile over your shoulder that left him stunned on his feet.

“BRO!” Zeke slammed both hands on his shoulder, making his body jolt in surprise. “That was some real good fucking you just did!”

“Oh, umm…” Eren was disoriented, still couldn’t detach his eyes away from your naked hips as they swayed side-to-side with every step you took. “Yeah.”

“I never doubted you for a second, bro,” Zeke giggled, almost a bit femininely which came out as nothing but disgusting. “I can't believe I came up with this whole idea. I'm a genius.”

If Eren was listening to him, he would’ve responded with, “Bitch, shut the fuck up, you tried to push me away by saying I had a small dick.” But he wasn’t. He knew how the next scene was going to go, and he was so excited, his brain turned haywire.

The next scene started with the four of you sitting on the bed, not a single fabric was latched onto your skin. You were perched on Porco’s lap, while Pieck was on Eren’s. The two boys were watching your mouth move against Pieck’s in a frenzied kiss before you broke it off. Slanting your lips against Porco’s slightly rougher ones this time, you let Porco taste the cherry flavor of Pieck’s lip gloss. His fiancee, on the other hand, had her tongue in Eren’s mouth, her fingers clawing down his chest before she moved them up to trap his jaw and angle his face to the side. You did the same with Porco, kissing down his neck as you guided him to his right so he could mesh his lips with Eren’s.

Porco kissed him with the rage he was holding inside, making it look like intense desire in front of the camera, when the truth was, he wanted to make Eren pay for what he did to Pieck. The taller male groaned when he felt Porco’s teeth sinking into his lower lip, hard enough to make it bleed. He took a handful of Porco’s golden hair, yanking it back so Eren could dominate the kiss this time.

The foreplay didn’t take longer than three minutes before you and Pieck pushed the boys down to the bed at the same time. With a sultry gaze, you kissed Pieck one more time, crooning, “He’s all yours, baby,” as you switched positions with her. Pieck climbed up Porco’s chest until she was hovering above his face, her palms glued to the headboard as she rubbed her clit on his tongue.

You didn’t just head straight into the game like what the script told you. “Hey, handsome,” you greeted Eren with a coquettish smile, turning down the volume of your voice to avoid getting picked up by the camera. If you weren’t filming right now, you would’ve let your mouth form the words you wanted to say, teasing him over and over, edging him both with your lines and the obscene sway of your hips.

Eren looked wrecked beneath you, his eyes were dazed as he kept them plastered to your face. His lips, red and bruised by Porco’s violent kiss, were parted in such an inviting way.

“Hey,” he rasped, his hand sliding up from the dip of your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades. You knew he was on the verge of saying something, maybe praising you with his words just as much as his eyes were. To stop him from ruining the scene, you lowered your head and captured his lips.

And God, they were soft.

Despite how rugged he looked and how gruff his voice sounded, Eren’s lips felt just as smooth as Pieck’s were, if not more. Even the way he kissed you, so delicate and tender, like a prince’s first kiss which almost stole a laugh from your lips because what kind of prince would do something as filthy as foursome porn?

His hand rose to gently frame your face, lips parting yours ever so slowly. You thought he would consume you with his kiss like any other man did, but Eren was patient in savoring every caress of your lips against his. When his tongue delved inside your mouth, he relished the feeling with a content sigh, his eyes closed shut in bliss, his hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear so he could see you better.

You both were taking your time in memorizing each other’s touch, tongues slow-dancing in the hot cavern of his mouth that you completely forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Cut!” Zeke shouted, freezing you both. He called both of your names, causing you two to turn flustered. You already knew what he was going to tell you. “Guys,” the director said, “You’re spending years just kissing each other like you live in a fucking Korean drama. Get back to the script, we don’t have all day.”

Eren blushed hard enough for his heartbeat to ring clamorously in his ears. He raised his hand to his face, hiding his bottom half behind the back of his hand as he tilted his head to the side. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he told you in a murmur, cheeks scarlet and burning. “I got… carried away.”

Usually, people would apologize for being ‘carried away’ after they folded your body in half or shoved their cocks too far down your throat. But Eren was apologizing to you for kissing you romantically as if it was some form of sin or something you despised.

When it was, truly, everything you ever wanted.

So you leaned down closer to his ear, making sure that your every word grazed his lobe when you whispered, “Kiss me like that again when no one is around. I want you to make me yours.”

Eren’s heart jerked violently inside his rib cages, his flush now spreading down to his chest.

“In three, two, one… Action!”

“You’re so cute,” you commented under your breath before you smashed your mouth against his, making sure to leave Zeke satisfied with the passion you showcased to the camera.

His thoughts were fogged, leaving him delirious until he felt you lowering yourself onto his length. “Ah, fuck,” he moaned, possibly for the first time that night, and he only had his tip inside you. He was quite vocal, it turned out, with his moans and little grunts sounding whinier than you had expected they would be. Your stomach churned and twisted when you realized how much effect you had on him. He wasn’t like this with Pieck before. You wondered if he was ever like this at all. Because now he seemed like he was a thousand times more sensitive, more honest, more expressive.

And God, did he look beautiful.

Sex was always just about money to you. It was never about pleasure, it was never about satisfying your partners in bed. You only ever orgasmed once in your three months of filming, and that was only because you had to finger yourself till you squirted all over your co-star’s face. You never reached your high when you got fucked, never felt like you were even close to bursting in ecstasy, as you were always too focused on getting your job done, on making yourself look pretty on the screen, on performing like you were getting the best sex of your life just to get more viewers and job offers.

But tonight… Tonight you wanted to let loose. You wanted to stop thinking that you had cameras filming you from every angle. You wanted to feel him and let him feel you until you both were flying on cloud nine until you were shaking as you climaxed hard on his cock, until he emptied himself inside you and left your cunt dripping his semen down your thighs when you climbed down the bed.

And you knew he could give it to you. If you had this much effect on him, his on yours was only ten times worse—or maybe better? You wanted him, needed him to give the best fuck of your life. And you wanted him to moan your name as he did it.

You were tight. Even after Porco stuffed his cock inside you, you were still so fucking tight. Your breasts bounced, hardened nipples almost grazed his face as you leaned forward to support yourself with both hands on the headboard. You rode him fast, the bed squeaking underneath you. Eren clamped his mouth eagerly around your bud, moaning around it as his large palms settled on your behind. Squeezing your ass cheeks firmly enough to leave purplish bruises by the morning, he urged you to rock your hips harder. “Oh, fuck, Eren,” you gasped out and you could feel him twitching inside you almost instantly. You never called out your partner’s name in bed and you weren’t sure if it was wise for you to do it, knowing it would make everything feel much more intimate. But Eren moaned in response, and he moaned so beautifully it made you want to do it again, crying out his name so wantonly until it drove you both to the edge.

“Goddamn,” he breathed out with his head thrown back, exposing the column of his throat which you quickly painted over with the shade of your lipstick. “Ah, you’re so—“ You slapped a hand against his mouth, startling him at first before he turned into a whimpering mess. You wanted to hear it, every bit of his praise that threatened to fall out his lips, but you couldn’t afford to ruin the scene again. You were a performer, and that was what you should be doing. You need to perform for the audience.

You didn’t have much time. You were only supposed to ride him for a few minutes before you traded positions with Pieck, as in the script, they were the ones who were paired as lovers. It was only natural for them to have more scenes together than he was with you. This only made you grow desperate. Made you turn possessive. Made you roll your hips harder as you sobbed out his name.

“S-so good,” you panted, watching the way his lips savored your nipple, tongue flicking obscenely against the puckered nub. “I want you deeper inside me, Ren.”

Ren. The word echoed so wonderfully in his ear that it felt like it was invented solely to douse him with joy. No one had ever called him like that before and it was supposed to feel weird, but Eren loved it better than his own name. He loved it even more as it was spoken only by your voice.

But it ignited the flame inside him and he snapped.

Fuck the script, he thought.

Instead of letting you climb off his lap to switch position with Pieck once more, Eren grabbed you by the waist and brought you down to the bed. He raised both of your legs in the air, pushing them forward until your body was split in half. He rammed himself deep as his fingers slipped between your strands, guiding your face upward to meet him in a frantic kiss. “Oh—God—” You choked out, the walls of your sex stretched wide to accommodate him and Eren shivered in the throes of pleasure.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” he promised, switching from pliant nipple to pliant nipple like a metronome, biting just hard enough to increase your frenzy as he drove his cock rapidly in and out. When he returned his lips to your ear, he added, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard you can only picture me when you do this with someone else.”

You could feel it, the way he unraveled the loops inside your stomach one by one, making you lose control of your body. “Fuck me from behind,” you begged him, knowing that it would only intensify your pleasure. “Please—I want it—”

A huge part of him wanted to be selfish and kept you in your place so he could commit every bit of your expression into memory as you reached your high, but he’d fucked up his scene once and he knew he wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor by repeating the same mistake.

With a suppressed growl, Eren flipped you over to your stomach, not letting you catch a breath before he propelled his cock inside you once again. You were pushed forward, your head almost knocking against the headboard with every thrust. Eren was vigorous, and his desire to claim you for himself made him dangerous.

Usually, at this part of the scene, you would be screaming, “Oh, yes! Right there, baby, fuck me just like that!” knowing your watchers would like it better when you were vocal, not caring if it was just an act. But right now you couldn’t. Every drive of his hips knocked the air out of your lungs, leaving you incapable of doing anything else but having your lips parted in a silent moan. You gasped out his name, thighs quivering when you felt your orgasm building up fast. “Eren—” You blindly reached out one hand behind you to seize his wrist, “Ren, I’m—”

He suddenly leaned forward, filling the dip of your spine perfectly with his sculpted chest. He was panting hard, his hot breath fanning the sensitive spot below your ear. He whispered your name once, and then— “Du bist der schönste Engel, den ich je gesehen habe.”

You lost it, feeling like the world suddenly disappeared underneath your feet. Pleasure ripped through you in a way you felt all the way to your bones, leaving you with no strength. Eren wrapped an arm around your front, holding you still right before you toppled to the bed. His long fingers caught you by your jaws, angling your face to the side so he could place his mouth over yours to muffle his deep grunts. “I’m gonna cum,” he told you, his hips stuttering as he landed his forehead on your shoulder.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded in a whisper, “I want your lips on me. Please.”

He groaned, seduced by the yearning in your voice. Circling one arm around your waist and another one holding you tightly around your throat, Eren brought you up until you were standing on your knees. You had your spine glued to his chest, one arm winding around his neck for support. Your mouths collided as a turbulent wave of pleasure hit him like the storm. With one final thrust of his hips, he shot his seeds deep inside you, moaning heavily against your mouth, eyebrows sewed together as he embraced you close enough to suffocate you. You could feel him shuddering, his hips still moving slightly as he rode his orgasm.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, lips lingering on your shoulder. “That felt so—”

“And cut!”

“Oh my God, I’m actually gonna fucking kill him.” You could hear Eren grouse in a subdued tone, which stole a giggle out of your mouth. You both broke away as Zeke walked closer to the bed. You felt his essence trickling down your thigh, mixed with your own slick. Eren watched the way his cum coated your skin, gulping at the sight before his brother smacked his head with his script.

“Stop doing that!” Eren exclaimed, rubbing the pain away from his skull. The beast who was with you a moment ago suddenly converted back into a five-year-old boy, flinging his temper around.

“Follow the damn script, you dumbass,” Zeke said, slamming the script to his chest. He tossed his glare towards you, scolding you just the same.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized before he could utter a word, slightly bowing your head.

“Look, guys,” Zeke sighed, a bit wearily. “I’m all about sweet romance in real life, okay? Go ahead and ask my wife. She’ll tell you how good and romantic I am during our lovemaking sessions.”

Eren made a face at this point, sticking out his tongue in disgust while mumbling, “Eww, what the fuck,” under his breath.

With a flush creeping up his cheeks, Zeke fixed his glasses and continued with, “But we’re making porn, all right? People don't want to see romance. They want to see passion.”

“Was I not passionate enough?” Eren opposed.

“You shut the fuck up. I’m talking to the real pornstars here.”

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Fucking monke."

“I’m sorry,” you spoke on Eren’s behalf, though you found his little pout and protest to be adorable. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It better be. Follow the script, okay? Appreciate your screenwriter. Oluo had his dick in one hand and a pen in the other when he wrote this. Don’t disappoint him. Also,” the director gestured his hand toward Pieck and Porco who were sitting awkwardly on the bed. “You kinda forgot these two existed,” Zeke finished before he strode away. “We’ll take a ten minute break. I need to cry in the bathroom for a sec.”

Pieck had an impish smile written on her lips, eager to tease you about whatever it was that happened between you and Eren before. Porco looked like he was ready to hang himself dead after what he just witnessed.

“Oh my God, guys, I’m so sorry,” you said with a wince, blood rushing fast to your face.

“I don’t know what the hell just happened,” Pieck said, about to break into giggles. “But damn, that was intense. I almost fingered myself while watching you guys. That was hot.”

Porco grimaced. “I feel like I just watched my parents have sex.”

“I’m sorry,” you and Eren both said in unison before your gazes met and you exchanged sheepish smiles.

Porco, noticing the tension, grabbed Pieck by her elbow. “Let’s get away from here before they start fucking each other again.”

As they climbed down the bed and made their way to their stylists, you could faintly hear Pieck ask, “Why do you never fuck me like that, Pokko?”

“Hey, I’ve always wanted to fuck you like that, you know that. I just thought you wouldn’t be into it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be into it? I love romantic stuff.”

“Hard to figure that out when every time we’re about to have sex, you’re so eager to ram a plastic dick inside my ass.”

“Oh yeah, true, I like that one better.”

“What the hell are they talking about?” Eren asked with a frown and you laughed. He spun his head around to see your face contorted in joy, his own lips mirroring your smile, just as delicate and sweet.

“So, umm…” you began, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth again as you looked down, feeling somewhat diffident to stare at him in the eyes after what just happened. “That was fun.”

Seeing you act shy made him feel just as abashed but Eren took the lead by reaching out his hand, carding his fingers through your strands before he tucked your hair behind your ear to get a clear view of your face. “Did it feel good?” His gaze softened as he asked the question.

It warmed your heart. “It did. I’ve never felt that good before during filming.”

Eren’s stare drifted down to your lips. He pressed his thumb against the corner of your mouth, stopping you from chewing on your lip. “Don’t do that.”

“Huh?” You blinked before you understood what he meant. “Oh, sorry. It’s a habit of mine. I used to bite my lip until it got all swollen whenever I felt nervous.” You didn’t mean to reveal something personal about yourself, and it made you feel mortified. “It’s weird, huh?”

“No, it’s…” Eren glided the pad of his thumb across your lower lip, entranced by how soft they were, how sweet they tasted, how beautiful you were. “It’s hot.”

“It’s hot?”

“Yeah, uhh—” He retracted his hand, scratching his nape as he averted his gaze. “Whenever you did that, you looked so sexy, I couldn’t—I couldn’t think of anything else but—” He stopped himself.

“But what?”

He turned a bit jittery before he let out a harsh breath, and the next thing you knew, your mouths met again. He kissed you until his lips were numb, kissed you until he couldn’t think straight anymore, kissed you until you had the hardest time trying to open your eyes, too drowned in the sweetness of his kiss to step back into reality.

“But to do this,” he finished his sentence when he broke away, pressing his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes and breathed in your scent. “You are—”

“Excuse me.” Zeke popped up right beside you, startling you enough to have you jump out of your skins. Your director stared flatly at you both. “Do you guys need anything? A condom, probably? With the way you’re eye-fucking each other right now, you’re gonna get your eyeballs pregnant.”

“I’m—I need to fix my makeup.” You hastily jumped down the bed, your face sizzling hot.

Eren, while strangling Zeke with one arm, shouted before you could walk too far. “I meant it!”

You turned around just enough to catch his smile. “Meant what?”

“The words I said to you.” He tapped a finger to his ear, referring to the time he whispered his line to you in his native language. You were a mess, your face aflame as you quickly pivoted on your heels, marching away from the spot.

Du bist der schönste Engel, den ich je gesehen habe.

You're the prettiest angel I’ve ever seen.

***

Eren’s leg bounces up and down the floor, as he waits restlessly in the silence of the room they keep him locked in during your interview.

When you first arrived on the set, he could hear the sound of your heels clicking against the marbled floor, could feel the way his heart rate just escalated to the roof when your melodious voice echoed faintly through the hallway. He placed one ear against the door, catching the words, “Oh, I’m not allowed to see him until we’re filming the scene? Oh, gosh…”

“Yes. Why, is there a problem?” He could make out Hange’s voice.

“No, it’s just…” Your giggles sounded as pretty as they were nervous. “I’m so excited, my fingers are shaking.”

His flush crept up his face so fast, it left him woozy. Eren was this close at throwing himself on the bed and screaming his feelings into his pillow (until he realized that he wasn’t in his apartment and he shouldn't… act like a thirteen-year-old girl in public).

So I’m not the only one who feels this way, he pondered, sighing dreamily as he rested his skull against the door.

Your interview takes a while and Eren spends the entire time thinking about how to impress you at the first glance. Should he enter the room with his chin tilted up high? Girls dig cocky guys, right? Or should he greet you with a sexy “Hey, baby, you missed me?” Maybe even throw a wink?

Ugh, that sounds so gross, he groans to himself, actually giving himself chills. Groggier than ever, he starts to grind his teeth against his thumbnail. He knows that he should just be himself but being himself means he’s going to act like a fucking lovesick idiot that he is. But you found him cute like that, didn’t you? So should he do that? Keep acting like an idiot? That is not reassuring in the slightest.

And how would you behave around him? How would you look? Do you wear your hair down? Are you dressed in a cute pair of lingerie that makes you look like an innocent little princess like in that video you did with Armin? God, Eren would love that. Actually, you can literally be dressed in a stupid hot dog costume and he would still want to ravish you just the same.

But what if you’re already naked when he walks into the room?

The mental image of you… lying down on the bed… your smile inviting... maybe you'll bite the corner of your lip, turning docile at the sight of him staring at you…

“I’ve missed you, Ren…” he imagines you saying with your hand sliding down the sheets. “Come here and make love to me.”

Oh shit, he can already feel his blood rushing south. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

“Mr. Jaeger?”

“Fuck me!” Eren screeches as he jumps to his feet, his heart rising in his throat. To say that he was startled would be an understatement. “Shit, man, you scared me.”

Moblit is just as surprised, if not more. Peeking his head through the door like a scared little deer, he says, “Uh.. I’ve knocked twice.”

“Right, sorry, I was just—” The brunette clears his throat, taking a deep breath and hoping that the male assistant wouldn’t notice the way his cock is already straining against his jeans. “Never mind. What’s up?”

“They just finished the interview, so, umm… Whenever you’re ready.”

“I can just go to her room now?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s waiting for me there?”

“Yeah.”

“Naked?” Eren can’t help but ask, but the second Moblit sends him a judging look, he quickly adds, “Just ignore me. Let’s go.”

He follows him to the hallway as Moblit explains the procedures. “Hange and I, along with two cameramen will be there in the room during filming but we’re going to give you a few minutes to greet each other before we start shooting. Of course, we’ve set up a few cameras in the room to record your conversation but we want to make it look as natural as possible, so we’ll give you some time alone.”

“Umm… Okay, cool.” Eren’s not sure if it would be better for his heart or not. Probably worse.

They meet Hange on the way to your room. She beams at him, reaching out her hands to fix his collar like how a mother would do. “Who’s ready to have mind-blowing sex?” She chirps, teasing him with a filthy grin.

“S-shut up.”

“You don’t have any reason to be nervous, you know,” she comforts him, patting his cheeks like a child. “She’s just as excited as you are. Just be yourself and show her a good time.”

Her assurance only adds more load to his chest. Hange notices the way he balls his fingers into fists, fixating his gaze to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” Eren mumbles timorously. “I’m probably nervous because I’m too excited about it but, like… Everything they told me about how great I am in bed just goes right out of the window right now, and I’m here thinking what if it’s all lies? What if I’m not as good as they say I am?”

“God, you’re so adorable, it's annoying.” Hange groans in the air before she slams both hands on his shoulders, squeezing them tight. “Eren, the first time you held her in bed, you gave her one of the best fucks of her life. Now, you don’t hear this from me, but—” She stood on her toes, whispering in his ear. “She touched herself while watching your videos.”

She did what?!

He can't believe it. His brain actually refuses to believe it. You, touching yourself while watching his videos? Just like he did every night to yours? That's insane. But eventually, the thought sinks in and the second it does, Eren’s jaw drops low on his face, his mind stops functioning. Well, it does help in reducing his anxiety, but now, all he can think about is the picture of you fucking yourself with your fingers, moaning, "Ah, Ren, please, I need you inside me,” preferably with tears coating your eyes.

If Hange squints her eyes enough, she could probably see the way his soul is leaving his body. "I see you're having fun with the mental images I'm giving you."

That slaps him out of his stupor. “She—did she really—she did?”

“Several times, yeah.” She pushes him toward the room, bidding her final farewell with a playful kick to the back of his knees. “So, go in there and have some fun. You both deserve it.”

Eren stops right before your room, facing a double door with his damp palms pressed against the side of his jeans. You got this, he chants in his head. You got this. Just be yourself. Just be an idiot like you usually are, it’s fine.

Taking another deep breath, Eren curls his fingers around one of the doorknobs and pushes his body forward—

Only to have his head knocked against the wood. Stepping back with his nose turning red and throbbing from the pain, a confused frown breaks on his temple. The door is locked.

“Why is it—” It rattles hard as he tries to unlock it, pushing his body forward against the door a few times before he hears your voice calling from inside the room.

“Try the other one,” you tell him, and Eren stiffens, pausing for two seconds before he moves his hand to the other knob. The door opens with a click.

Hange’s laughter rings from the end of the hallway, followed by, “Oh my God, he’s an idiot!”

Yeah, Eren thinks, maybe don’t be too much of an idiot.

***

Next Chapter

Hi, there! Thank you for reading the first chapter of the mini series I've been working on with Sandra from @smfics. I'm in charge of chapter 1 and 2, and she will take over and write the next two chapters. So if you guys haven't followed her blog, be sure to click that button 'cause we'll be posting chapter 3 and 4 over there! I hope you guys enjoyed it ❤️

Huge thanks to my best girl Lisa @imjustsomebodyelse for translating Eren's words for me LMAO I'm so sorry I had to bother you with this. I love you, baby ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you enjoyed the little pokopiku scene I threw in here hehe

Tagging:

@l6ffys @vivi-et @halparkebitch @fwess @littlemochi @thebeardedmoon @didiyogo @coyloves @erenbean @tehehebri @justasketch @infnteen @naiomiwinchester @spiderlingh @doyochii @ahornyenby @aengelren @sakurashell @the-princess-button @resonancesoul @blrqt @cacapeepee @persyhange @jaegersdiary @erentoes @trashgremlin36 @meed18 @j0livi0ni @snowflake-201 @jaymihawk @eva-gates @claudevonstrukesblog @sofijaeger @rinsie @blanccofiie @ereninbunu @natanialora @khinjito @ackersune @watermelon-online @tropicsoda @damselofblueroses @alexackrman @bblgumz @jurrasicpork @erenjaegercult @holycandypizza thank you for reading, lovelies ❤️

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luminnara · 3 years

Text

It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader part one 18+ only

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Warnings: NSFW, knotting, abo, smut, mild dubcon

Request are OPEN! I would love to write more Bucky stuff!

Also posted on AO3

Part one | Part Two | Part three |

In a world full of massive, snarling, strong alphas, nobody wanted to use something as small and physically weak as an omega to do war. Omegas were better suited for other things, like nurturing, and giving life. The alphas were the ones who fought and maimed and killed and protected and hunted. It wasn’t even until relatively recently that omegas even had many rights in the modern world, and there were still plenty of traditionalists who stuck to the old ideals. Omegas were for breeding and claiming and little more. Though those ideas were fading, there would always be those who believed that there were things omegas couldn’t and shouldn’t do--

And fighting was at the top of that list.

Omegas weren’t built for it. They were sturdy, sure, to help them withstand the ruts of big alphas who couldn’t control themselves, but they were generally small, and, many believed, unable to fend for themselves. Their role, their purpose, was to be claimed and bred by big strong alphas, and that was that. It made sense; after all, someone needed to stay and care for the pups, or else there would be little chance of survival. Throughout most of history, survival wasn’t something that was ever guaranteed, and having a secondary gender that was intended for rearing offspring greatly increased the likelihood that pups would make it to adulthood. Alphas were bigger and stronger, natural leaders, always ready to fight and defend their territory and their pack, and omegas were always there to carry the young.

And that was that. Omegas weren’t meant to be warriors. Their only place on the battlefield was in the medic tent, where they could tend to wounded alphas and betas. It was nearly unheard of in many places for there to be omega soldiers, even infantry.

Until the twentieth century.

The catastrophic proportions of both World Wars brought with them an all hands on deck mentality. In the states, male omegas were being drafted along with the others, newly-invented heat and rut suppressants meaning that they could all work together without the danger of blunders thanks to anyone’s natural cycle. Back home, not only were alpha and beta women suddenly flooding the workforce while the men were overseas, but omegas were joining them. It was unprecedented, and began to change many minds. Maybe omegas were useful for more than incubators. Maybe they could work.

They still weren’t the best choice for hands on, tactical things, though. While there were omegas in the army, they rarely became officers, because who was going to want to listen to them? They weren’t natural born fighters, and they were hardwired to obey alphas. They were better as battle fodder, extras to pad out the numbers. They certainly weren’t anyone’s first choice for special missions or programs.

Well...almost anyone’s.

When HYDRA got their soldier and programmed his brain, they were pleased. The big alpha, James Buchanan Barnes, had survived the super soldier serum, and with his mind wiped and his old life far away from him, he was the perfect assassin. The Winter Soldier was strong, well trained, and easy to control, when given the proper commands. The serum made him practically unkillable, and he had the speed and strength to rival that annoying Captain America.

Unfortunately, the serum also made his ruts much harder to suppress. HYDRA would never permit him to settle down with an omega, of course not...but an omega was the only thing that could ease his rut cycle. Without one, he could spend a week snarling and pining, absolutely useless. With one, he was only out of the field for a few days. Until they could develop better suppressants, their only solution was to give him an omega.

Unfortunately, they weren’t very good at surviving him.

He didn’t like any of them, not really. He never meant to kill them, never really tried, but HYDRA had a habit of starving the poor things before they tossed them into the lion’s den, and they just couldn’t keep up. The soldier used them to alleviate his ruts, always mechanical in his movements, and that was that.

HYDRA didn’t particularly care whether the omegas lived or died, but they did reach a point where it was getting to be a bit ridiculous to catch so many for their soldier. Someone along the way had the bright idea to simply make a stronger omega, one who could withstand their asset’s forcefulness. Giving the serum to an omega was such a ridiculous idea that it just might work, and so they did, and oh, did they get lucky with the omega they chose.

Taking scent samples from several omegas they already had, they presented them to the soldier, allowing him to choose. It was, perhaps, the one time they had ever given him a sense of autonomy over himself and his life. It was the one time he had any freedom, despite the incredibly controlled circumstances.

While strapped down to a familiar chair, he watched the doctors pacing around. He was expecting the familiar agony of having his mind refreshed before a new mission, or maybe even the chill of preparation to go into cryo for a few years until he was needed again. Instead, they presented him with strong-smelling test tubes, each one unmistakably omega. He inhaled their scents with mild interest, none seeming to particularly stand out...until they reached the last.

Amoretta Arancini was a young adult female omega, whose file stated that she was “a kicker.” From the moment she had been captured with the intent to be given to the soldier for a rut, she had clawed and kicked and bitten at anyone and everyone who came into contact with her. She was nearly impossible to deal with, and had the soldier not immediately flared his nostrils and strained against the leather straps that held him down, she would have been finally put down.

Neither she nor Bucky knew it, but he was the only reason she was allowed to live.

The soldier was placed back into his usual cell, and the doctors set about gathering the unruly omega he had chosen. It only made sense that the big, killer alpha would go for a positively savage little monster of an omega, after all.

They administered the serum, unsure whether an omega would even survive it, and by the time their soldier’s next rut came around, she was ready. If she could withstand him, she would have a purpose within HYDRA, and they would be able to stop wasting so much time on finding new omegas for him to burn through.

She was given double the suppressants he was. They didn’t care if she experienced side effects; after all, her only job was to present herself to the soldier at the start of every rut. She didn’t need to be out in the field. If that meant she was groggy and nauseous all the time, who cared? It seemed to work, keeping her heat and fertility at bay while leaving her lucid enough to get the asset through his cycle. The last thing HYDRA needed was an unscheduled heat or pregnancy to deal with.

“The asset is entering his rut. Bring in the omega.” A voice on the intercom said.

An alarm blared, a door slowly screeching open, revealing a cold cell, bare save for the cot against the wall. It was a cell specifically used to hold the soldier during his ruts, and now, it would also hold Amoretta.

She stumbled along, a beta guard with a cattle prod stalking behind her. She was naked, having been allowed to shower before meeting the soldier for the first time, her dark hair still damp as it fell behind her shoulders. It was the cleanest her skin had felt in weeks, so she could only be so angry about it...but she was still angry.

With the threat of electricity behind her, she entered the empty cell. A door slammed shut the moment she stepped in, another sliding open on the other side of the small room.

His scent hit her like a freight train. Motor oil, earth, and cloves...Amoretta’s lip raised in a sneer, partly because she had a feeling she knew what was coming, and partly so that she could try to disguise the way she suddenly began salivating.

Sure enough, just as she suspected, the biggest alpha she had ever seen in her life came stalking in, eyes dark and wild as he searched for the omega he had smelled on his way in. His chest was heaving, sweat prickling his brow, and as his musky rut-scent wove around Amoretta, she swallowed hard. She definitely knew what was coming next.

She had never seen the asset before, but she had heard whispers and seen the other omegas they offered up to him. Before she was injected with the serum, she lived in a cramped cell with several others, and whenever someone was dragged out, it was always a toss up whether they would return or not. When they did return, they were never in good shape.

Now she could see why.

He was predatory in his movements, dark hair falling in his eyes as he stalked toward her. The door slammed shut the moment he was clear of it, and suddenly, Amoretta was trapped with him. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide from what was quite possibly the most dangerous alpha in the world. If he decided he wanted her, she would have no choice. If he decided he didn’t want her...she would probably die, either by his hand, or HYDRA’s.

She stood as still as she could, watching him with level eyes as he sized her up. A large part of her was surprised that he hadn’t pounced yet, and as a low rumble started up in his chest, she sort of wished he would. The sound went straight to her core, her thighs pressing together of their own free will while she did everything she could to keep from biting her lip.

His nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal mounted and he pressed himself up against her. The soldier was still looking her over, taking a surprisingly long time to examine the omega standing before him, especially considering that he was rutting. He slowly lowered his head, inhaling deeply, brushing his nose over the scent gland on her neck. The rumbling in his chest grew louder, and this time, Amoretta couldn’t help the needy whine that escaped her throat.

The soldier’s hot tongue swept over her gland, his hands gripping her hips. He liked how she smelled. He liked how her flesh tasted.

He wanted more.

He gave her a small shove towards the cot, but as he did so, this little omega glaring up at him actually snapped. She bared her little teeth at him, trying to tell him to slow down, and he responded with a snarl of his own. His tore through his throat, a savage noise, and while it shut her up, it didn’t get rid of the harsh look she was shooting at him.

The asset wasn’t used to anyone, especially the omegas that HYDRA offered up to him, talking back. They usually went belly up for him the moment he stepped into the cell, behaving and presenting themselves for him to take. That’s what he preferred--a willing omega, whom he could enjoy for a few days. He didn’t like...whatever was going on here. Why was this one so upset with him? He wanted this omega to relax, to take him easily. His mind, usually so analytical and tactical, was clouded by his rut, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Amoretta saw the way that he hesitated and she lowered the lip she had raised. So he was capable of listening, after all. That was a good sign that he had some control over himself. Ever so slowly, she relaxed, allowing him to give her a little nudge. It was impressive that he was allowing her to set the pace, especially considering that his musky scent was growing heavier by the second. She definitely hadn’t expected him to be at all interested in what she wanted, and she had been pretty sure that he would just push her down and take what he considered his.

He was almost...gentle, though. Gentler than she thought possible from such a big alpha, at least. She turned and walked toward the cot of her own accord, knowing full well that she didn’t have much choice in how all of this was going to play out. If she was going to be knotted today, then she might as well try to enjoy it, right?

The way his scent made her mouth water gave her the feeling that that wouldn’t be too hard.

The soldier watched her with predatory eyes, following every movement closely. Absentmindedly, a hand drifted down to the loose pants he had been provided, palming his already hard cock through the fabric. He liked this omega. He liked how she looked, how she smelled, how she moved...he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her hips as they swayed slightly, a pleased rumble rising in his throat. He knew what was coming next, and he couldn’t wait. He was aching to be inside of her, to fill her up, to knot her...he wanted to make this omega his, and take care of her, and protect her, and he’d be damned if his captors got in the way of that.

Amoretta climbed onto the cot, her back still turned to the most dangerous alpha on the planet. All too aware that she was completely naked, she crawled onto her hands and knees, dipping down until her chest hit the sheets, her ass up in the air for him. Her primal, omega brain was clamoring for this chance to present before such a big, strong, handsome alpha, and as the cool air tickled at her, she couldn’t help but let out a shrill, needy whine. He was taking too long, and part of her was genuinely worried that he was going to reject her. She was doing everything right, she was submitting, she was in a very vulnerable position...so why wasn’t he already on top of her?

A tiny bead of slick trickled down her thigh as she glanced back to see him standing there with his hand on his bulge. Oh. So that’s what he was doing instead of jumping on her. At least he was turned on by the sight of her...right?

Wait. Why did she care? Why did she care at all what this terrifying alpha thought about her? This terrifying, big, strong...nice smelling...alpha…

If she weren’t on so many suppressants, she was absolutely sure her heat would have started then and there. He was so goddamn handsome, standing there all shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Her body wanted him, she wanted him, and if her hormones were allowed to do what they wanted, they would have been absolutely raging.

His nostrils were flared as he took in her scent, his blue eyes wild and his pupils totally blown out as he finally stalked towards her. His movements were brisk, filled with purpose, the bulge in his pants clearly visible even as she craned her neck to look back at him.

“A-alpha,” she whined, warmth rushing through her as she spoke.

The sound of her voice seemed to have an effect on him, a shudder rolling through his body.

“‘Mega,” he growled, voice impossibly low. “My ‘mega. So obedient...good girl.”

His words had her trembling.

All at once, he was shoving his pants down and grabbing for her hips, rubbing the length of his cock over her lips. She keened, more and more slick running down her thighs as he pressed the head inside of her. Even though she was loaded up on suppressants, her body wanted him, her cunt already dripping wet and relaxed enough to accommodate his sizable girth.

Still, the feeling of him stretching her out was absolutely delicious, eliciting a filthy moan that came pouring from her lips as she buried her head against the sheets. He wasn’t gentle by any means, thrusting into her as far as he could go before pulling back out roughly. His pace was harsh and quick, his body immediately caging her in as his chest pressed into her back. He was possessive, trying to hide her from the surveillance cameras he knew were situated in the upper corners of the cell. He didn’t want anyone else to see his omega, especially not while she was beneath him like this. She was his, and his alone.

As rough as he was, he was still paying attention to her. Somewhat, at least. He was well aware by this point that she was tougher than the other omegas HYDRA had given him, and he took the opportunity to sink into her deeper, fuck her better than he normally could have. She could take him, all of him, without complaint. She could withstand his harsh grip on her hair as he pulled her head up and forced her back to arch. She didn’t have any problems accepting what was happening to her, her body responding to him happily.

“Such a good omega,” he grunted, forcing his cock even further into her.

“I-I want your knot,” she whimpered, her voice surprisingly demanding considering the position she was in. “Fill me up, Alpha…”

How could he deny her?

When he had spilled his seed inside of her and his knot had inflated to a nearly painful extent, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her to his chest as he laid them both down on the cot. He was happy with his choice, with his omega. She was everything he wanted, and as his rut continued for the next few days, he had his way with her again, and again, and again, before HYDRA separated them once more.

The soldier snarled and roared, refusing to be taken away, but as soon as they recited his trigger words, he was compliant. Amoretta listened and watched, eyes wide as they led him away. She had only spent one rut with him, but she was already head over heels, her heart aching and pining for her alpha to come back to her.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #abo #omegaverse #avengers x reader #avengers x oc #bucky barnes #it's been a long long time

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: For transgender dancers, progress can't come fast enough

Date: March 8, 2020

By: Avichai Scher

Sean Dorsey was tired of being the only transgender dancer in the room. So he took the bold step of starting his own company, the San Francisco-based Sean Dorsey Dance, and become the first openly trans director of a full-time dance company. It was a milestone for transgender and gender-nonconforming dancers and choreographers, and Dorsey hoped it would lead to a more inclusive dance world.

The company is celebrating its 15th anniversary this year, yet Dorsey remains the only openly trans artistic director of a full-time dance company in the country.

“We’ve definitely made progress since I started, when there was really no context for institutional or social support of trans dancers,” Dorsey said. “But there’s still a major lack of representation across the dance world.”

Dance, especially older forms such as ballet and modern dance, is mostly structured around strict gender lines. While the growing acceptance of transgender people in the United States has extended somewhat into the art form, trans dancers are often forced to choose between being their authentic selves and career opportunities.

Issues start in training

Dorsey’s choreography often deals with trans issues, and he is committed to being an advocate in the dance world for transgender people. But even in his own company, Dorsey is the only trans performer.

“In San Francisco, at least, I don’t have the luxury of holding an audition for trans dancers,” he said. “There just aren’t very many at the professional level.”

Dorsey said this is largely because barriers for trans and gender-nonconforming dancers start at a young age — as most training programs are gender-specific.

Jayna Ledford, 19, made headlines when she came out as transgender in an Instagram post in 2018. She was studying at the Kirov Ballet Academy at the time, a traditional ballet program in Washington, D.C. It was the first time a dancer at an acclaimed ballet school had publicly come out as trans.

Classes at Kirov, like most ballet conservatories, are generally separated by sex assigned at birth, and when students are combined, teachers offer different steps for men and women. Ledford, however, found ways to get the training that matched her gender identity, including dancing on her toes in special pointe shoes, which is done almost exclusively by women and requires unique training.

“I wanted to do what the females were doing,” she said. “I’d do it on the side and not pay attention to what the guys were doing. I’d also stay after class and practice pointe technique with my female friends.”

She hadn’t had the training other females at the school had, but she was hoping to transfer from the men’s program to the women’s.

“I knew I had a lot of catching up to do in terms of pointe work,” she said. “But just being in the room with the females, that’s what I wanted.”

The Kirov Academy told Ledford she could not join the women’s program unless she physically transitioned. Ledford was not ready for that, so she left the school. She was disappointed but now says she understands the academy’s position. The school confirmed Ledford’s account but declined to comment.

Maxfield Haynes, 22, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, said the large, prestigious ballet school where they trained was not supportive of someone presenting as male wearing pointe shoes.

It wasn’t until Haynes enrolled at Tisch School of the Arts at New York University that they were able to explore the more feminine aspects of ballet technique. Ledford also found higher education to be more supportive than a conservatory. She now studies at Montclair State University and practices pointe technique daily.

Lack of professional opportunities

After NYU, Haynes chose to dance with Complexions Contemporary Ballet partially because the company is explicitly supportive of gender fluidity, and even had a specific role for Haynes that is gender-nonconforming. In the David Bowie tribute piece, “Stardust,” Haynes dons pointe shoes and was partnered with male dancers.

“It was everything I could have dreamed of,” Haynes said of the role. “As nonbinary, I like to get to show all aspects of gender. I don’t think about dancing like a man or a woman, just myself.”

Opportunities to dance roles that are gender-nonconforming are rare in the concert dance world, even if dancers are becoming more open about being gender-nonconforming in their offstage lives. And those who want to physically transition face a stark choice, as none of the major dance companies in the U.S. currently have openly transgender dancers on their rosters.

Alby Sabrina Pretto recently made the difficult choice to begin physically transitioning with hormone replacement therapy at the expense of her performing career. She was a dancer with Les Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, an all-male comedy troupe, for eight years. While she got to dance in pointe shoes, the style of the company is rooted in the comedy of men portraying women, which ultimately wasn’t how Pretto identified.

“There were moments I wanted to do things like a ballerina would and be ethereal and pretty,” Pretto said. “To dance like a woman.”

She knew that physically transitioning would mean she could not continue with the company.

“I wanted to have a career, and that slowed down my decision to transition,” Pretto said. “I waited until I felt like I had done what I wanted to do there.”

Liz Harler, general manager of Les Ballet Trockadero, said in a statement that transitioning does not disqualify dancers from the company.

“Dancers who expressed interest in transitioning to female have been told that their job would not be in jeopardy, though none have chosen to do so while continuing with the Trocks’ rigorous dancing and touring schedule,” Harler said.

Both Ledford and Pretto hope for the day when they can attend an audition and be hired without having to explain their gender identity.

Ledford said. “I’ll audition as any other woman. If I get in, then I’ll sit down and talk with them.”

Ledford is “optimistic” that this can happen in the next few years, but Pretto isn’t so sure.

“I am not naive, I know I cannot just audition for a major ballet company and join the female corps de ballet,” Pretto said. “But I would love for that to happen for me. It’s the ultimate dream.”

Her skepticism is partly based on the experience of her former Trockadero colleague, Chase Johnsey, who is gender fluid. He made headlines in 2018 when he was cast in a female ensemble role in the English National Ballet’s production of “Sleeping Beauty,” though it was not on pointe, and the heavy costume concealed his body. No additional female roles came his way afterward.

The question of who gets opportunities as a dancer often comes down to the taste of directors and producers and what they imagine their audiences want to see, not just ability.

Pretto danced a couple of character roles recently with Eglevsky Ballet, a growing ballet ensemble on Long Island, New York. The director, Maurice Brandon Curry, said he would consider Pretto for a female ensemble role next year, because her pointe work is “excellent,” though he wonders how some in the audience will react.

“Casting Alby in a female role would not be about passing as female, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my concern about an audience member who was offended,” Curry said. “But art is not prejudice; it’s about inclusivity and open minds. If someone is not willing to have that experience, they don’t have a legitimate place in our audiences.”

Signs of change

Dorsey said that even having discussions about gender identity in dance is progress from when he started, and he’s encouraged by changes he’s seen: Most theaters either already have gender-neutral restrooms or create them for his company’s visit; trans and gender-nonconforming students attend his workshops in various cities and share with him their efforts to be accepted in their dance communities; the San Francisco Ballet persuaded him to lead a training session on gender identity in dance; and he was on the cover of Dance Magazine.

Ledford was recently a “Gaynor Girl,” a spokesperson for the popular pointe shoe brand Gaynor Minded. Pretto said she worked up the courage to use the ladies' locker room at one of New York’s busiest studios, Steps on Broadway, and no one seemed to mind.

Still, the art form has not yet caught up to reflect the audience, Dorsey said. His company has worked in over 30 cities in the U.S. and abroad, and he is usually the first trans choreographer a theater has presented. But he said the response from audiences is almost always positive.

“Dance audiences are ready and hungry for trans voices,” he said. “It's our dance institutions that are still catching up.”

#article #ballet #an article from last year but still important #sean dorsey #jayna ledford #maxfield haynes #alby sabrina pretto

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septembersghost · 3 years

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One thing that has always frustrated me about the shippers in Supernatural fandom is the entitlement when it comes to Dean. They act like if their favorite character shows an interest in Dean (such as Cas or Crowley) he is obligated to return those feelings and he's a bad person if he doesn't - that is such a horrible "nice guy" attitude to have and you can bet it wouldn't happen if Dean was female. Also, this rule only seems to apply to Dean which is even more frustrating!

I actually think fandom would still do this to Dean if he were, say, Deanna, but otherwise written in the same way, and I say this mostly because I've experienced fandom love triangles with heroines and each "side" or "team" is typically awful about her agency and choices, and is absolutely certain they're right and the man they prefer is the only correct option. if she chooses differently, or is conflicted, fandom often turns on her. (an example of this in semi-recent popular media on the same network is Elena Gilbert, and she has a lot of thematic similarities to Dean.) that said, some of the more extreme shippers can and do get away with this by virtue of Dean being a man in more insidious ways. (Cas "baby-trapping" him, and fandom approving of this, despite his history of abuse and parentification, is a rather odious take, to name one.) it is, undeniably, a very male dominated show, and Dean gets placed into that role of caretaker often (the "you take care of everyone, but who takes care of you?" idea). because he's a man, it's used in the narrative more obliquely on occasion than it is with women, but it's very much present, and is a similar vein of entitlement over his choices and his care.

Dean's love is desirable, which makes him coveted, and the narrative often leans into this in an askew way where we see the other characters wanting/longing for him, and Dean seemingly not giving back what they long for, and it leads to...I think a certain amount of projection from people who strongly prefer one ship or another. again, this is totally not me bashing shipping, there's nothing wrong with it (Dean is lovable and charismatic and imminently shippable), but the WAY some of spn fandom handles it, it's like...Dean becomes something less than a person to them. an object, a trophy to be won, a chew toy for the others to fight over.

@cacophony-of-notions and I had some thoughts about this here: https://septembersghost.tumblr.com/post/657092330818551808/the-divine-aspect-of-his-love-and-the-way-its

Everyone wants Dean’s love. It is craved by almost everyone in the story. When another character feels they don’t or can’t have his love, it often accompanies depression. I think as a result, in the narrative, he almost came to represent the idea of being able to be loved at all. Fans feel that, even if they don’t recognize it, and thus when Dean doesn’t love unconditionally, some tend to resent him for it. It feels like a reflection of the inherent worth of another person to them.

I think there's an aspect of this that becomes almost internalized - Dean doesn't love [character] enough, and this hurts them/makes them sad and thus it hurts [the person who ships them] -> Dean is mean and terrible. it's not fair nor entirely rational (and, like, admittedly, I love Dean very much and consider him important to me, and thus defend him, so is that rational? are any of us normal about the cw's supernatural?!), but I think that level of shipping causes this sort of team mentality where if you're not obviously WINNING, then you must be losing, and no one likes to feel that. and if Cas or Crowley or Sam or whomever loves him and he isn't loving them back enough or correctly, then it's Dean's ~fault~. Dean becomes the problem in a situation he didn't even ask for and which often isn't even explicit text. they want Dean to build up their chosen character and can't stand if he doesn't, or if he turns his attention elsewhere, or if he tries to establish a needed boundary. this leads to him being called selfish and repressed and cruel, though that isn't the case.

and of course we're naturally inclined to want happiness and, when it comes to ships, some measure of fulfillment - we're wired by so much media to crave the swelling strings and the romantic realization and the kiss (and the confession here did happen! it's odd how some, not all, but some, are willing to dismiss the meaning of that, because I do appreciate the scene itself for being beautiful and important, and achieving what it was meant to achieve, even if its ultimate value was obliterated by the ending. the reciprocation isn't the POINT there. speaking the truth and letting Dean hear the words is the point, happiness is just saying it! what he needed MOST was to internalize it. I digress) - and that idea of ship culmination was always a losing game with spn for multiple reasons, some of which are obvious and some of which are a bit murkier.

you mentioned it being a Nice Guy attitude, and it very much IS, but I don't think a lot of fandom even realizes they're doing that, especially given that we would (and should) balk at that in real life. but if you look at [insert character here] and think, "oh, he just wants to be LOVED by DEAN," it puts Dean into this trap of seeming callous if he doesn't dole that out unconditionally, which, again, is unfair to him. (notably, this is almost always only done with the other men. I've never seen Dean accused of not loving Lisa or Jo or Cassie "enough," if his love for them is acknowledged and validated at all. this is, of course, a whole other issue.)

Dean as this siren and sacred heart and lure of desire in the narrative leads to a lot of clamoring for his affection and disappointment when it isn't received, and this easily turns into reducing him/calling him names/saying he doesn't "deserve" the others, and so on. we don't often see these standards placed upon the others because the relationships that exist with them aren't measured in the same way (no one is going to get mad at Sam for not falling on his knees in loving supplication for Cas, even if people ship them, it simply is not the way Sam is viewed, nor Cas for that matter). (Crowley is kind of a hilarious case because he has this undeniably pathetic crush and gets to hang out with demon!Dean, but demon!Dean doesn't give an actual damn about him). Dean loves the other characters very much (idk he tolerates Crowley for most of his time lol, but it's not because Dean is a bad person, it's because Crowley is...Crowley and the King of Hell). there is absolutely NEVER a doubt that he loves Sam and he loves Cas and he would do anything for them, lay his life on the line for them. this doesn't mean he's obligated to bend to their every whim or immediately forgive everything they do, but fandom has this expectation that he should or he's wrong, and that is the danger of being the object of affection. it can lead to obsession, possessiveness, and jealousy. (which, again, is VERY similar to the way many many heroines - gothic heroines particularly strike a chord here - are treated in other stories.)

my friend Vicky just said, "dean is the sun and everyone wants him to shine on their faves too." it's that craving of the warmth of light and love and home, wanting him to give it back, and feeling cold in its supposed absence.

edit: I'm including this quote I just reblogged because an element of this idea strikes so close to this subject.

if the act of desiring is, in effect, surrendering a part of yourself, and an audience member is responding to what they see as that offering, they want the missing piece filled, the question answered. what this doesn't address is the burden and the fragility this places upon the desired. thus, you get this conflict. will that loving piece be given back? suddenly the beloved's vulnerability easily becomes liability. the question for the person who is receiving the tremendous need of those pieces, and yet who perhaps isn't being heard or addressed as he is carving himself into parts, isn't asked or considered. he's left carrying that weight.

#anonymous #letterbox #and yet again dear anon i hope this makes any measure of sense. love to analyze with all of you!#me and answering asks at 3 or 4 am name a more tension filled duo <3 #fandom discourse #spn for ts

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aristeiakira · 2 years

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Hello! May I request a Tokyo revengers classic matchup? (i prefer to be matched with a male) My interests are baking, cooking, listening to music, singing and dancing! I may seem closed and reserved at first but I am very much talkative! I have no problem initiating conversations. My friends describe me as the mom friend, I am optimistic and I really like that about myself :D I am a person of simple pleasure, so that makes me easy to please. I am also very lethargic and tend to procrastinate. I believe in the idea of true love and soulmates! Like 'The one for me' is somewhere out there

Thank you and have a lovely day!

A Classic Matchup ♡

- You received Mitsuya Takashi!

- Your interests are definitely the foundation of your relationship, having interests that you’re passionate about brings the two of you closer, you know those times where you just ‘click’ with a person? That was how it was with him.

- From a simple, short, and polite hello, it turned to a complex, long, and comfortable conversation. From a minute to an hour- which you didn’t notice to pass by.

- I can see your very first encounter to be somewhat because of your closed and reserved aura, probably when you’re alone without anyone beside you- Mitsuya, at first, thought it was not nice leaving people alone, the second time, he thought how lucky he was to have talked to you before anyone.

- Aside from your interests, a lot of things make you similar to one another.

- One of that is, as you have mentioned, you being the mom friend and him having the same role to his friends and subordinates, more importantly, that’s also his role to his siblings.

- I believe that being the mom friend shows how responsible, caring, and loving you are as a person in general. This is truly an admirable trait, however, you may also feel drained or pressured due to the role that you have.

- With that being said, since the both of you are similar in that aspect, it’s also nice to be able to relate to one another. You may laugh at the memories of your friends being idiotic while also reminiscing of the times when you felt like you’ve made the wrong decision. At present, your support for each other makes taking care of the kids a lot more easier and fun.

- Speaking of kids, Hakkai, Mana, as well as Luna- loves you to the core. When asked to choose one with you and Mitsuya as the choices, they’d be the type to say they can’t choose either. It has to be the both you.

- You bond well with Mana and Luna, even if you’re not good with kids, just your interests alone make you wonderful to them, especially when they get to spend time with you while doing those.

- Regarding Hakkai, you know that he looks up to Mitsuya so much he has him as his wallpaper, even more so when he gets to know Mitsuya also chose a lovely person like you as his significant other. He has you as the role model of his significant other.

- Mitsuya’s involved in your life just as much as you are to his. He’s very polite that your friends agree with your man, like, he’s really ideal, isn’t he?

- Another point of your similarity is your optimism. If you love that quality of yours, he does too. He has learned to look at the bright side after all the darkness he faced, having a significant other like you gives him a fresh breathe of air, especially when he’s the one who always try to cheer people up.

- The person I deem best to enjoy simple pleasures with is definitely Mitsuya.

- That tight, long, and warm kind of embrace as you see each other once again, hands interlaced with each other, having home cooked meals after a tiring day, dancing in the kitchen afterwards, those smiles you share, each other's presence as you lay in bed, those kind of simple pleasures are the best with him because he enjoys them too.

- In the case when you’re lethargic or procrastinating, don’t worry, Mitsuya’s there to amp you up.

- Imagine laying in your bed with piles of work not far beside you, then you decide to scroll through your phone, hugging a pillow to your chest. Suddenly, you just had the thought to text your significant other, with nothing particular in mind.

- You know what he replies? "Sweetheart, I remember you ranting about your tons of work, have you finished them already? Want me to do some work with you?"

- Would you still not do your work after that offer? Tell me! (Just kidding, hehe! But seriously, wouldn't you be inspired when someone urges and supports you all through out?).

- I believe that your take on love agrees with my earlier headcanons. Your match was truly just somewhere out there, it might have been a regular day for you, living your life, not aware that it was also the day you have found whom you're gonna live with.

- It may start as a simple friendship but each day you get to know each other, your relationship gets deeper.

- As Ye Chan wrote, "Opposites attract but similarities bind."

Note: Hello, hello! I hope this matchup was to your taste- I loved writing this for you! Do come back again next time, see you! 💖

#aristeiakira #anime #anime matchup #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader

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the-ghost-king · 3 years

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wait abt ur tags on my post yes percy and minos broke his trust but even after that hades still tricks him into bringing percy to him in TLO so like nico IS wary of ppl but he’s still always got this natural naïveté to him and i don’t think he realizes it. he’s wary of the wrong people and trusting of the wrong people he thinks percy is out to get him but all these manipulative old dudes are helping him somehow

Hmm, not exactly, I don’t think it’s naïveté so much as Nico is just a trusting person- he gives people the benefit of the doubt (which is good not bad, kindness and naïveté aren't the same) until they hurt him, and then his fatal flaw comes in and he holds an intense grudge.

He was confused by Percy, Percy had hurt him and “lied” to Nico, so he didn’t really know how to trust him again, or necessarily want to do so. On top of that there’s this weird thing internalized homophobia makes you do, which is push away things you like, and unrelated traumas mean you may try to save yourself from a situation by pushing people away. Nico’s constant rejection and turning away from Percy is because Nico likes Percy therefore Percy makes him happy, but all of this makes Nico feel weird- if it’s a crush like feeling, then he probably feels weird and disgusted with himself at that point, if it’s a more casual generally good feeling then he probably feels some form of “I hate him, I won’t forgive him, I can’t forgive him, he lied, I can’t trust him”- which feeds that spiral and the internalized homophobia so it all just keeps building.

He avoids Annabeth, but he doesn’t react so harshly to her, he is slightly more giving when it comes to her... Which I think says something about his feelings towards her vs. Percy. Nonetheless though, Nico is somewhat avoidant of Annabeth as well, and generally everyone- not just Percy.

I also think sometimes people choose to align themselves with what is familiar and comfortable rather than what is right for them; we don't know Nico's past and older strict (and maybe abusive) male role models may have been his norm. I also don't think he ever went into that whole situation with Minos believing it was a great idea, but Nico was getting something out of it, and he's shown before that he can sort of weasel his way around if he thinks it's worth it. Nico was getting trained by him, and no it definitely wasn't perfect at all, but to him it was better than figuring it out himself.

With Hades Nico did go into it "naively" but who wouldn't? It's likely he hardly knew his father (Lethe) and when he knew him before Hades was probably fairly kind to him when Maria and Bianca were still around- but Nico comes to learn Hades never loved him but both of them. He was thinking "my father will help me out, it will be okay" and his father turned around and told him he loved Bianca more and that he wouldn't help him at all. Eventually Nico learns what Hades is like, and uses this to his advantage to get Hades to do things ("the gods will love/honor you if they win because of you") and they do eventually make steps to fix their relationship some. The whole situation with Hades is far from perfect, but Nico seems to have chosen to take him as he is/make amends, which is his choice in canon text. Nobody can really fault someone for choosing how they want to deal with something/someone, it's his choice.

I think there was 2 key factors in Nico not siding with Kronos, and maybe another.

The first two are his feelings for Percy, which I covered a bit above, but we constantly see Nico attempting to "please" people as an act of love (I would go to the ends of the earth for you, I would let you kill me to make you happy, etc). By siding himself with Percy, this would appeal to Percy, making him have appeal.

But a much bigger equally ever present aspect of Nico, is his want to belong. While obviously there's a chance for that in Kronos' army, there's two reasons he wouldn't take it, the above bit with Percy, and his desire to prove everyone wrong. If Nico were to have joined Kronos's army, he's proving what everyone already "knows"- children of Hades are bad. Nico doesn't want that, he shows time and time again he doesn't like being boiled down into that- he is better than that- it's a matter of convincing everyone else to see it too. (I get into this idea, albeit not perfectly, a bit more here)

The other other reason which is possible but don't have canon evidence because we don't follow Nico around enough in series, is that he could have started having some sort of memories returning from the Lethe. It's possible his amnesia was decreasing at this point, and he grew up during a war, I'm sure he was taught about it.... This could very easily have been another reason if he noticed patterns in the armies, or if he kept thinking something like "what would Mamma do?"

He has a questionable characterization, "bittersweet", and it means that he makes a lot of questionable choices but still comes out looking like a hero figure at the end. Nico's arc points just ever more so to the gods over titans because of his need to please, and his idolization/love for Percy. Nico is stubborn, and if everyone is saying he's x and he knows that's not true, he's going to want to prove them wrong. It could possibly be argued that Nico's hero arc is some form of revenge arc, "I'll show you."

#i think it's also possible Nico might have tried to stay neutral for a long time #and then realized that wasn't possible for him #so when he started having to chose his want to prove people wrong and attachment to Percy kept him to the one side #i don't think he wouldn't have considered joining Kronos #I just don't think he would have ever made any serious steps to do so #his brain would go ''I'll show that stupid Percy Jackson what I can do #and the second part would be like ''to help him''#asks #gayleafpool #also I mean #you guys have fun over there #I just don't see it #long post #pjo #nico di angelo #meta

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sierraraeck · 3 years

Text

The Jailbird and the Mouse

Spencer x Fem!OC (Aundreya)

Masterlist

Summary: When Aundreya shows up to consult on a case, Spencer seems less than pleased to see her, but his actions tell a different story. Bonus chapter!

Category: Smut. Hate fuck. Apparently I’m incapable of writing a single thing without some angst, so we’ve got a sprinkle of that in there at the end, too.

Warnings: Cussing. Choking. Nicknames. Degradation. Cuffs are used. Unprotected penetration, female masturbating, oral (male receiving), fingering. Semi-public at the beginning.

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Okay so this is supposed to take place during How to Lose Friends when they are both in their fresh, post-prison forms and are beyond pissed at each other, but you don't have to have read that chapter or the series to understand this. Also, shoutout to @writing-in-april for looking this piece over and helping me make some edits!

Things to Know: All you really have to know is that Aundreya was a criminal who’d already been to and broken out of prison, joined the BAU, Spencer and her had a previous relationship, Aundreya got Spencer sent to prison, broke him out, then took the fall for something Spencer was being accused of that she didn’t do, getting herself sent to prison again.

I’d been called back to help the BAU solve a case. Fascinating how when it was convenient for them, I held some value. But, after that I was just easy to throw in a jail cell to be forgotten about.

I didn’t want to be there, but unfortunately I didn’t have a choice. So, I closed my eyes, and took a long, deep breath before forcing the door open. I had barely entered the room, barely had made eye contact with Hotch standing opposite me, before both my shoulder blades were shoved against the wall behind me, with long fingers wrapping around my throat.

“What is she doing here?” the hiss in Reid’s voice sounded exactly how I’d imagined it in my head preparing for this encounter. He looked almost as bad as me. His curls were going in a million directions, and I could only imagine the amount of times he’d run his hands through them, probably due to stress. His eyes were blood-shot, slightly puffy, and the dark bags underneath seemed more defined. The only thing that contrasted all of that, and let me know his head was still in it, was the darkness he now held in his eyes. There was nothing lighthearted or soft about them anymore, at least, not for the moment and certainly not for me. Plus, there was a red-hot rage I could see boiling at the surface. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror, a warped version of myself being reflected back to me. I’d seen the same fury and darkness in my eyes every morning that was in his now, and the irritation that radiated off him matched my own. Really, the only difference between Spencer and I, was he still had his gun and badge and I didn’t.

“I was invited to help consult,” I snapped through my somewhat restricted breath. “So you better get the fuck off me.”

He gave my throat one last tight squeeze before stepping back, his intense gaze never leaving me. I met his gaze with a wicked smile while brushing my fingers over where the ghost of his hand used to be. I wanted him to see that he didn’t affect me. Angry or not, he held no power in our dynamic anymore.

“Chambers, good to see you,” Derek mocked, giving me a side eye laced with suspicion.

“Can’t say I feel the same,” I deadpanned, then turning on Hotch. “So, why am I here?”

“We have reason to believe that a rogue gang member is kidnapping and killing ex-military if they refuse to join,” Hotch explained with seemingly no emotion, as if he was unaffected by my presence.

“Cool,” I deadpanned again before asking, “So why do you need me?”

“We wanted to know if you know anything or have heard anything-” Derek started.

“Heard anything?” I cut him off with a scoff, “You mean besides the constant clanging of metal bars when I’m not left in complete silence by myself? No, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Can you find them?” Spencer asked as if it would be a difficult task for me.

“So you do want my help,” I clarified.

“I want your skills.”

I let out a disgusted chuckle in response to his quip. Venom dripped from my words as I voiced my thoughts from only moments before stepping into the room. “Oh, I get it. You only want me around when it's convenient for you. Otherwise you just wanna give up on me and let me rot in a cell.”

“What was I supposed to do!”

“What were you supposed to do?” I asked in disbelief, eyes wide. “What were you supposed to do?” I mumbled to myself again in a mocking tone, rolling my eyes. I put my hands on the back of the empty chair in front of me I assumed had held Spencer at one point, and leaned in toward him. He’d retreated behind the table since releasing me, and I quietly snarled towards him, “I don’t know, but sitting there on your tiny, plushy ass, wasn’t it. I’m leaving.”

Spencer was back over to me in a flash, slamming his hand on the door before I could even reach for the handle. Someone got better reflexes. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“We have a suspect list that we want you to review.” Hotch caught me before I pushed Spencer out of my way.

“Fine. Make it quick.” I looked over the list Hotch gave me that contained about 30 men, none of which rang any bells. “This was a waste of time.”

“Hold on, guys,” Garcia trotted in, “I just found something.” She was in such a rush that she initially didn’t see me, bee-lining it straight for Hotch. Handing the iPad over to him, her eyes lifted to take in the rest of the room. That’s when she noticed me. Her eyes grew to the size of beach balls, and her perfectly done lips hung open. I tried not to feel too hurt, knowing that my presence would come as a shock to her, but it still stung seeing her at a loss for words, possibly even scared. She’d really been the only person who still had any hope left for me, and I was starting to wonder if that was true anymore.

My voice softened as I greeted, “Hey, Penelope.”

She struggled for words, a few ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’ headed my direction, ultimately being saved by Hotch. “Dave, you’re with me. Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to go to the ME, Garcia we’ll need you on call, and JJ, Lewis, I want you to go talk to this man.”

“What about me?” Spencer asked.

“You’re going to stay here and watch her,” Hotch commanded. I started laughing at Spencer’s visible discomfort. Spencer glared at me before opening his mouth to argue, but Hotch stopped him with a voice filled with authority, “I know you won’t be able to focus out there if you know she’s still here unattended. Let’s go.”

When everyone had left and the door shut behind them, I sang, “Well if it isn’t Doctor Reid drawing the short end of the stick, yet again.”

“Just sit down and shut up,” he tried to order with confidence as he took his own advice, sitting as far away from me as possible. Not once had he looked me in the eyes since I’d initially walked in and he had attacked me. Sure, his eyes were on me, but they never connected with mine.

“Is that a demand, doctor?” I challenged him.

“No, but it could be. I just don’t want to be the one responsible for letting you get away.” He shrugged in his chair, resting the ankle of his leg on the knee of the other.

“So you’re just gonna trust me to do what you ask?” I questioned. Throughout the entire time I’d known Spencer, he’d never gotten super riled up over something, but this was a whole different Spencer, one that I didn’t recognize or know . He was more on edge, confident, and clearly willing to wrap his hand around my throat with no hesitation. A type of Spencer I was more than happy to get to know. And let’s face it, I’d been in prison for 15 months. There wasn’t a ton of action going on in there that I wanted to get involved with. I just wanted to see how far I could push him before he snapped. “You don’t trust me, and you know you can’t. I put you in prison, just because I could,” I shrugged, contradicting what I’d insinuated earlier for my own entertainment, “and you think that I won’t just walk away from you when given the chance?”

“You’ve had the chance. For the past three minutes and forty-six seconds you could have left and you didn’t. What’s keeping you here?” he smugly fired back. Oh yeah, he’s definitely going to be fun to mess with.

“What’s keeping you here?” I copied, “Why’d Hotch bench you again? Because you can’t focus when I’m around?”

“No one can focus with you around!” he huffed hotly.

“Not well, but they certainly can do better than what you’re doing right now,” I patronized, “What is it about me that makes you all so nervous, huh? I’m just another criminal who happens to be a former co-worker. I thought you were used to working with those day in and day out.”

“Criminals or co-workers?”

“Either.”

“None of them are like you,” he bit.

“Oh I know,” I ran my tongue over my lips, “So I’ll ask again, what is it about me that makes me so different?”

He looked up at me. In contrast to the first time he locked eyes with me, his expression was stone cold. “You were a part of this team, and you betrayed us. You betrayed me. I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid to believe you were actually helping us! I just want to know why you picked me. You were going to take one of us down, why’d you choose me?” I could see the gears spinning in his head, and was about to answer when he frustratedly added, “Was it because you thought I’m the weakest?”

That’s it. That’s what’s always made him tick. And he used the present tense. We were still an entire table length apart, so I started slowly sauntering toward him. I prodded, “Is that what you think? You believe you’re the weakest on the team? Or do you just think that’s what I thought?”

“We all have our roles,” he responded, but not nearly as confident as he had been before.

“That’s not an answer,” I pushed.

“You still haven’t answered me, either,” he growled, and I decided to let this one go. We didn’t need to fully delve into his insecurities, no matter how much I wanted to.

“It was similar to that. You were the most afraid of me, I could smell it in the air.” I closed my eyes and pretended to revel in the stench of fear. “But, I could’ve gotten any one of them if I wanted.”

Spencer scoffed at that, “I think you overestimate your abilities.”

“I don’t,” I quickly fired back, “I could’ve gotten any of them, and to be honest, I was going to go after Derek, or maybe Emily, but then you spoke up from the corner of the room and I knew it had to be you.”

“Why?”

“Why this, Aundreya, and why that, Aundreya? Is that the only question you can ask?”

“Is it the only question you can’t answer?”

I was about halfway to him now, and decided to give him a little false hope. “I picked you, not because of your intellect, or how the rest of the team coddles you, or how relationship starved you are. I picked you because I could see something in your eyes that was different, something dark. And once I heard your full back story, I realized just how similar the two of us are.”

“We are nothing alike,” he insisted.

“Really? Because had you made one different choice or one thing went just a little bit wrong, you could have ended up just like me, with no family and no one to give a shit about you or what you do, except for the cops who just wanted you locked up and controlled.” I was dangerously close to him now, his head tilted to look at me, but he didn’t cower away. He actually seemed to welcome it. Which reminded me of something, “After knowing all of that, my past and everything I was, you still agreed to let me on your team.”

“I was the last person to say yes to you joining,” he informed me. This was news to me, but I couldn’t even be sure if he was telling me the truth. “I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be working with us, but I was outnumbered and outranked.”

“No, you caved to their wishes,” I twisted his words to suit my needs, “Like you caved to mine.” I slowly reached down to place a hand on his chest. He eyed it all the way until I made contact with him, and it was like flipping a switch. He grabbed my wrist and held it close as he pushed out of his chair, the wheels spinning it wildly back into the monitor. He reached for my other wrist, which I let him grab, and held me against the wall, arms pinned next to my head. I did everything I could to not smirk. And he’s still caving.

“I didn’t want you here. I resisted the idea of you being around us,” he spat.

“Like you’re resisting the idea of being around me right now?” I arched an eyebrow, scanning him from head to toe, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on a few spots. He opened his mouth to say something, but he shut it again, locking his jaw. I could see his genius mind at work, trying to come up with some way out of the little mouse trap I’d set up for him. I watched his eyes trail down to my lips and neck, soaking it all in. When his eyes met mine again, I tried to reach for him, but he forcefully slammed my hands back, pinning me to the wall again. Though, I wanted him to touch me this time. He was taking too long to make a move for my liking, so I decided if I couldn’t use my arms, I might as well use my legs.

All of his weight was already leaning toward me, so it wasn’t difficult to wrap my right leg around his waist and bring him all the way to me. The moment that they were within inches of my face, I attacked his lips. I was almost disappointed by the fact that he didn’t seem surprised at all, as if he knew how impatient I was and knew that I would force the first move. But, I wasn’t disappointed for long.

Spencer’s whole body was pressed against mine as he quickly swiped his tongue across my bottom lip, looking for entrance. I granted it, but I wasn’t going to give him the complete dominance that he wanted over the kiss. Instead, our tongues slid over each other’s searching for more than the other was willing to give. It was hot and messy, and he released his grip on my wrists, moving them to apply the same amount of force to my jaw. With my hands free, I made quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt, ripping it open. I was expecting skin and sighed when I found yet another shirt. This man and his layers.

Spencer took advantage of me sighing, giving him more access to my mouth, which I wanted to be annoyed about, but couldn’t care to be. I decided to make better use of my hands, running them down the sides of his body as he wrapped his behind my back. He pulled away from me so abruptly when I tried to massage him through his slacks, he basically dropped me on the floor. It was like being left out in a cold winter storm, just barely out of arm's reach of warmth.

Spencer shook his head, eyes on the floor, as if that would clear his mind of what clouded it, which was me. But I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “There. You got what you wanted.”

I gaped at him before retorting, “We both know it wasn’t just me who got what I wanted. I’m sure you had a hard time pulling away.”

He glared at me as he rolled the chair back toward the desk and took a seat, “Not really. I have important work to do.”

I stood there staring at him trying to compose himself. His face was red and he tugged at his pants before crossing his leg over the other. I pressed my lips together, but still failed to contain the small laugh that escaped through my nose.

“Sure,” I mocked, “Especially since everyone else on the team is already doing that work for you.” He didn’t look up from whatever papers were on the table, trying in vain to ignore me, though I wasn’t ready to have his attention off me yet.

I shut the folder that he was in the middle of reading, not like he was actually reading it considering how long it was taking him to flip the page, and sat right on top of it. He was about to reach for it again, but retracted his hand at lightning speed when my legs got in the way. I flashed another mockingly sweet smile his way, but he looked out toward the window, right next to the wall I’d just come from. I swung my legs back and forth off the side of the table just a bit, careful not to completely kick Spencer in the shin, though I couldn’t help but let my toes accidentally tap him a few times. As with all of the other times I’d touched him, he moved out of the way, uncrossing his legs with a perfect foot-sized gap in between his knees. I rested my foot in that small gap on the chair, rolling his body closer to me. Then, for no other reason than wanting to feel him squirm underneath me, I plopped down on his lap, my legs straddling his. I pretty much had him locked in his seat.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, a look of complete indifference gracing his face, but I knew it was just a front.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job,” I replied, winking at him.

“And… how do you think this is helping me do my job?”

“I’m making sure you’re paying attention to me,” I whispered in his ear seductively, lacing my fingers together on the back of his neck, “Plus, I’m doing what you asked me to. How did you put it? Sit down and shut-”

Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched my cheeks and brought my lips to his forcefully. The kiss was just as hungry as the last, teeth clashing and tongues furiously fighting. He moved his long fingers onto my hips with a bruising grip, which I had absentmindedly started grinding against his. He pulled away from me for a moment, and his harsh tone reminded me that this was nothing like the last time we’d been together, when we’d both been a bit more innocent. “You never did have any manners at work.”

I smirked, “I know. Imagine my manners at home.”

A low, almost inaudible groan came from Spencer’s throat at my suggestion, but he tried to cover it up by moving my hair out of the way and latching his lips onto the side of my neck. I gasped at the contact of his teeth pulling at my soft flesh, paired with the feeling of his growing bulge pressed against my core. His fingers gripped my hips harder and moved them faster, drawing a small whimper from my lips. I felt him smile as he trailed kisses down my neck to my collar bone, leaving a single bite mark there. I tried so hard to contain my high-pitched moan when he moved one of his hands from my waist to pinch one of my nipples through my shirt.

But I was supposed to be the clear-headed one, so I forced myself to not get too wrapped up in the feeling. If I wanted to get to my end goal, I was going to have to leave him wanting more, which unfortunately in turn meant leaving myself in the same condition.

My hips had gotten faster along with Spencer’s hands, but when I felt him start to buck his hips up against me, I knew that he was getting close and it had to end. Immediately, I stopped my movements and untangled myself from him, but not before dragging a finger up the column of his throat, sneering, “Too bad. I could’ve helped you, had you done anything to help me.”

I left that open for interpretation, either as a jab to his masculinity or to what started my rage in the first place: being left in prison. He didn’t ask for clarification either, clearly too bothered by being left on edge. He did, however, follow up with, “Help you? Why would I want to do that? You’re a terrible person.”

I grinned as if receiving a medal of honor, “That I am, Doctor.”

I moved the lay down on the couch while Spencer attempted to refocus on his work. I made a show of sighing a couple times and rolling around ‘to find a comfortable position’ on the couch, just to piss him off. I could tell it was working based on his clenched fists turning white, and the way his leg was jumping. He was resting his head in his hand, which almost perfectly shielded my face from his.

He still wasn’t turning the page, so I offered, “Can you flip the page by yourself, or do you need some help?”

He wasn’t given the opportunity to respond, because Hotch, followed by most of the team, came barreling through the door.

“Colby Ulton, 43 years old, has a long record and wasn’t home,” JJ announced, following Hotch. It’d been a while since I had to deal with their inhuman pace when it came to talking about unsubs and profiles, so most of the stuff they said next flew over my head.

I was way behind in the conversation, but none of that mattered when Hotch turned to me, “Colby Ulton. I want you on him.” He'd barely gotten the command out before I was reaching for the door handle.

“I don’t.” The words were hot and dry and coming from none other than Doctor Reid. I rolled my eyes. He moved to step in front of the door, blocking my passage out again, leaning casually with his back against it, arms crossed. Our faces were barely centimeters apart.

“Why not?” I asked in a mock-curious voice.

“I don’t trust you. Who’s to say you won’t just run off? Then we’d let a high-profile criminal walk free. Plus, we’re not even sure he’s the right man,” Spencer pointed out. I was going to point out how I had just made that same argument about me leaving, and he refuted it himself only to bring it back up now, but I didn’t get the chance.

“He’s the best we’ve got right now,” Derek countered. I could tell he sort of just wanted me out of the room, but Spencer’s motives appeared very different.

He never took his eyes off of mine as he recited, “We think it’s a rogue gang member who’s either left or been kicked out within the past year. Ulton’s been in prison, which could mean he’s gone rogue, or it could mean he’s joined a new gang, one that, as you probably know, wouldn’t allow this type of acting out. Either way, he hasn’t demonstrated gang affiliated behavior in almost three years. Not to mention he had his tattoo removed and is out of our age range. I don’t think putting her on, most likely, the wrong man’s trail is worth the risk of letting her walk free.”

The room was silent as we all waited for someone else to make the first move. I decided to be that person. “So what do you suggest they do with me, hm?” I questioned, walking my two fingers up his chest with each word. Then I leaned in and made it very clear, “Because I am not going back to prison.”

I bit his earlobe on the way back, and I saw the way his pupils dilated just slightly at the feeling, “I’ll watch her for the night.”

“What?” Derek and I said at the same time, but our facial expressions were very different.

“Yes,” he stated, more confidently now, “She has nothing to do right now, but we might need her later in the investigation, so sending her all the way back to prison doesn’t make sense.”

“And you'll make sure she doesn’t escape?” Derek questioned.

“She hasn’t so far, has she?” Spencer challenged. When he got unnerved looks from the rest of the team, he assured, shooting a small smirk my way, “Trust me, she won’t.” How cute. He thinks he can wrap his skinny little fingers around my neck and pull a moan from me once, and all the sudden he’s in control. He switched our position, pinning me up against the door, clasping the handcuffs back around my wrists in front of me. I was starting to think he had a thing for pushing people into walls. It was his turn to whisper in my ear, “And you won't want to.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

When we arrived back at his apartment, I took a moment to survey the room. It looked almost exactly as it had the last time I’d been there. Books piled up everywhere, papers strewn all over the desk, a little dark and dusty, maybe a bit more worn, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The only difference was that it no longer suited him as well anymore. He used to be this shy, studious, loner-type that didn’t really like people, and he had a certain innocence about him. There was nothing innocent about him anymore. He didn’t seem shy either, much more confident; still studious and a loner though. However, I bet he liked having at least one person over at all times, or not being home at all. It meant that he didn’t have to be alone with his own mind, and after being in solitude myself, and knowing that he’d been in there too, that feeling of complete silence, utter aloneness, was something we’d never want to experience again. We were honestly perfect for each other in that way.

The other thing I’d noticed, based on what I'd seen of him within the last few hours and what I knew prison could do to a person, I guessed he went off of instinct rather than intelligence more than he ever had in his life.

Spencer had to take the time to shrug off his satchel and kick off his shoes, neither of which I even had. All I had was myself and what I was wearing, which wasn’t much. At least I wasn’t in an orange jumpsuit anymore.

“Wow, you’ve really renovated the place,” I snickered. Spencer didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and brushed past me. I forced my wrists outward a couple times, making a clanking sound with the cuffs, asking, “You gonna take these off?”

He faced me with a smirk and shook his head slightly, “Don’t think so.” Pulling out a chair at the puny kitchen table, he sat down, and I felt like we were much in the same position we’d been in at the office. I was in his home turf, if I could even call it that, but I wasn’t just going to let him be in charge.

I decided to go straight for the jugular, “Why’d you bring me home, Spence?”

“This isn’t home, not for you,” he snapped.

I scoffed, “Doesn’t look like it is for you, either, but that doesn’t change the question.”

“I told you. I didn’t want to risk you running away.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” I inquired. He could hear the way I was rephrasing it to change the narrative, not like I was wrong, but he successfully dodged it.

“I didn’t want to lose an asset over the wrong man, tipping the right one off, and potentially risking him going underground. I’m just trying to catch an unsub,” he shrugged.

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” I shook my head in amusement.

“You don’t?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course I do,” I quickly answered.

“Then answer this,” Spencer squared his shoulders, now completely facing me, “Why didn’t you run the moment you got the chance?”

“I had three FBI personnel in the car with me, then a team of BAU agents surrounding me, and then was left alone in the same room as an agent who can shoot 100 on his test. I am many things, but I am not stupid nor am I suicidal.”

“How’d you know I shot 100?” Spencer followed up.

I smiled, “I know things.”

“How about all the chances you got when you were in prison? You’ve broken out plenty of times before, why not do it again?” He was leaning forward, and he seemed genuinely curious.

It was a good question, one that I actually hadn’t pre-thought the answer to. Frankly, I wasn’t expecting to even make it this far. “I was biding my time.”

“For..?”

“Leverage.” It was a simple word, but one that seemed to make a great impact. Spencer leaned back in his chair and contemplated my answer. It wasn’t a complete lie either, I just didn’t want to give away too many details.

Spencer finally whispered, “Against?”

I flashed him a wicked smile. “You.” His face contorted into something I couldn’t fully recognize, eyes narrowing. “You, Spencer. I’ve been waiting for you to make an error, a mistake. That was the one flaw in my plan, that while I picked the easiest to emotionally manipulate, I picked the hardest to mentally manipulate. And you don’t make very many mental mistakes, do you Spencer?” I asked, approaching him. I’m really hoping you’d like to cash one in right now, though. I could practically see the internal argument being fought inside Spencer’s head; one side telling him to give in, it wasn’t that bad, the other telling him to resist, that somehow, this would corrupt him further. I needed the former to win. “You wouldn’t let yourself get caught up in the moment, would you? You wouldn’t crack, take what you want, what you need, what you deserve against your better judgement. Because you’re all brain, Spencer. All brain, and no heart.”

That’s what did it.

Spencer literally swept me off my feet, tossing me onto the couch like a rag doll. His hand returned to my throat as if it belonged there, and he pushed open my legs with his knees. My hands may have been cuffed, but they could still be useful. I moved them to start unbuttoning his shirt when he swatted them away. He spat, “I’m not heartless. Not like you.”

“No,” I agreed, “You’re worse. At least I can admit to what I am. You just hide behind a badge and gun.”

Spencer shoved two fingers in my mouth, probably trying to shut me up. I smirked, running my tongue up and down the long digits, making sure to give him a preview of what was to come if he’d let it. His other hand trailed down the side of my body until it reached the waistband of the pants I was wearing. Forcefully, he yanked them down, taking my panties with them. I knew I was already pooling, but of course he had to rub it in. Snarky, he mocked, “For someone who talks a big game, you’re already looking pretty weak.”

I silently cursed my body for finding him arousing, and was about to have to come up with a clever comment when I saw Spencer pause. He was charging straight into this, and then he just stopped. I tilted my head, “Worried you don’t have it in you?”

Spencer met my eyes, and cooly stated, “I’m not going to let you be my mistake.”

Dammit. When I felt him start to pull away, I knew I had to say something to get him to stay. I needed to turn this into an advantage in his eyes, not just mine. “Why? So you can let this rage build up inside of you, eat away at your every thought, until you snap? What then? You lash out during a case, which causes someone to die, either because of your incapabilities or at your hand? And what for? Because you’re still mad at me? I’m right here in front of you, Spencer! You’re never going to get a chance like this again, so just do something!” By the end, it was a plea, and one that was brutally answered.

Spencer pushed two of his fingers inside me, already moving at a quick pace. I let out a small yelp at the sensation which clearly pleased Spencer. I attempted to refocus on unbuttoning his shirt, which became increasingly difficult because of how he was curling his fingers to hit that spot just right. I barely finished, pushing his shirt away from his shoulders when he leaned away from me, taking both of his fingers with him. I was about to complain until I saw him dropping his shirt to the ground and unbuckling his belt, pushing his own pants and underwear out of the way in a similar fashion as he’d done to mine. He pumped his fist over his shaft a couple of times before lining himself up between my wide open legs. He teased my clit with the tip of his cock, and I could feel the precum beading there. I bit my lip as I looked up at him.

Spencer’s eyes were blown when he quietly demanded, “Say it.” He wants me to beg. I was okay with him thinking he was in charge for now, so I played into it by shaking my head. He slammed my cuffed wrists against the arm of the couch just above my head, bringing his face so close I could feel his lips brush mine as he repeated, “Say it.”

It was more forceful the second time, and something about his hot breath on my face and the feeling of his hips trying, and failing, to stay still against mine pulled a whimper all too genuine from my lips, “Punish me.”

At my words, he slammed his cock in my entrance, setting a merciless pace. With no time to adjust to his length, the heat burning between my legs got fiercer. The sounds of his hips hitting mine filled the room, both of us trying to control our moans, not wanting the other to know how much we were really enjoying it. My back arched off the couch, sending my fingers over the arm, brushing over thin objects on the small table there. A pen and paper clip.

I pressed my lips together to contain the grin that just about took over my face. Looking down at Spencer, who was way too busy biting marks into my skin, I could tell he hadn’t noticed the detrimental error I’d just realized he’d made. I made quick work of unclasping the cuffs from around my wrists, but left them on loosely just for show.

The coil in my stomach was getting tighter and tighter, and while I usually would have tried to control myself, I let the moans tear through my lungs. This caught Spencer’s attention, perring up at me with a twinkle in his eyes, one that told me he thought he had me. He mouthed into my neck, “This too much for you to handle, Jailbird?”

I scoffed at his pet name. Alright Doctor Reid, you’ve had your fun. Now let me show you how to really be in charge. “Not in the slightest, Mouse,” I quipped. Before he could think, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and put my hands on the back of his head. I flipped us off the side of the couch, landing on top of Spencer. With the wind knocked out of him, I quickly grabbed his wrist, clasping one of the cuffs around it, looping the chain behind the couch leg, then synching the other around his free wrist. I placed his head on the ground and leaned back, tracing patterns on his chest.

It took him a moment to realize what had just happened, but I saw the moment the light went off. “You filthy bitch.”

I chuckled, “It seems as though that genius memory of yours forgot that I’m a criminally sound escape artist.”

He was fuming, but contained himself long enough to ask, “What changed?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Since last time? You had no problem letting me take control then.”

I simply stated with disgust, “I was soft then.”

“Who’s to say you aren’t still now?” Spencer challenged.

I laced my fingers with his as I pinned them to the ground, my turn to be the one looking down on him, faces only centimeters apart. We locked eyes as I explained, “You can see it too, I know you can. I wake up and see it in the mirror every day, and I see it in you too now. It’s in your eyes. That darkness. That feeling of destruction, of being broken, of being a monster. It’s there. I can see it like it’s my own.”

I expected him to snap at me. To argue with a clever quip. But he didn’t. Spencer leaned up as far as he could and kissed me. Not in the angry, predatory-like way that we had earlier, but really kissed me. I was so taken aback by the gesture that I practically jumped off him after a few seconds. I hated myself for letting it happen for even that long.

I stormed away from him, hissing, “Don’t try to get my sympathy now that you’re the one chained like a dirty animal. I’m not gonna fall for it.”

I saw something quick flash across his face before it hardened again. I could feel his eyes following my every move as I walked away, so I decided to make a show of it. I swished my hips back and forth, and even bent all the way over to pick up our clothes for no reason, just so he could have a perfect view between my legs. I heard the rattle of the cuffs against the couch and smirked to myself.

Tossing the clothes as far away as possible, I reached under my shirt to unclasp my bra, slipping it out one of the arm holes. I spun it around my index finger a couple of times before letting it fly off in the direction of the rest of our clothes. Toying with the hem of my shirt, I rhythmically moved it around my body so that he could only see some exposed skin at a time. I slowly pulled it higher and higher until I removed the garment completely. Standing completely bare in front of him, looking down on his naked body, I’d never felt more in control.

Spencer was drilling holes into me as I got down on my knees, crawling toward him. Again, his hands shot forward only to be stopped by the metal. I tutted, “Now, now, Mouse. That’s not how this works.”

I stroked a single finger up his length, and when it brushed over the tip, he squeezed his eyes shut. I wetted my lips as I wrapped a single hand around his cock, starting at an agonizingly slow pace, a stark contrast to the one he’d set earlier. I had barely started moving at a faster pace when Spencer started to buck his hips up into my hand. I slammed his hips back down with my other arm, giving him a cold look. His hips stilled and I knew he was getting desperate.

I flattened my palm against his lower belly, making sure he’d stay in place as I steadily picked up the pace. Spencer threw his head back when I swiped my tongue over his tip, and huffed when I retracted my hands, breaking contact all together.

I hummed, “Actually, this isn’t that interesting.” I scooted back on the floor, holding eye contact with his piercing irises as I spread my legs wide open for him to see. Neither one of us has had our release yet, so I might as well take mine and leave him high and dry.

I brushed my fingertips down my body, cupping my breasts on the way, until I reached my clit. I started to rub circles over the bundle of nerves, not realizing how close I already was. I let out exaggerated moans as I continued my ministrations, steadily pushing myself toward the edge.

“Stop.” It was barely a whisper, and I wasn’t sure if I even heard it, so I ignored it. Right as another moan ripped through my lungs, I heard Spencer say, louder and more demanding this time, “Stop.”

I was too close to stop. I barely had the mental capacity to smirk down at him before I felt my release crash over me like a tidal wave. For dramatic effect, I whined out Spencer’s name as my walls clenched around nothing, helping myself through my orgasm. Slowly coming down from my high, my head lulled back, release seeping into his rug.

Barely allowing myself to catch my breath, I leaned forward onto my knees, and looked at Spencer’s face, which was red with anger or desperation I couldn’t tell, but brought my lips down on his dick regardless. He grunted at the sensation, and I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I swirled my tongue around him until I couldn’t anymore, opting to just trace a protruding vein instead. I started to hollow out my cheeks when he bucked up into me, forcing me to take all of him in at once. He groaned when I started gagging around his length, and when I coughed after pulling off him, he had the audacity to laugh.

“Having trouble there, Jailbird?” Spencer smugly asked. I looked down at his length laying against his stomach and saw that it was a deep red, and had to have been painfully hard at that point. With that in mind, along with my recent release, I crawled over him.

I looked at him as I hovered my pussy just above his cock. “I wouldn’t be worried about me. I’d be worried about how you’re gonna take care of yourself with your hands cuffed if I decided I’m done with you.”

That threat wiped the smug look right off his face. I was already wet again, and allowed him to only barely feel what was waiting for him if he behaved, lowering myself down so his length was just brushing my lips.

His face contorted and then he said the word of my victory, “Please.”

Taking hold of his cock in one hand, I lined myself up, and slowly sunk down. He filled me up completely, a bit thicker than I remembered, and I sat comfortably in his lap. This was clearly what Spencer wanted, but there was no way in hell it was going to be that easy. I just sat there looking at him, and based on the crazed look on his face, he was expecting me to start moving immediately.

We stared each other down for a moment before his whole body jerked forward, hands yanking on the cuffs. It was my turn to laugh at his pathetic struggles, but I still didn’t have quite what I wanted yet. Raising my hips up, I quickly slammed them down, pulling the loudest groan I’d heard from Spencer. When I didn’t move again, he started squirming underneath me, and I asked, “What is it you want me to do, Mouse?”

Then he broke, his strangled pleas music to my ears, “God, fuck me, please, just fuck me!”

I grinned as I captured his lips in a vicious kiss, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth. Steadying myself with my palm on his chest, I lifted my hips up, only to let them fall back into his lap. I started slower than either of us wanted, letting myself adjust to his full size before bouncing freely on his dick. The sounds of our heavy moans filled the air, sweat collecting on our bodies.

I was honestly surprised at how long Spencer had lasted when he let out one final shriek before coming undone below me. He’d given up, completely relaxed on the floor as I started chasing my second orgasm. Spencer peered up at me through hooded eyes, and soon enough starting letting out cries, and I knew I was pushing him. I didn’t want to completely overwhelm him but I was so close…

I wouldn’t get there, not yet anyway, because Spencer did something I was not expecting. The couch hit the floor with a loud thud, giving Spencer the freedom to move his arms. He wrapped the chain of the cuffs around the back of my neck and flipped me over in one swift motion, almost identical to how I’d just done it to him.

I was completely caught off guard, and let a surprised squeak leave my lips. I was almost impressed. Almost.

As if he could see straight into my mind, Spencer remarked, “I’m a quick study.” His entire body weight was over me, and there was very little wiggle room for an escape.

I followed Spencer’s eyes as he scanned around the room, glanced at his wrists, then sighed when he spotted his pants. Must’ve been where he put the key.

I raised my pitch and snidely sang like a schoolgirl, “Whatcha gonna do Mouse? You gonna fuck me like the inmate you are, or are you gonna free yourself, hm?”

Pressing his hands down on either side of my perfectly laid out ones above my head, the chain between the cuffs digging into my forearms, he chided, “I’m sure I can handle you just fine with them on. I’m not quite done with you yet, Jailbird.”

My walls fluttered around his cock at the gravelly sound of his voice and the threat that accompanied it. It’s as if he’s chained to me. I shuddered happily at the thought.

“Is that what this is about?” Spencer hissed, clearly catching my pleased look and the way my pussy pulled him in a little more at his harsh words, “You just enjoy seeing me as some twisted killer?”

“I enjoy seeing you for who you truly are.”

I wasn’t able to form another coherent thought after that one, the pace Spencer was pounding into me like one I’d never felt. He fucked his cum from only seconds ago back into me, the wet sound of our mixing fluids filling the room. I could barely focus on where his hands had moved to, teasing my nipples, because the fire between my legs was jumping higher and higher. As it finally burned through me in the sweetest way possible, I reached to grab onto anything, the first thing my fingers found being Spencer’s hair. He growled when I tugged, but his pace never let up.

As I came down from my high, Spencer didn’t stop. The feelings were becoming too strong, too overpowering, pleasure bordering on pain. I tried to pull my hips away from his, but there was nothing I could do. To stop my squirming, he sat back slightly and pressed his large palms down on my hip bones. Moving also changed the angle he was slamming into me, now bottoming out with each thrust. I needed some reprieve.

“Spencer,” I whined, but there was a nothingness in his eyes.

His hands snaked up to my throat, applying massive pressure to my windpipe. “Is this what you wanted?” Spencer yelled, “Is this what you think I truly am?”

I was having trouble getting the air into my lungs, let alone respond. I wanted to force him to face his reality of being an ex-con, knowing how shitty it was to be on the inside and just letting me sit in there. A consequence of my own actions, but considering I was doing it to save him, I was looking for a little bit more effort on the getting out process.

But he’d left me in there. He didn’t care. He didn’t care despite the fact that he knew what I was going through, that I could tell he was still dealing with his own PTSD and not well, and that everything had changed for him. People looked at him and treated him differently. He was a different person. Corrupt. And he’d only been in there for not even three months.

I’d been in there for five times as long.

I wanted him to realize just how much damage him and his useless team were doing to me by not helping me get out. I wanted him to realize how fucked up that was, and how terrible of a person that made him. I wanted him to realize he was just as big of a monster as I was.

I accomplished that. But I underestimated how much darkness he’d really been holding back.

My head started to feel light, and I could tell I was on the brink of my third release. The sound of skin slapping skin was sinful and I couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of his tip hitting my a-spot, the way my legs were shaking around his body, the way the muscles in his back felt against my nails as I clawed them down it. My release came quicker than Spencer’s, who wasn’t too far behind me. His thrusts became shallower, as he spilled into me for the second time. It was as if all the energy had been drained out of me in an instant, along with my anger and hatred. Spencer rolled off of me, and I saw his figure weakly collapse to the ground.

It was an eerie calm, the sound of absolute nothingness, the only disturbance being our labored breathing.

I didn’t know how long it’d been when Spencer’s voice, the softest I’d heard it since the day’s start, whispered, “Are you okay?”

I glanced at him with a confused look. He let out a small sigh at my non response, collecting himself before walking over to his long forgotten pants for the cuffs key. After freeing his wrists, he walked back over to me and helped me up, ushering me to the bathroom.

I could tell he was examining me, but it wasn’t until I stood in front of the mirror that I realized why. “Look at those bruises around your neck, Jailbird. They suit you.”

The bruises were deep and already turning a nice purple. I scanned the rest of me finding more bruises on my hips, thighs, shoulders, wrists, and not to mention the bite mark on my collar. I scanned Spencer next, his only bruises coming from his wrists and the red marks I left on his back. “I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

He met my eyes in the mirror, “What were you expecting?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know.” I truly didn’t. I went into it knowing I wanted to force him to see everything he had, everything he was, but I guess I didn’t really think about what that would force me to see. My exhaustion started to give way to a heap of emotions, and a single, involuntary tear escaped my eye. Spencer brushed his fingers over my neck, simultaneously pulling my hair behind my shoulder.

He kissed the tender, bruised skin, and I remembered the times before, the times when it felt like we’d really been in love. I felt his breath on me as he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I turned on my heels to face him, “You didn’t.”

I didn’t know what compelled him to confess what I never thought he would, but he sounded deeply ashamed when admitting, “I wanted to.”

“What stopped you?” I was genuinely curious. We’d hurt each other in the most extreme ways before today, getting the other sent to a cage in hell, betraying each other.

“I’m broken, but I’m not beyond repair, and hurting you would make me someone that I don’t want to be.”

I gave him a tired smile, and all I could muster was, “Pretty convincing.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t. You couldn’t,” I assured him. It was the truth.

“I should’ve,” he bit, looking down at his hands, which were so delicately holding my waist I couldn’t be sure he was even touching me.

“Why?” I questioned, the seriousness evident in my voice, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shook his head, and a stray curl or two tickled my forehead. “I could’ve.”

“I trusted you not to.” I clasped my hands together and rested them on his back.

Spencer’s shaky voice matched his glistening eyes as they locked with mine, “I just wasn’t sure. All I know is that I scare myself sometimes.”

I pressed my forehead against his own, “Well, then I guess we’re two people who have nothing to fear other than ourselves.”

Read the full series

Taging some people:

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx @andiebeaword @psychicdonuts @aperrywilliams @goldentournesol @homoose

#spencer reid smut #aundreya chambers #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x oc #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #bau #hotch #morgan #garcia

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sage-nebula · 3 years

Note

the pokemon company be like *thinly-veiled misogyny*

To be honest, the sexism isn’t even really thinly-veiled if you think about it. Like off the top of my head:

— Professor Juniper was our first female professor, and it took until Gen V to get her. But whereas all the other professors got to stand on their own without needing anyone else, Professor Juniper had to have her father come in to provide answers to various plot occurrences that she didn’t know. IIRC, she also inherited her practice from him, which was also something that the male professors before and after didn’t have to contend with. It’s a miracle that this was averted with Professors Magnolia and Sonia in Gen VIII, both of whom are women.

— Speaking of female professors being screwed over, in Gen VII we’re introduced to Professor Burnet, whose practice specifically focuses on ultra wormholes and disturbances in space-time (which makes sense since she was previously working on the Dream Radar). Given how much of the plot concerns ultra wormholes, you would think that she would be the main professor of the story, or at least play a big part. But you’re wrong! Instead she’s only in one mandatory scene, and then is basically never heard from again. Meanwhile, Kukui shows up all the goddamn time even though his goal (to create a League) is literally meaningless in the scope of the overall plot. (And even that could have been cool if it had delved into the socio-political ramifications of what overthrowing Alola’s current system of government for another one would mean, but now is not the time to get into the failings of Gen VII’s plot. I’ve gone through that enough times.)

— Back to Gen V for a second, we’re also given two rivals in the first of the Unova games: Bianca and Cheren. While Cheren, the male rival, is taken seriously and has it talked up over and over how great of a battler he is, Bianca has her Munna stolen from her halfway through the story and spends the rest of the game talking down on herself and ultimately deciding that her father was right and she really is not cut out to be a Pokémon Trainer. Keep in mind that Bianca was the first mandatory female rival in the games, because while May could be a rival in Gen III if you played as Brendan, if you chose to play as her, both rivals (Brendan and Wally) were male. So on that note, our rivals so far look like:

Gen I: Blue Oak (male)

Gen II: Silver (male)

Gen III: Wally (male), optional May (female), optional Brendan (male)

Gen IV: Barry (male)

Gen V: Cheren (male), Bianca (female), Hugh (male)

Gen VI: Shauna (female), Tierno (male), Trevor (male), optional Serena (female), optional Calem (male)

Gen VII: Hau (male), Gladion (male)

Gen: Hop (male), Bede (male), Marnie (female)

So, let’s see. We only have two mandatory female rivals (Bianca and Marnie), as well as two optional female rivals (May and Serena). Meanwhile, we have twelve mandatory male rivals, as well as two optional male rivals (Brendan and Calem). To cap this off, while the mandatory male rivals (outside of the useless Kalos ones) are always treated as strong, competent battlers who have important roles in the story, our two mandatory female rivals, well . . .

Bianca: See above

Marnie: Gets battled a whole grand total of two times and has basically zero impact on the plot despite the fact that her brother is the only Gym Leader who didn’t give into Rose’s vision for how Galar should operate and use Dynamax evolution

And even when it comes to the optional ones, since Brendan is treated as the default MC by TPCi, that means May is the one who gives up training to go be a professor like her dad. (Which is the exact thing they basically did to Bianca in Gen V, except she studies under Juniper instead.) Serena at least keeps battling if she’s the rival, but jeez.

So to say there’s definite gender inequality where the rivals are concerned is a bit of an understatement.

— Moving away from the rivals, let’s talk about villains! We didn’t get a female villain until Gen VII with Lusamine, and even then she wasn’t allowed to stay a villain because I guess Game Freak doesn’t want to accept the fact that women can be evil, too. Moreover, all of Lusamine’s achievements come from the men in her life, and all of her motivations revolve around her husband. To spell it out:

- She inherited the Aether Foundation from her grandfather / father, without having founded it herself like we’re at first led to believe.

- Her husband Mohn was the one who discovered how the ultra wormholes work, not her. IIRC, he was also the primary researcher behind Type: Null’s creation.

- The reason why she does what she does is because she’s looking for her missing husband Mohn, with an added dash of “women just go crazy (and abuse their children) without their husbands!!1!!!” thrown in for flavor.

Compare this to Giovanni, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Ghetsis, Colress, Lysandre, and now Chairman Rose, all of whom formed their own organizations (Giovanni inheriting his from his mother is anime only and does not pertain to the games at all) and had their own goals and desires, versus relying on someone else for those goals and desires. And as if Lusamine not being allowed to form her own organization and have her own goals for her own sake wasn’t bad enough, they then had to go and make it even worse in USUM by turning her into a damsel in distress in the Rainbow Rocket plot, depicting her as not only less capable as the male villains, but also less capable than her male subordinate. Gag me.

— On that note, Oleana is sorely underappreciated by basically everyone except the Twilight Wings writers considering she’s the only reason anything Rose did got done, yet got none of the credit for herself. Damn shame.

— Stepping away from the games for a moment, Generations was a hot mess in terms of sexism. First of all, they only ever used the male MCs, pretending that the female ones didn’t exist at all, even in cases where the female MCs are vastly more popular (e.g. May, Dawn, Hilda). Second, most of the episodes focused on male characters from the series, and the ones that didn’t were either there so they could disrespect the best character in the series by not giving her the episode she deserved (Zinnia), or were told from the point of view of a male character despite that it was supposed to be a female character’s story (Emma). And lastly, there was whatever the fuck that mess with Cheryl was. It was animated in a way that made it look like an anime not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen. Like honestly, what the hell.

— Leaf has been consistently and constantly disrespected all over the franchise. Despite there allegedly being four trainers who left from Pallet Town (counting Ash) in the anime, Leaf has never been seen or mentioned even once throughout the two decades that anime has been running. They had an opportunity to show her in at least a cameo form in the 20th anniversary movie, but they chose not to do that either, adding yet another disappointment from that movie to the list. She had no appearances in Origins, no appearances in Generations, they didn’t do what they should have done in HGSS by making her the rival atop Mt Silver if you chose to play as Lyra, she wasn’t a skin for Pokémon Trainer in Super Smash Bros. until Ultimate, I’m pretty sure they never made an Amiibo for her either, they replaced her with her Special counterpart in LGPE and her characterization absolutely bonkers to boot, and back to Masters, SS Leaf doesn’t have the Main Character designation for the theme skills that SS Red has, and is also routinely left out of any story bits that feature Red or Blue. It’s a miracle she was even included in the Battling Legends event or whatever it was. As far as TPCi seems to be considered, Kanto only has one main character and that’s Red.

— Oh and speaking of Iris, they gave her the Gym Leader theme designation instead of the Champion designation, instead choosing to act like Alder is Unova’s only Champion when he, no offense, didn’t really fucking do anything in Gen V. :’) We hate to see it.

— In the current run of the anime, the two boys (Ash and Gou) have gotten to go around and have adventures for ~50 episodes while the girl (Koharu) has had to stay home and go to school. You can argue, “She wanted that!” all you want, but you have to remember that she only wants what the writers tell her to want, and the writers said the boys get to have adventures while the girls stay home. She finally has an Eevee and will presumably go on adventures now, but we’ll have to wait and see. And don’t get me wrong, I like Journeys and I love Gou as a character, but it is absolutely a Choice to not have a female lead present in the adventures at all and it’s one that the writers deliberately made for whatever reason.

— On that note, let’s look at Ash’s female companions, shall we?

Misty: A Gym Leader who has a vague goal (water pokémon master) and is largely out of focus during her run as a primary companion. She had no rivals or in-series (as in, concrete ones she could accomplish before leaving the main cast) goals of her own.

May: A coordinator. Does have rivals and has a story, which is nice, but battling isn’t her focus.

Dawn: Another coordinator. Even more focus than May (she was written as a deuteragonist), but also not primarily focused on battling.

Iris: A battler (her Gym Leader / Champion Status is written out) who actually does get decent focus and a cool arc surrounding her connection to dragons.

Serena: A performer, which is a girls-only career path that doesn’t have battling in it at all, unlike contests. Does have a goal, but much of her character is written around her crush for Ash and at the end of the series she says that he is her goal.

Lillie, Lana, Mallow: Honestly I didn’t watch enough of SM to have an opinion on how these three were handled outside of hating how Lusamine didn’t get to be a villain in the anime either.

Koharu: See above, she’s only just now getting to be involved with things.

Now, don’t get me wrong: There’s nothing wrong with being a coordinator (and we do see male coordinators too, such as Drew and Harley), and I think that both May and Dawn are wonderful characters. But it does make me feel some kind of way that the female characters were often given the “girly” sidequest while the male main character got to go for the Gym badges, especially since AG and DP went on for a good chunk of years. None of the ladies so far have been treated as badly as Serena was (that performer stuff is just nasty, I’m not sorry), but again, it’s a deliberate choice and something to think about, especially since I feel the only reason they didn’t go that route with Iris is because of her Gym Leader / Champion status in the games.

I could probably think of more examples of the casual sexism in the series if I thought about it, but this is just from the top of my head. As you can see, there is a lot. All of this being said, and I’m putting major emphasis on this since I don’t want anyone to get it twisted—

I love Pokémon with my entire heart, flaws and all. It has been my hyperfixation for 22 years and that is not going to change any time soon. So DO NOT even dare suggest that I hate Pokémon, or shouldn’t play it, or anything like that. I will be playing Pokémon on my deathbed and nothing and no one will stop me.

But that being said, I criticize because I care. Because I wish it would do better. Pokémon is for everyone. It’s for boys, girls, nonbinary folks, and people all over the gender spectrum. But the treatment of its female characters and the abundance of favoritism shown toward the male characters leaves a lot to be desired (though at least girls are at the table, whereas trans folk are relegated to background NPCs and nonbinary folk are nowhere to be seen :/). I think Pokémon can get better—Magnolia and Sonia felt like a proper apology for how Juniper in particular was shafted, not to mention Burnet—but it’s got a long way to go.

(And also, yes, you’ve understood this right. Twilight Wings is the only anime series to not fuck up at all when it comes to sexism. You go, Twilight Wings. Four for you, Twilight Wings.)

#pokemon critical #pokemon criticism #pokemon negative #let me know if I should use any other tags #long post for ts #stabbymattress #the treatment of Ash's female companions from best to worst has been:#Dawn - May - Iris - Misty - Koharu - Serena #and the Alola girls somewhere in the middle ig I honestly didn't watch enough of that series to know

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

Text

What stories are left in ACOTAR: Elain edition

It is likely that the next installment of the ACOTAR series will cover Elain Archeron. Elain is probably the least developed character of the Inner Circle, and the only character (other than Amren and Lucien) whose perspective we haven’t seen yet. This post details her trauma, the issue of choice, Elain’s personality, the sweet innocent Elain image, and her various roles.

Elain will definitely have to face her past trauma, which include:

Graysen: grief, feeling of betrayal

The Cauldron and being kidnapped: trauma, feeling violated, becoming high fae

Her father: grief

Sisters: having a role in the Night Court, belonging there, being protected

Choices:

Before I get into Elain’s role, I want to talk about a huge thing for Elain, which is choice. Rhysand spends ACOMAF and ACOWAR showing Feyre that she always has choices. Nesta struggles with this in ACOSF, and while Nesta does make choices to be more active - she kills the Kelpie, saves Feyre, saves her friends, she choses Cassian, and kills Briallyn.

“I am not a thing to be controlled by you”, Nesta said icily. Everything in her life, from the moment she was born, had been controlled by other people. Things happened to her; anytime she tried to exert control, she’d been thwarted at every turn -- and she hated that even more than the King of Hybern.

Elain, who has suffered much of the same trauma as Nesta, will make her own choices in her book. Those choices will involve who she ends up with (I refuse to get into the Elucien/Elriel debacle here - I like both!), how she wields her power (as a seer, as high fae, as a Made person, as the Cauldron’s favorite, as a political pawn), and what she makes of the situations that happened to her.

Elain has already shown that she can make good on a bad situation in ACOWAR, I’m excited to see how she keeps that up in her book:

“This could end very badly, Elain.” // She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” (ACOWAR)

“I know your circumstances for coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.” (ACOSF)

Sweet Innocent Elain:

Elain’s persona in the Inner Circle is a sweet and innocent girl. She loves gardening and cooking. She is kind and cares about things like manners and propriety. Here are a few quotes that show that:

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (ACOWAR)

“You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.” (ACOWAR)

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” (ACOWAR)

“I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”(ACOSF Bonus Chapter)

We know that there is a lot more to Elain than anyone gives her credit for - Cassian, Amren, Rhys, and even Nesta point this out on different occasions in ACOSF:

Cassian: “Nesta was wrong to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.”

Amren: “Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Rhys: “I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way” “And torn up by thorns”

Nesta: “Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death? Challenge laced each word. Challenge - from Elain of all people.

We also see Elain starting to take back her power in ACOSF when she steps up to look for the Dread Trove

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over”

“I went into the Cauldron too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of it what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s Roles:

Sister: Elain has long been a mediator between Nesta and Feyre. She is the calmness that complements each of their fire, she is the one they each seek to protect. (I’m thinking of SJM’s fire/ice/stone metaphor for Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel). However, she is able to fight for what she wants with each of them, and use her skills to her advantage. Elain shows Feyre her remorse for the years when they are poor, which is why Elain and Nesta step up to help with the Mortal Queens.

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” (ACOMAF)

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” (ACOMAF)

Sweet, innocent Elain who vomited from the violence on the battlefields, who recoiled from Cassian’s weapons, does show that she is willing to fight for her sisters.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Seer: Elain seemed to gain clarity once she realized what she was seeing. She says she can control her Seer talk, and actually uses this power to help Feyre find the Suriel in ACOWAR, and offers to do the same with the Dread Trove. It isn’t clear if Elain’s refusal to acknowledge her powers stems from fear, lack of acceptance, or just the fact that she needed to be normal before she can embrace her new life.

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” (ACOFAS)

“Then I will find it. I might require some time to ... reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (ACOSF)

Made and Cauldron’s Favorite: Just like Nesta and Feyre, Elain is Made. All of the Like Calls to Like logic that applies to Feyre in ACOMAF with the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings and Nesta in ACOSF with the Dread Trove applies to Elain. Now that Nesta’s power is limited, Elain may have to step up and use her power to help find the fourth Dread Trove item or with a new Cauldron-related task. The big distinguishing factor here is that the Cauldron likes Elain.

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well... and because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.”

Lucien’s Mate: Elain hasn’t been raised with the mating bond, she doesn’t care for it in ACOWAR when she tries to win Graysen back, but it is possible that after almost two years in the Night Court, and watching both of her sisters accept their bonds, that she may want to acknowledge it, or at least understand it. Being Lucien’s Mate also makes Elain a political pawn. Her presence in the Night Court ensures Lucien’s loyalty, and given that Lucient has ties to 3 of the seven courts and the human lands. Elain could potentially wield the power of those alliances (or destroy them based on her relationship with Lucien).

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”// “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”// “You belong to him.”//“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”(ACOWAR)

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?//“He brought you a present”// “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”// “No. He is a good male. He cares for you.”// “He doesn’t know me.” //“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”//“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” (ACOFAS)

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Member of the Inner Circle: Elain insists that she is a member of the Night Court in ACOSF, and offers her help in tracking down the Dread Trove. . She is already an active member at Inner Circle dinners (seen in ACOFAS and ACOSF), and those bonds could continue to grow.

“And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was a part of this court -- and would do whatever was needed. ... He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court... It sucked the life from her.”

Nuala and Cerrdiwen’s Friend: Elain has befriended the two half-wraiths who spy for both Azriel and Rhys. Give Elain’s powers for persuasion (”my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles”) and observation (”Nesta never spoke if afterward, I just observed”// “Elain’s brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.” ), she could make an interesting spy or courtier.

“They’d spent more time with Elain than even I had. They understood her moods, what she sometimes needed.” (ACOFAS)

Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (ACOSF)

#elain archeron #acotar #elain #elain archeron week #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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lovelylogans · 4 years

Note

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.

#anonymous #ask #my post #text #my fic #my fanfic #the sideshire files

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maozijun · 3 years

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Mao Zijun Xing Fan Interview

Removing the “adonis of period-costume dramas” label, and returning to a Republican era drama

Before Killer and Healer (or KillHeal hence), Mao Zijun had not filmed a republican drama in a long time. For almost the past five years, the audience’s impression of him has been his costume dramas, such as Qin Wuyan from The Legend of Chusen, An Qinxu from The Glory of Tang Dynasty, Yin Yiren from The Legend of Haolan, and so on and so forth. Because most of his dramas are costume dramas, as it happens, offers that come to him are the costume dramas.

Thus, when an offer for KillHeal, a TV drama about “drug crackdown” set in Republican China, appeared before Mao Zijun, he accepted it without a second thought. “At the time, I felt that I didn’t want to keep shooting costume dramas.”

If “costume drama” is a tag the audience associates with Mao Zijun’s role and acting, we can also claim that “zen,” “placid,” and “easy-going” are impressions he leaves on most people. Other than for the purpose of promoting the broadcasts of his new dramas, he seldom appears in public. If he “wasn’t at home, [he’d] be hanging out, or watching movies.” To the public, it’s as if he’s been “spirited away.” As a regular whose name ranks on the “skilled actor without due fame” chart, regardless how many times he’s been asked about the matter, his response has always been “I really haven’t paid it much attention.” His response may seem like a pleasantry, but he means it from the bottom of his heart.

Mao Zijun knows that ever since he became an actor, his career has been successful for the most part without any major setbacks, and he’s met many great people along the way. From his first TV drama Beauty's Rival in Palace when he cooperated with Lin Xinru, he stumbled into the entertainment industry and was swept along despite his inexperience and unworldliness. Including Director Yu Zheng who was willing to give him the male lead roles for The Legend of Haolan and The Matriarch. “So I thought I’ve had good luck. I’ve met people who appreciated me and were willing to give me opportunities. I’m very grateful.”

Mao Zijun’s “zen” attitude, however, doesn’t extend to everything he does. When there’s a role he really wants, his “wolf-like ambition” is brought out. When it comes choosing projects, he doesn’t compromise either. “I think everyone has the desire to strive for things they don't have; regardless of where you are in life, you wish to become better, you wish that you can climb higher. It’s a never-ending climb.”

Regardless of whether he’s gained fame and popularity, or remains a fine wine waiting to be discovered, “becoming better” is a creed he lives by and acts upon.

- 01 - Shooting KillHeal was an effortless process

What made Mao Zijun “return” to KillHeal after a long separation from republican dramas was its story and Jiang Yuelou’s personality. Jiang Yuelou is a morally grey character: a police officer and Chief of the Inspection Department. He's made law enforcement and drug crackdown his lifelong war, and it’s an undertaking he’s willing to sacrifice his life for. Although a patient with manic depression (known as bipolar disorder in modern clinical terms)--which results in his irritable, violent, and stubborn personality and tendency to be a lone wolf--he’s upright at his core, and there’s a gentle side to him deep down.

When Mao Zijun saw the script, he knew that this character had a lot of potential and creative room to work with. Precisely because of the great amount of creative room, on top of Jiang Yuelou’s vivid and distinct personality, filming for KillHeal was a relatively easy-going process for Mao Zijun despite the character’s lifelong angst and suffering. The character was rich and human per se, “so there was no need to brood over some things,” and it could be rather realistically portrayed. By the same token, the more one could ease himself into character, the better the final results.

Many actors determine the difficulty of portraying a character by criterion of the character’s degree of complexity, or their own compatibility with the character. In this respect, Mao Zijun is somewhat different: his criterion is whether the character can spontaneously come to life in the mind’s eye. “When you’ve read the entire script and discover that the character is very vivid and lifelike--his motives, intentions, behaviour and course of actions, all of which constitutes his rich psychological wiring--you will be able to portray him with relative ease, and not based on whether he’s similar to you. “Compatibility is only one aspect.”

Even if you were to act a character completely different from yourself, “you can imagine yourself in his shoes--what he would say or do” because he’s such a vivid character. “You can effectively get into character.”

In crafting Jiang Yuelou, Mao Zijun largely relies on following the script, his character changing with the progression of the plot; as a result, Jiang Yuelou’s uncontrollable violence, uncompromising ways, and other destructive habits doesn’t extend beyond the character and affect the actor himself. Unlike other actors whose characters took a mental and physical toll on them, Mao Zijun isn’t a purely immersive actor.

“Filming for a movie may require more personal feelings and emotions, but for a TV series, I think it’s half-and-half. Except for particular emotional scenes, that is.” In KillHeal, for example, the emotion expressed through Jiang Yuelou’s eyes when he’s solving cases, or reaction to receiving news, are all achieved through acting techniques. But for scenes where he’s facing the death of his subordinates, his mother, his adoptive father, his brother, and other loved ones, his reactions and expressions of pain must be nuanced and highly faceted. Even for crying scenes, he must cry in widely differing ways. For these scenes, Mao Zijun must lend his own emotional faculties to the character.

However, he does not believe tears are the only way to express his character’s emotions. When his younger and less inexperienced co-star, Ian Yi, consults him about his worries of being unable to shed tears, Mao Zijun tells him, “Why must you shed tears? Tears do not mean everything. The more dramatic and emotionally heavy a scene is, the more you must relax yourself.”

Filming to Mao Zijun is in fact a creative process where he imagines the character, then completes him. Hence, for every character he has acted, Mao Zijun would forget about the character. In his next drama, he would similarly imagine the character, understand his character, and the cycle continues.

So far, he believes there has yet to be a character that requires a lot from him mentally and psychologically, or even one that took him a long time getting out of. But, he hopes he will encounter such a character; a character that can let him experience more, feel more, and empathize with more.

KillHeal was a project Mao Zijun worked on two years ago. Two years ago, he did everything he could to bring Jiang Yuelou into fruition. Looking back now, there are details that could be further refined or supplemented, but the current KillHeal is still to his satisfaction, from his performance and methods of expression, to the overall product that is his character. “As to whether it has met my expectations… Because the broadcast of KillHeal had been held off for so long, I was worried about if the drama would go out of date when it finally came out. But there haven't been such problems so there’s nothing else I’m unsatisfied with.”

- 02 - I’ve become increasingly sentimental

While Mao Zijun may not be a purely immersive actor, he is not a wholly rationalistic one either. It’s in his analysis of his characters and response after completing a character that is rational. This rationality is present in his logic, or his healing process after getting out of character, but not acting itself.

Rationality is perhaps a result of Mao Zijun’s own experiences and personality. He had no formal training in acting. He had good grades in high school, perhaps due to parental pressure and his own belief that good grades made life somewhat easier. After graduating from high school, Mao Zijun successfully got into Zhejiang University of Finance and Economics and majored in Auditing.

“Why had I chosen auditing? At that time, I thought auditing had good prospects. It wasn’t a complicated job either--I took math and the sciences in high school, so auditing isn’t hard.” After getting into university, his parents weren’t as strict as they were in high school, so he had the opportunity to “set himself free” and explore new options. Just like that, he started taking jobs for advertisements, and then acting.

“Beauty's Rival in Palace was especially looking for people to fill in roles at the time. Liu Che was an important character despite not having a lot of scenes, and they thought my appearance fit the role.” Mao Zijun laughed lightly, “Also because of my looks that I started acting.”

The profession of acting provided him with many new experiences, because every character was new and unlike the mechanical motions he had to go through everyday. “This is also the reason why I will persist on this path.”

As someone who changed career paths from the sciences to acting, Mao Zijun has never second-guessed his decisions. He thought of himself as lucky, and his path a smooth one. Many of his friends around him have changed their career paths because of setbacks or other reasons, but he hasn’t. His parents have given him understanding and support. “My parents would express their worries, but they would not try and make a decision for me. Every big decision I've made is my own choice.”

Mao Zijun is a Capricorn: steadiness and rationality are a big part of it. But because he’s been an actor for so long, he’s in fact becoming more and more sentimental. When he first started out in the industry, he would care about others’ views and opinions about him. But with time, they gradually ceased to bother him. This is one of the very few things that have changed about him since his debut.

As an actor with no formal training, but has still received praise and acknowledgement for his acting skills, he does not attribute it to natural talent. Instead, he attributes it to his own capacity for self-excavation. “I think as an actor, you are mining yourself (your talents and skills). For example, if you meet other good actors, good characters, you will be driven to tap into your natural talents. For many actors, rather saying they don’t have talent, they simply haven’t been given the chance to discover their potential.”

In Mao Zijun’s opinion, every actor has talent, it is only a matter of chance and whether they can encounter a great character.

- 03 - Try and lose the “let it be” attitude

Mao Zijun has been in the industry for more than ten years. Ten years’ time is enough to change the state of the entertainment industry and the actors in it. As a post-85 liner interacting with post-90s and -95s actors, he’s picked up a hobby of collecting tarot cards, and has been playing video games like Super Mario and Contra that came with the gaming console gifted to him by his fans.

Newcomers in the industry would abide to the instructions of senior artists and the director. If they met difficulties or discomfort in the process of the shoot, they could only learn to deal with it themselves. But the market has changed, with new genres, subject matters, and the actors, too, are young. These young actors can willfully express themselves and vent, unlike the older generation of actors who learned to put up with things.

These changes cannot be predicted. Just like how it happened in a few years’ time, when an actor may no longer have a large audience base like before--an audience who sits in front of the TV just to catch the airtime of a TV series. Mao Zijun, too, is no longer the unworldly and inexperienced newcomer he was.

If he had to draw a demarcation, he says it’s the year 2016. “Before 2016, although I was an actor by profession and had thought I took my job seriously, looking back now, I’d just been in a status quo of “passing time.” Life had been smooth for Mao Zijun: high school, university, getting a job. He hasn’t met any real obstacles. The efforts and hard work he thought he had been putting into his work were tantamount to what he could easily accomplish in his best and most favourable circumstances.

He strongly agrees with the view that actors need to experience pain and setbacks. But he thinks that’s only a part of it. An actor can experience some things, but he is not able to experience everything. To him, some experiences can be gained through reading novels. “The stories, including the thoughts and behaviours of characters, are enriching and detailed. If you’re not able to personally experience some things, you can experience them via other methods.”

Mao Zijun is a very carefree person. He takes on drama offers when he feels like it, and rejects it when he doesn’t. He’s content with hiding himself away from the public eye to take time off for himself. But now, even he doubts whether the “let himself be” attitude is appropriate. “I noticed that there was a gap, like the period of time after The Legend of Haolan finished airing to the airing of KillHeal now. During these two years, you had no other dramas on-air. Your fans want to see your new projects and content, but you couldn’t give them anything, yet they would still give you a lot of support. It would make you question, shouldn’t I be filming more projects for them?”

After questioning himself, Mao Zijun started taking on more projects. Even during the pandemic, he filmed a movie (no news yet), acted as a cameo in The Journey of Flower as the character Sha Qianmo, and filmed for The Matriarch. “Since my fans want to see me so badly, I’ll just have to act in more projects, I thought.”

In The Matriarch, he plays the role of Wei Liang’gong, a very kind, “moonlight” (unattainable) character--a character with all the wonderful traits and virtues of a person--much like the male version of Empress Fuca Rongyin from Story of Yanxi Palace (2018). “This costume drama depicts a very realistic portrayal of life during the period. Acting in this drama was more of a process of experiencing and feeling, using an everyday-life way of performing was quite nice.”

Mao Zijun doesn’t really care whether he’s famous or popular. Even to this day, other actors from the casts he’s worked with would offer him new projects. Speaking from this point, he thinks he’s lucky enough as it is. To him, a TV drama actor, a bit of fame and a lot of fame doesn’t hold much of a difference. In the long term, “fame” is only a matter of degree. “Unless you win an award--a prestigious film award, whether it be movies or TV films--how much fame is but a matter of quality.” What he must do now, and spare no effort, is to give himself more opportunities.

In retrospect, Mao Zijun has gotten the roles he wanted, and there’s really no regrets. What he desires perhaps lies in the future. Fortunately, there’s just enough time.

Writer: 77

WeChat ID: LJLX2013

Original Post

#mao zijun #interviews #articles #xing fan #星番

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thetypedwriter · 3 years

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A Curse So Dark and Lonely Book Review

A Curse So Dark and Lonely Book Review by Brigid Kemmerer

My gosh, I feel like I have enormous feelings about this book.

So, I had seen this book for awhile bestow the shelves at Barnes & Noble and while it drew the eye, it also didn’t entice me right away. I must have read snippets of the backside summary a dozen times before I finally succumbed and purchased it when the store was having a buy one, get one 50% off deal.

Lame, I know.

That being said, A Curse So Dark and Lonely surprised me in a lot of pleasant ways and at the end of the experience it was a book I genuinely enjoyed reading, despite the flaws throughout.

First off, somehow, in ways that I don’t even fully understand, I did not realize that this was a retelling of Beauty and the Beast.

You might ask, seeing the title, the reviews on the back literally calling it a retelling of a classic fairytale, the summary itself, and the basic premise, how did I not realize what the true nature of this book was?

I genuinely have no idea.

I really don’t.

It’s so flabbergasting that I don’t even have a proper answer for you other than Beauty and the Beast was not my favorite Disney movie growing up and that I probably should have spent more time checking out what bargain books to buy before I laid down the cash.

Oh well.

That being said, retellings of classic fairy tales has been a fairly popular phenomenon in the YA literature scene (and popular culture as a whole, really) for the last couple of years and while I can see the appeal, it was never something that beckoned me.

I’m not a huge fairytale fan to begin with so a retelling of the original doesn’t hold much sway in terms of intrigue and buy-in.

If I had known what A Curse So Dark and Lonely truly was, I never would have bought it. Frankly, it’s a little sad because I genuinely would have missed out on a very fun and engaging read. Fortunately enough, however, my dumb actions actually paid off in good luck this time around.

The whole premise is exactly what you’ve probably surmised up to this point: an enumeration of Beauty and the Beast with some modern fanfare and twists and turns along the way.

Rhen is the current Crown Prince of Emberall, a country in some parallel world to the one that you and I currently exist in. With a series of twists, the main protagonist, Harper, is unwillingly hoisted from her homeland of Washington D.C. to the magical world of Emberfall, which unfortunately is not all that magical with a looming war on the horizon involving a neighboring nation, rumors of a savage beast that has wreaked havoc on the country, and a wicked witch that delights in torment and carnage to sadistic glee.

Soon enough, a high school dropout with cerebral palsy soon finds herself in the imaginary role as the Princess of Disi, an allying nation that has promised aid and troops to Emberfall and potentially betrothed to the Crown Prince, Rhen.

To make matters more complicated, Harper finds herself often in the company of Grey, the lone soldier of the Royal Guard and Rhen’s constant shadow, a figure she soon begins to trust despite herself.

With a war on the horizon, the ever-present threat of the witch Lillith, the haunting promise of the beast’s return, and evolving feelings, A Curse So Dark and Lonely is a lovely concoction of both fast-paced action, romance, humor, and fantasy. This whole book gave me a pleasant buzz from start to finish.

The plot itself, while recycled at its core, is fresh enough with the modern flare of Harper being from D.C. (Disi-this still makes me laugh), representation in the form of a character with a disability like cerebral palsy, interesting and complex relationships, and opposing enough with the threat of Lillith and future battles that it never seemed pithy or banal.

While the world building is...mediocre, I don’t think it was amazing nor do I think it’s awful, it’s a useful enough background for the characters and their emotions to take place, which honestly is the real focus throughout the entire novel (although the author did take some liberties by inputting in things like the castle automatically regenerating food-how much more deus ex machina can you get?).

Kemmerer’s writing style is also fine. Nothing groundbreaking, but also not writing I find abhorrent or even unlikeable. She comes across as a typical YA author to me in terms of her vocabulary, her figurative language, and her writing style.

The real focus, if you haven’t caught on by now, are the characters.

I genuinely like all three main characters quite a bit, which, if you regularly read my reviews, is quite the anomaly.

Rhen I find to be strangely complex. While he fits the mold of the brooding, arrogant prince that actually cares deeply for his people and his country quite well, I also found him more interesting than just the archetype of the royal son.

He’s surly, dark, and quite temperamental. While he does care deeply about his people, he’s often selfish and petty. Honestly, he shouldn’t be very likable at all, but it’s for that reason alone that I do like him.

I like that while he might be a good ruler he’s not necessarily a good person and I like the dichotomy and the conflict that implicitly comes with that struggle, a struggle often shown to the readers and the two other characters he’s closest with: Harper and Grey.

In addition, often in YA I feel like authors constantly feel pressured to make romantic love interests “perfect” which to me, translates to being stereotypical and boring. Very often my favorite characters are the ones who are flawed and complicated-just like Rhen.

Grey is also a character that I thought would be more simple than he actually turned out to be. I originally thought Grey was going to be the stoic, soldier type and while he is, I also really enjoyed seeing his lighter side, his sense of humor, his love for children, and the deadly loyalty that binds him not because of a curse or a spell, but because of his own stubbornness and dedication to the decision that he made and the refusal to break it.

I found this honor code fascinating and his adherence to it almost obsessive. His loyalty to Rhen is both baffling and intriguing and often it was the best part of the novel for me.

Which brings me to my next point: Rhen and Grey’s relationship is hand’s down the best part of this book. It’s a complicated relationship and, therefore, really fascinating to read about it. They have a serpentine history involving Grey being the one to let Lillith into Rhen’s chambers which sets off the whole curse business in the first place.

However, as Rhen says later on in the book, it was his choice to keep Lillith overnight and to pursue romance, not Grey’s.

There is guilt, blame, affection, loyalty, ownership, friendship, frustration, anger, sacrifice and more to their relationship. Their history stops them from being true friends, as do their roles as prince and guard, yet they are the only companion the other has for seasons upon seasons.

At the end of the day, Grey is all Rhen had for a very long time and it shows.

Their relationship was always so engrossing to read about due to its complications and its nuances. Very few YA relationships, especially that of platonic male friendship, gets even near the level of depth and grey (I couldn’t help this pun) area shown between Grey and Rhen. Their relationship alone is a huge draw for why I found this novel so captivating.

I did wonder for a while if perhaps there were more than platonic feelings involved, but I could never quite put my finger on the true nature of their relationship or their feelings towards each other, which I find absolutely amazing. Their relationship is messy and complicated, just like real life relationships are.

That leaves the third piece of the puzzle: Harper.

Out of the three main characters, I like Harper the least, but I do still like her. I like that she’s strong and tenacious, not in spite of her cerebral palsy, but in addition to her already present bravery and ferocity. She’s headstrong, stubborn, kind, merciful, and compassionate.

My dislike from Harper stems from the fact that she’s a little too perfect, especially compared to Rhen and Grey, who I found to be much more convoluted characters.

Again, harping (hahah) back to stereotypical YA, other than her cerebral palsy, I don’t think there’s anything in particular about Harper that makes her complicated, flawed, or especially interesting.

She’s a good girl willing to give it all up for a country she’s only known for a few weeks even though her mother’s dying at home and her brother is most likely involved in some kind of gang violence.

The best scenes with Harper are the scenes were she is struggling to choose between the two worlds and weighing her options, as at some points it does depict her as selfish and wanting to go home, even though she knows it would doom thousands of people.

But of course, this is all taken care of later when she realizes D.C. isn’t her true home any more and that Emberfall has become where her heart lies.

Lame.

Kemmerer made Harper just a little too pristine for my liking, which is why she ranks lower than both Rhen and Grey when on paper she is by far the best in terms of personality and character traits.

This especially grates on me when Kemmerer tells us that Harper is fantastic instead of letting us glean that for ourselves. I really dislike when an author tells me instead of shows me that someone is brave or kind or amazing or whatnot and I feel like there were enough instances of Harper being all of those things without having needed Rhen or Grey to point it out all of the time.

I also do feel like there is some weird shaming regarding things typically seen as “feminine” in relation to Harper and why that makes her “better.” For example, Rhen talks often about how no girl ever has ever done what Harper has done, like attacking him.

I’m sorry? You’re telling me that Grey has kidnapped hundreds of girls and not one of them before Harper tried to attack them? In any form? Really?

I find that preposterous.

Other instances of Harper being unique in this fashion is also sprinkled in, like how most girls apparently only care about the dresses and the jewels in the castle, but not Harper. Or how most girls would be crying from a scar on their cheek, but Harper is just upset that she misses her target.

I get what Kemmerer is going for, but these force-fed characterizations really bothered me and were the most irritating thing about the book.

Being feminine or caring about stereotypically feminine things like jewelry or dresses does not mean that someone can’t also be strong and brave and fierce. I dislike a lot of the subliminal messages in the novel in regards to that.

In terms of romance, again I have to ask myself when the trope of the love triangle will die. Perhaps it never will. Perhaps it will live on for eternity, forever immortal and present in nearly 90% of YA literature.

The love triangle between Grey, Rhen, and Harper doesn’t bother me so much in this novel as I feel like it isn’t truly focused on very much, which I appreciate. I understand that Harper has feelings for both Grey and Rhen, but her feelings make sense. I don’t feel like Kemmerer is just foisting a love triangle onto the readers for the sake of having a love triangle.

It felt somehow...natural.

In addition, most love triangles suck as they’re very one sided, usually in terms of the female’s POV.

In this case however, the love triangle is influenced by Grey and Rhen’s relationship, where the lines are very blurry and for a good portion of the book I thought perhaps they were in love with each other and Harper.

Frankly, I would have been ecstatic if this was the route Kemmerer had taken. Not many YA authors go down this route, but examples like Mark/Cristina/Keiran from The Infernal Devices and Niall/Irial/Leslie from Ink Exchange are actually the only examples I know from YA literature so this would have been so welcome and anticipated.

If Kemmerer had gone down the route of looking into a polyamorous relationship I would have been over the moon. I don’t think she is sadly, but polyamrous relationships are still so few and far between in YA that it would have been utterly captivating, especially as she has all the ingredients to do so.

Or, I thought she did.

Until it’s revealed at the very end that Rhen and Grey are brothers. Or, at least half-brothers.

Yeah.

It’s super unfortunate.

I’m genuinely disappointed that this is the route Kemmerer decided to take it as it seems so grossly safe. It’s almost like an intense male/male relationship can’t exist unless it’s romantic or they’re brothers and I despise that.

Hence, why I have also decided that I won’t be reading A Heart so Fierce and Broken. I want to keep the memory and the interesting relationships between the three characters as it is: interesting.

I have a very strong feeling that if I read the sequel that will all be shattered.

When all is said and done, I really enjoyed this book. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to reading it and I wasn’t expecting very much, but it met all of my expectations and more.

I am sad that I won’t be finishing the series as a whole, but I know that the direction it's going will only make me frustrated and annoyed and I would rather preserve the positive emotions attached to A Curse So Dark and Lonely than ruin it with a sequel that I know won’t meet the expectations I have.

Perhaps that’s unfair to say, and rightly so, but I know myself and I can see where the sequel is going and I’m almost certain that I won’t like it.

So in this case, I’m going to quit while I’m ahead and savor the moments I had reading this novel in all its fairy-telling glory.

Recommendation: If you love Beauty and the Beast, fairytales with a modern twist, interesting characters and interesting relationships set in a fantasy world where the music never stops playing and a savage beast runs rampant, than this book is calling for you.

I didn’t know that I needed this novel in my life and now I’m so glad that it is. Captivating from beginning to end, if you’re anything like me and a sucker for interesting romance and strong, nuanced characters you won’t be able to put this down either.

Score: 7/10

#a curse so dark and lonely #a heart so fierce and broken #brigid kemmerer #popular fiction #Popular Books #teen books #Teen Romance #teen fiction #book review #book blog #Book Recommendations #book rec #ya fiction #YA Book Review #ya book rec #book blogger

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rinharu-purple · 4 years

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Mr. Love MC’s Choice: Gavin

We fellow producers all have our favorite LI in the game for whom we save our gems and dates, replay their chapters over and over again, sucking our bank accounts dry during the process. And that’s what makes this game so fun! However in my opinion MC’s personal choice is Gavin. I will try to explain it as thoroughly as possible in this post. Obviously they are only my personal opinions at the end of the day so please don’t freak out if you beg to differ ^_^

There are spoilers ahead and this post is a long one, you were warned!

A big, warm hug and grandious thanks to @smallersocksx for proof reading so fast and sharing her ideas! <3 </p>

Up until now, I’ve always analyzed ships in subtopics, so this time won’t be any different so I will just dive right into it:

Body Language

The law of attraction between two people in a romantic way has some thumb rules, one of them is that when you like someone then you try to touch them at every opportunity. From all of our LI’s Gavin is by far the one with the most body contact to the MC (The main story only atm, I will come to his dates in a minute ;)). I think the anime speaks for itself, in every single Gavin episode and some of other LI’s episodes (ahem…ep 10 but also ep 11…ahem) Gavin and MC are always in an embrace or a meaningful “hands-on” moment…In the game MC and Gavin are quite often touchy with each other, MC seems to not holding her hands back every time she feels like Gavin’s hurt and reflexively touches him, she is also highly concerned about his hair since every time his hair get messed up by the wind, rain or hormones (swh ;)), MC doesn’t waste any second before correcting his hair. Every reunion they have results in MC reaching out her hands towards Gavin and surprisingly never other way around. Even in a perillious moment in chapter 22 when Gavin goes completely wild and unleashes his “beast-self” the first thing MC wants to do is embrace him. In chapter 24, at the very end among all routes, MC only tells Gavin that she’s missed him and hugs him. Chapter 27...again MC wants to check Gavins body for injuries and tends to them the second they are alone in a closed room. They both yearn for each other’s touch all the way, no matter in which narrative.

If I were to start counting Gavin’s touchy touchy moments on the other hand, then we have to prepare a 4 volumes encyclopedia because that male individual is all about touching MC. Another hint for their closeness is that MC makes notes on Gavin’s scent quite often, mostly related to his jacket or his embrace and while doing it, she always uses adjectives like “clean”, “distinct” or “unique”. Again in ch. 15 she knows its Gavin standing behind her even without looking, because she senses his scent: “A scent that I’d recognize anywhere”. Surely there are many scenes, where MC holds hands with another LI or makes a remark of their scent, but they are not at the intensity or frequency level that of Gavin’s.

2. The Setting

All four LI’s are representing a certain archetypes women are usually attracted to:

Kiro is a pop idol (target audience 13-15)

Victor is the young successful businessman with a high dominant demeanour and Mr. Grey-ish attitude (target audience 25 upwards or any 50 shades of Grey reader)

Lucien is a young attractive professor with a mysterious and enigmatic vibe (target audience 20-24)

Gavin is the misunderstood bad boy (high school) and later a righteous police officer (16-19 for the bad boy Gavin and 20 upwards for the righteous police officer, special agent, military commander... a pilot?! anything including a uniform fetish)

So, in the game, Elex could take any of these paths and develop it in a way that the chosen path becomes a true love story. I gotta admit, Victor’s story comes at times very close to being one. However, his never-ending bickering and belittling in his 90% of the time cold demeanour just make him lose major points. Plus, MC mostly goes along with Victor’s tone, even though she is a kind and friendly person, she bickers with Victor not because that’s her personality but because that’s the way she can cope with him. If only he were a little bit less domineering.. Which is why I never feel like MC and Victor would belong together irl.

Seemingly Elex and Mappa take Gavin’s way imo. Because…

In the main story MC loves all of the LIs in a different way and also has romantic feelings to each one of them to a certain degree, but when we look at it closely and read in between the lines of MC’s thoughts Gavin is a little bit more romantically portrayed than the other guys.

a) First of all Gavin had a crush on MC during high school cannonically: Even though Gavin only says that it was a farewell letter, MC says once that she wishes that she could’ve read that “love letter”. I will stop here with Gavin’s feelings because this post focuses on MC.

b) MC, too, was kinda into Gavin during high school because in Episode 18, when she goes to Loveland Hugh during her farewell tour before going with her ultimate sacrifice , she remembers Gavin in intimate things like “watching his athletic body” or “wearing men’s clothes-meaning his-”. Additionally she remembers taking note of his face shining in the sun in the very back of the line during her recital. Even before it all she was specifically interested in him. Her memories with the other LI s are comprised of rather friendly moments like flying kites together but when it comes to Gavin she once again thinks about more intimate elements. Not to mention that the game gives MC a farewell with Gavin. In her final moments she only thinks that for Gavin her grievance would be the hardest. In the End of the Abyss era (ch. 15-18) MC meets all of the LIs after their changes again and reacts to all of them with joy…surely, but only when she sees Gavin hovering above her in the helicopter it is again…drum roll…drama: “The next second I saw a pair of amber eyes…shining like brilliant skies” this girl is always romanticizing Gavin.

“-Can you hear me?

-Can you see me?

-See my heart pounding again at the sight of you?” (so are you saying that your heart wasn’t pounding before? oh ok ;))

Fast forward to CH34 where MC fights Leto for the final time and remembers our guys and again, while she remembers other LIs for their sacrifices and their protection of her, she remembers Gavin's warm arms...

c)The game takes his time and turns the half of a whole chapter into a date in chapter15 Ep 1-9. There is no other chapter in the game where MC spends time with any of the other LI’s in which there is only the two of them, whereas nothing relevant to the main story happens and they share solely many sweet, romantic and almost hot (when MC tries to dry Gavin’s face in her flat and realizes that she stands way too close to him, she then prepares herself to say something, but gets interrupted by the alarm) and again, MC is getting close to Gavin, not the other way around like Lucien pushing MC against the blackboard, that little sneaky Lucien (actually I could write a post with a masterlist of Lucien’s advances to MC:D).

d) MC’s premonitions revolve mostly around Gavin (when they are not about the whole world or the black queen). Her dream about the rooftop rescue, her Room 404 dream, her daydream in the office in 6-13 in which Gavin’s suffering and from which she wakes up crying out his name leading to Willow, Kiki and Anna remark on playfully how unfair it is to dream about Gavin and disregarding the other guys. She also sees his future in episode 15 twice! If I am not mistaken, she only sees Victor’s future once in her dream and a vague vision of him in ch 18 but other than that she has no premonitions about Lucien or Kiro. Besides in the anime MC uses her power unintentionally yet instinctively twice while having Gavin in mind in episodes 5 and 8. The third time, she uses her powers in this way is in episode 11 with Victor but he is not her driving force for this but she is driven by the imminent danger they both are in and she doesn’t particularly think about Victor at this moment. In the game it additionally happens in chapter 22 when Gavin is cornered by the mechanical arms and is in a tight spot, this sight makes MC have a surge of rage and to unleash her powers in a great magnitude. Gavin is Queen’s soft spot i.e. More importantly Gavin is a constant part of MC’s future frame. She has her visions about other LI’s past but when it comes to Gavin it’s only his future. MC doesn’t have visions about Gavin’s past, like, ever. While Kiro, Lucien and Victor are stuck in their pasts with MC, Gavin has made peace with his past, is living in the present and looking forward the future (one of his best qualities imo, not being stuck in the past). Ironically, it’s MC, who’s stuck in the past in Gavin’s case.

e) I will intentionally not delve much into S2 stuff, but one thing has to be in this post…We know that in S2 MC goes back in time and relives the last 17 years. During these 17 years she makes sure to spend her high school years close to Gavin. So given the chance to rewrite her past, she would choose to make good for the lost years that she regretted dearly in S1 (she gushes out about her regrets in S2 Late Autumn Date in detail). We are yet to find out more about the nature of their relationship during high school, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a “will they, won’t they” situation. Since the game wouldn’t put any of the guys in an ex-boyfriend role, that would be the most romantic frame possible.

3. How other people see Gavin x MC

f) In CH 36, the one before CH 37, where every LI gets the same intimate moment with MC, only Lucien and Gavin are getting close to kissing her to which MC doesn't show any rejection towards... She is the one accidentally kissing Gavin btw and this is the only time before CH37 that MC either accidentally or willingly kiss any LI on his face or near his lips.

g) In S1, MC only posts two pics with the boys in her moments. One of them is a selfie with Lucien and the second one is with Gavin, hugged from behind. No other LIs ever have a moment with MC. Neither on their accounts, nor on MCs.

It is always a good indicator to look at how other characters perceive a particular ship. For Gavin and MC, it is almost obvious that once they are standing side by side, others see them instantly as a couple. Sure, at the orphanage some children ask Lucien if MC is his girlfriend or that one actress threatens MC to stay away from Victor because he’s hers (btw what happened to her?) With Gavin however, it’s practically a running joke.

As mentioned above, her once daydream in the office with Gavin shoutout in CH 6-13 drew the attention of her co-workers, leading them to mock her for thinking about him too much even though her dream was rather a nightmare. Besides, Gavin is the one showing up the most in MC’s office and he also lift her up to his shoulders once in the Visiting Hours date and Homer took a pic of that hilarious moment.

Every time MC is at STF HQ, respectively, Gavin’s co-workers or subordinates too take note of her presence and in chapter 12 they are even caught red-handed by one of the agents as MC is busy “correcting” Gavin’s hair (because see point 1). Eli seems to be aware of the intimacy between the two and even probably assumes that they’ve done the deed, because in ch 12 he is surprised to hear that MC hasn’t seen Gavin’s wound yet. He presumes that she already saw him naked…oh Eli! Season 2 has even more eminent scenes, we just have to wait and see.

In chapter 15 when they deliver Perry to the hospital, they are mistaken to be his parents by the hospital personnel not once but twice! Needless to say, they don’t find it necessary to correct the misunderstanding. I mean Perry is, what, 6…MC 22, Gavin 24 but they automatically think that they must be the parents?! Sure thats common sense- wink wink nudge nudge ¬‿¬ -

In chapter 22 Shaw makes a comment on MC willing to go to where Gavin is with a “Really, all you do is following him, isn’t it?”. He uses MC to trigger Gavin in Airport date as well.

And of course, there is Minor…The ultimate number one wingman and the most original Gavin-stan! Minor uses everything in his power to bring them together both in the main story and in dates. He even calls her Sis-in-Law in public in CH 35 which MC doesn't reject. This doesn’t even need explanation.

Last but not least:

Their couple chemistry went viral lol.

Visually speaking, when they stand side by side, for me Gavin and MC look the most like a couple (Kiro is too childish and fashion icony compared to MC and Victor is too mature and business attire-ish making him look like her uncle rather than boyfriend, Lucien is the only one besides Gavin who actually suits MC visually). I am not saying that looks are the main indicator btw so don’t lynch me please ^_^

Come to think about it, MCs life is intertwined with that of Gavin's the most. Considering how she knows his father, brother and colleagues and spends so much time in "his world" whether it's at STF or NW. In the main story MC and Gavin have their favorite restaurants (ehm it's never souvenir due to obvious reasons 😉), share the same passion for music, have many common memories from high school and most importantly their world views are very similar. Both are prioritizing others safety over themselves and are compassionate for anyone who is in need. They are both ambitious and hardworking but not to the point of being power driven. Both are humble and finding hapinness in the smallest things. Maybe that's why they say the same things simultaneously or say the things the other would say simultaneously. MC and Gavin are highly compatible and have a harmonious, healthy relationship despite the conspiracy around them.

4. Anime

Okay okay, listen…Yes, the anime wasn’t the best adaptation and many of us were disappointed by the ending (including me), still, the anime makes a part of canon MLQC universe and no Gavin-stan should complain about the anime because the anime put canonically Gavin on a pedestal. In a total of 12 episodes, all guys had 2 episodes each BUT Gavin was actually blessed with 3 episodes and so many romantic moments to count…let’s count them anyways :)

Mappa introduces all guys in episode 1 so MC encounters them all in the first 25 minutes but she first meets Gavin in episode 2 and the two spend almost the entire time of the episode together, not to mention the extremely romantic first-fly scene in the sunset. As I mentioned in point 1, MC and Gavin are always in physical contact in any given episode. Anime made sure to portray every single interaction they have romantically.

They even went so far to mix Gavin scenes in other guys episodes (he offers her a ride to work in ep 3, she has an emotional moment with him after the first shooting misunderstanding while Lucien is standing right next to her in ep 4, Gavin is the one to catch MC mid-air in ep 10, this episode ends with them in their life and death embrace falling down in dawn… and then he falls on her in ep 11).

When it’s a Gavin episode MC has no romantic scenes with any of the other guys, let alone having any scenes at all. Its only about Gavin in Gavin episodes. Also, the storyline is edited in a way that between MC and Gavin a romantic story develops. Their meet cute conspiracy, their misunderstanding with Lucien, followed by the “drop the senpai” offer and finally that 5 seconds long gaze deeply in the eyes in ep 8 while holding hands.

It is really sad that the anime ruined this development in the final episode but taking into consideration that there might be a second season, they probably chose to make the change in Gavin’s character after the NW project remarkable.

Another point in the anime is that they kinda exaggerate Gavin’s Evol a little bit. During his stand-off with Lucien Gavin’s bullet cuts through Lucien’s shield and all in ep 8,11 and 12 there is a significant emphasis on the intensity and destructive power of Gavin’s Evol. I mean, whose Evol is the most upfront one in episode 12? We see Lucien using his Evol only twice, both very briefly, Kiro/Helios/Key and Victor even have to use guns to protect themselves and/or MC. Gavin’s shown using a pistole once at the beginning, after that it’s all turbines and tornadoes and just Gavin unleashed.

I think it’s an exaggeration because in my personal opinion, Lucien is actually the one with the strongest Evol, followed by Victor and then comes Gavin. Lucien’s ability to copy an Evol is simply the strongest trait one could have, sure it comes with the downside that he then doesn’t have enough time and focus to excel in any of those Evols, Victor can literally create black holes are you kidding me?! But because his Evol has its limits it puts him in the second place. But in the anime, Gavin’s Evol is extremely powerful and destructive and they also created some really cool scenes in which Gavin uses his Evol in various styles (accelerating his bullets speed, dodging a bullet, lifting MC in any and every situation, flying- obviously- and sometimes just overpowered destruction).

But in the anime in comparison, Lucien looks like a copy-cat of Evols and Victor like someone who travels through time to find out nothing can change the course of events (on a side note I will never understand why did Mappa toned down Victor so heartlessly, he is a powerful character and has countless sweet, emotional moments with MC).

5. Dates

I left dates to the end because they are highly subjective and don’t belong to the main story. NEVERTHELESS, Gavin’s dates include here and there some hints which may indicate that MC tends to like Gavin maybe just a little bit more. I will just add it as bullet points here since I’m pretty sure that the list will be enriched over time.

Slightly drunken date: Shouting out loud in public “Gavin! I’m crazy for you!”

When the Galaxy Falls Date: “...and in that moment, I make an eternal vow in my heart. To give all the blazing love and the most endless warmth to the person in front of me. Standing on my tiptoes, I carry a heart which is filled with courage to move forward, receiving Gavin.”

2 become 1 date “No matter whether the wedding is real or fake I only want to be your bride.” Here comes the Groom event where MC had a prob wedding with each and every LI but she actually only wanted to be Gavin’s bride (obviously Gavin’s heard her loud and clear since he’s bought a gem/ring right after) and that gem is brought up in…

The Returning from Afar Date - Thank you for silently watching over my mood. Thank you for always returning to my side no matter where you go. The white muslin drifts to and fro. My heart stirs, and I gently touch the muslin in front of me. Sunlight streams in. My fingertips brush the soft white muslin, tracing the word “Gavin” on it. I turn my head to the side, blinking at Gavin a little playfully. “This word - apart from it being your name, it also has another meaning. It’s “courage”. MC getting poetic, but who wouldn’t in that date (thank you @smallersocksx for reminding me and without @cheri-translates we poor Eng-server players would be left in the dark so thank you for translating season 2 for us!!!) but than MC verbally and literally makes her feelings clear in…

Late autumn date (2nd season translation by @cheri-translates) “I close my eyes, holding onto his solid arms. I lift my head to welcome his lips, savouring his unique breath. The person in front of me has shed off the roughness of youth, leaving behind only the purity of youth. He often makes me forget that he once used to be unrestrained like the wind. He has a body that is stronger than everyone else’s, a tough soul, a will that is as firm as steel, and a heart full of tenderness – it is soft beyond compare.

I cling to his waist tightly using my calves, wanting to brand every part of him into my heart.

“I want to bear his everything.”

Gavin: “Do you like it?”

“I like it…I like it very much…I like it so much that I don’t know how to prove how much I like it” “The rest of my life is yours, The years that we’ve missed out on are also yours” (whatever I have, I will give it to you. I will give everything to you, leaving nothing behind)

I rest my case

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc haku #mlqc bai qi #mlqc baek gi #mr love queen's choice #koi to producer #studio mappa #elex #papergames #mldd #analysis #tag your otp #romance #anime couple

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

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Yikes,I know there's bound to be questions but trust me, chapter 3 will answer most of them. Aha,I'm sorry if this chapter is kinda confusing at first,I'm not good at planning out thoughts or stories systemically,it kinda makes it harder for me to write whenever I try to. But here,the second chapter of Raptured! Thank you for reading! ( ꈍᴗꈍ) ♥️

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter 2: Banter

In the moment Riddle had finished telling his brothers what conspired with their human captive, the first to speak up was Azul.

"They offered what?" His words were a mix of shock and amusement, gaze fixated on Riddle who seemed almost flustered from how red his cheeks were.

The red haired sighed, sending him a narrow eyed glare before crossing his arms.

"The head of their own brother"

"By their own hands?" Kalim asked aloud, his features scrunched up worryingly. "Isn't that bad? Why would anyone want to kill their own brother so suddenly?"

From the chaise across the room,Leona let out a scoff, lips upturned into a smirk.

"What are you? A five year old? If you give a herbivore the chance of freedom,they'd leave their entire fleet open to make sure they survive. Humans aren't so different."

"Indeed" Vil joined in with a smile of his own. "Humans are very fickle things, they live out their life struggling and as a result they stink of repulsion."

"They can barely even stand on their own.." Idia added thoughtfully and as the gazes of his brothers turned to him, the flames on his hair flickered and he looked away.

"Maybe the isolation's got to their head?"

Riddle let out a scoff, his lips upturned in a sneer almost too vicious to be formed on such a delicate looking face.

"The cottage they were in was secluded from the rest of the village,they were already a reclusive. Why should it bother them now?"

"Maybe Idia has a point" Kalim interjected then "Before they were on their own by choice...and they weren't exactly trapped in a tower either"

"It's all the same" Leona snapped " Damn herbivores will always be too fragile."

"Though, our soft-shelled brothers have a sound reason" Vil's lips curled in an effortless smile,his ever sharp gaze glinting like jewels.

"At this rate our small hare is going to die before the homage from her brother, and that makes all of this pointless."

The room went silent then. Each males having their own thoughts wrapped around the situation.

When they came to a decision to face the hunter who killed their family beast, he was nowhere to be seen and left tending to his cottage was none other than their captive human, a young sibling unaware of what their fool brother had committed. They opted it was easier to simply kidnap them and have their brother come looking since neither one of them wanted to wait around. There was also the fact that the death of the beast had affected their Mother's health greatly, and all seven brothers fumed with rage.

"Our methods doesn't matter anymore" Riddle spoke up, "What's done is done. We can't exactly just put them back where we found them."

"I agree" Azul said "Though if the human dies in our care now, when we're fully able to change their situation, I fear the price of that loss would be great."

"What? Are the humans going to chase us around with pitchforks?" Leona sneered,his sharp fangs visible as he leaned back into the chaste. "You saw how further in their cottage was, chances are the herbivore doesn't even go down to the village often enough for people to notice them missing."

"They can't die." Idia drawled the words out this time,his gaze sharp and harsh as he stared down Leona who all but grinned at his brother.

"Why? Because you like them?" The laugh that barked out from Leona was cruel and Idia flinched.

"Go ahead and save the poor herbivore then,Prince Idia of the lands of burrowed moles. You think they'd ever look at you fondly?"

"Enough." Riddle came between the fight with his own ire and before he sent a glare towards Leona, he let Idia catch the solace in his.

The situation was getting worst. They needed a decision quick.

"You're not a five year old as well,Leona, so keep that tongue of yours tamed"

"What are you? Suddenly playing the role of the Eldest when you can't even reach his height?" Leona scrutinized Riddle with an aggression that seemed ready to claw him in the face, but Riddle kept his own spite and promptly choose to ignore his brother.

Instead,he turned to Azul.

"The hunter should've came back and see his sibling gone, you even sent those eels of yours to make sure he got the hints. Why hasn't he made a single move? It's been two months."

"Maybe he's forgetful?" Kalim chipped in, eyes glowing. Riddle wanted to tap the side of his face and gently tell him to shut up but Vil patted his head instead.

"A forgetful hunter managing to kill a wild beast is unlikely, mein bruder"

Azul crossed his arms,gaze narrowing.

"They've sent word that they have information regarding our human and the whereabouts of their brother"

"And?" Vil prompted.

"I told them to come meet us as soon as they can, which shouldn't be long."

The moment those words were uttered, a dull thud came from the would-be-entrance of the tower, and a familiar voice calling out.

"My Princes! Open the door please!" The urgency of the voice had all the present Princes turning their head, though the one who seemed genuinely surprised and concerned was Kalim.

"That voice..." He said, turning to Azul "Is that who I think it is?"

Azul's lips curled into a knowing smile and with a flick of his fingers, the sound of a door being swung opened then slammed shut could be heard within the tower itself,followed by light rapid footsteps approaching them.

Out of breath and desperately panting, a young girl made a hasty bow as she came before the Princes, though the way her legs slightly trembled suggested that she was near collapsing.

"It is her!" Kalim's eyes grew wide with familiarity, the worry in his voice replaced with joy as he came up to place his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"The last time I saw you, you were still learning how to walk!" Kalim's loud voice seemed to make her flinch but the girl met his gaze with warmth before she bowed her head again.

"Pleasure to meet you again,Prince Kalim." She's heard stories of him, the Prince Fae known to give out bits of his treasures to those who come wishing at his well. It seemed odd to act as if she's known him, but she knew better than to put logic before courtesy. He was one of the seven Princes after all. Acting too smart with them was a fool's mistake.

Before Kalim could say anything else, Azul stepped forward and the girl promptly met his side with a suddenly serious demeanor.

"I'd ask you for the information I had you fetch but I wonder why you were running in the first place?"

The girl laughed dryly if not nervously.

"Floyd wanted to see who could win in a race in getting here,your Highness."

Azul frowned, internally sighing.

"Why on Earth did you agree to that?"

Again, the girl laughed. "He terrifies me,my Prince."

Riddle couldn't place where he's met her, but hearing her words had him internally sympathising her. Azul's leeches were a pair he'd gladly avoid for eternity as well.

"So,you got a changeling to be at your beck and call as well,Azul?" Vil sounded amused as he turned to Azul, but the degrading glance he gave the girl bellied the smile coyly sitting on his lips then.

"She's indebted to us anyway" Azul stated simply "Why not put her to work?"

His gaze returned to the girl.

"What do you have about our human then?"

It took a full ten minutes for the young changeling to inform them of what she's managed to compile on their human and hunter. Turns out they aren't related by blood but by marriage. Apparently most of the villagers knew of the hunter but rarely saw the younger sibling as they took more liking in staying indoors. There was also talk that their relationship with one another was never close and answered Riddle's question as to why he hadn't showed up yet.

"So, he's just going to leave his sibling at our mercy?" Kalim asked,he had his expression scrunched up with worry and pity again but Leona shared none of it and only growled with distaste.

"There won't be mercy if they're left with us a second longer"

Riddle caught the flicker of Idia's flames and instantly reacted.

"Threaten to murder our captive one more time and I'll have your head,Leona."

"Hah, you're trying to scare me,Riddle?" Leona sneered,fangs glistening with malice. He's been irritated by the whole situation since the beginning. Taking in a human in hopes that another would appear to save them, it was all a damn fairytale. Leona knew humans were selfish, his brothers should've had that piece of common sense drilled into their heads as well. No one was going to play hero for their captive.

Riddle gritted his teeth and again instead of lashing out senselessly, he swirled around to face the changeling. Every bit of his anger flaring in his grey gaze.

"Where's the hunter now?" He asked,though it sounded painfully like a death threat.

The changeling bowed her head.

"He's at the human King's palace,Prince Riddle. King Aothor ...of Nostorne"

The words sent the entire room tilting, and Riddle would've gripped her by her neck if Azul hadn't stepped forward.

"King? Since when did the humans have a King?" The last time they came to the world,their mother's shrine was built almost everywhere to acknowledge her ruling. Had times changed so drastically since their absence?

"Yes. It's been this way for years now. A dukedom raised after Her Most Divine's departure from the human realm and ever since then a lineage of human nobles have taken the throne as the Human ruler."

"My, how futuristic, and here we were in the guise that we still sat on the top of their world" Vil was laughing but his words cut into the tension of the room like a blade coated in venom and the changeling girl shifted uncomfortably.

"It seems like the order of the slaughtering was made by him and ultimately fulfilled by the hunter. His name is Cyril and he's being celebrated by the King for his bravery."

Leona heaved a heavy sigh,leaning once more into his chaise. He looked ready to fall into a deep slumber already but his irritation kept him awake.

"So,we have information. Now what's the plan?"

***

Jade and Floyd,two of Azul's trusted companions came into the situation while the Princes were sorting out their thoughts and opinions (Which all greatly contradict one another) and brought word that their hunter had refused to save their sibling in a conversation Jade overheard him had with another hunter right before he was called on by the King.

"He said he knew of the Fae's trick and that by taking something of theirs as his own, he'd gladly give anything they took from him as compensation." Jade explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone,his mismatched gaze still and knowing.

Riddle clicked his tongue, brows furrowing. Idia's was the most sympathetic along with Kalim while Leona and Vil seemed ready to send a fleet of their army to storm into the human villages.

"I'm not really surprised though" Floyd spoke up lazily "He seems like a guy who'd do that kind of thing anyways"

"But now the Princes are stuck with keeping a human captive in their care", Boe,the young changeling from earlier, pointed out grimly.

"What if we sent you to negotiate with him in our stead?" Idia suggested which earned a rather hasty look from the girl.

"Human royals don't take too kindly to my kind,Prince Idia. I doubt he'd even let me enter"

Leona let out a menacing growl. One that reverberated through the tower walls.

"This is going nowhere. Riddle, go up to that damn herbivore and have them beg their brother come and pay his homage so we can give them back."

Riddle frowned.

"You heard the changeling,Leona. If their relationship with their brother is as bad as we've heard, do you really think they'd beg for him to come save them?"

"Couldn't you talk some sense in them?" Azul had eyes turning once more to the young changeling who all but reluctantly slumped her shoulders.

"I don't see how me being the one talking will get them to cooperate..."

"Clamshell,you should at least try,right?" Floyd's smile was sickly sweet and when he attempted to sling his arm over her shoulders, she avoided the outcome by shifting close to Jade.

"What would you want me to say to them?"

"The offer they gave" Riddle said "Have them elaborate more on that. I'm not going into a deal without knowing why it was proposed in the first place."

There was hesitation in her eyes but it was swiftly changed to a silent resolve as she nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst mc #twst wonderland yandere #twst riddle #twst azul #twst idia #twst kalim #twst vil #twst Leona #twst jade #twst floyd #twst fanfic

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sorry-apsalar · 3 years

Text

I Kissed a Bot and I Liked It

I started watching Futurama recently on a whim (currently only a few episodes into season 4 so if things aren't consistent with stuff that happens later in the series, that's why) and I'm really enjoying it so far except for a few things. Mainly the compulsory heteronormativity that's present in every episode (that I've seen so far) that deals with romantic relationships (with sort of one exception but it doesn't really count in my opinion). Which is mostly whatever, it's to be expected, especially since it's an older show but the Fry/Leela stuff is frustrating because personally I feel like they don't have good romantic chemistry (I'm open to this changing later but I doubt it will) and this is just another case of 'there's a male main character and a female main character and they're friends, therefore they must have romantic feelings for each other' that I've seen a hundred times before. It's aggravating enough that it spurred a fic idea for an AU where Fry is a repressed gay man. I decided to make it an Xmas gift for myself for reasons and because why not?

So Merry Xmas everyone, especially me!

The future was great. Everything about it was grand and exciting and Fry had friends now. Yeah, sure he was still a delivery boy but he was delivering a variety of things across space alongside his friends. And yeah, sure his living area was smaller than he would’ve chosen and it was technically a closet but he was roommates with his best friend and despite being a closet, it was still a little bigger than his old apartment had been. So, the future was great in every possible way even if parts of it made little to no sense.

Luckily, he had friends so some of those things that made no sense, he could ask about and have explained to him. Sometimes they didn’t even make fun of him for not knowing. There was one thing though that he was afraid to ask about. What exactly made it a scary thing to ask about he wasn’t sure of but it wasn’t because he worried they’d think him stupid because everyone already thought that and honestly it was true, brains weren’t his thing. The more often it popped up though, the more he wanted an explanation. He finally reaching a breaking point on that one evening when watching TV with Bender after returning home from work.

In an episode of All My Circuits two of the side characters ended up hooking up. Which wasn’t weird in itself, it was a soap opera, everyone was pairing up and breaking up all the time, but what was odd was the fact that it was two dudes. It was far from the first time Fry had seen such things in the past month or so he’d been here for, in other shows, movies, and even in prior episodes, same-sex couples popped up fairly frequently and if there was ever any issue with the couple, that was never one of them. So…

“Hey Bender,” he said as the credits for the episode rolled, glancing over at Bender sitting on the couch next to him, “those two robots that got together at the end there are both uh… men, right?”

The look Bender gave him reflected how stupid of a question that was. But how else was he supposed to broach the topic? He wasn’t good with words. “Man-bots yes, what else would they be?” Bender replied, sounding annoyed as he looked.

“Well uh… I don’t know but…” Unable to maintain eye contact, Fry looked away, instead focusing his gaze on one of the many crumbled cans of Slurm on the floor by the coffee table. He shouldn’t have brought this up because it was… uh… awkward or something. But it was too late now and he needed to understand because he just did. “If they’re both man-bots then why are they a couple?” And why wasn’t that viewed as remarkable by anyone else? “Isn’t that a thing normally only men and women are supposed to do?”

“Wow Fry, of all people I didn’t expect you to be homophobic.”

“What?” Fry snapped his gaze back to look at Bender. “I’m not… whatever you just said, I don’t even know what that means.” Which meant it could describe him but the context made it sound bad so it wasn’t him… probably. ‘Phobic’ meant fear, right? What did ‘homo’ mean though?

“It means you hate gay people,” Bender said as he pulled another cigar out of his casing. “Though I suppose that was common back when you came from now that I think about it.” After lighting up, he blew a cloud of smoke in Fry’s general direction. “I forget how primitive you are sometimes. That’s fine though, I hate humans so we both harbor hatred for an entire group of people. Though my hatred’s justified while yours isn’t.”

Fry coughed, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. “I don’t hate gay people.” He never had even if that’s what he’d been lowkey taught at the church he’d been forced to go to as a kid and young teen. “I just… it’s supposed to be a sin, right? Like… you go to hell forever if you chose to be gay. Though… I guess I don’t really believe in God anymore so… I don’t know. But still… that’s normal now? Or uh… or least acceptable? To choose to be gay, I mean?”

The look Bender gave him this time might’ve been a concerned one if it had come from almost anyone else. “You don’t ‘choose’ to be gay. Did you meatbags really used to believe it was a choice?”

“Uh… that’s what I was always taught. Or that like… gay people are confused and think that being able to recognize that another man is attractive means you’re attracted to him.” And that that was wrong and shameful and should never be admitted to once one was cleared of that misunderstanding. Because marriage and love and all that was supposed to be between a man and a woman for the sole purpose of making babies or whatever. The fact that that viewpoint was no longer common a thousand years later wasn’t surprising now that he really thought about it but somehow it seemed significant.

Bender took another puff from his cigar before replying. “Well, it ain’t a choice. Now shut up, the next episode’s starting.”

Fry sighed as he pulled his legs up onto the couch to hug to his chest as he turned his attention back on the TV. But now that the topic had been brought up, he didn’t seem able to fully focus. The fact that the episode dealt with the gay romance and treated it like every other side romance in the show made it even harder not to think about. Not that there was even a whole lot to think about, just that that kind of thing was socially acceptable now. Which was… a good thing, yes, definitely a good thing. It didn’t affect him any of course, he was attracted to women and only women, but it was good for the people it did affect. …

“What about robots?” he eventually asked.

“What about them?” Bender didn’t even look away from the TV.

“Is it a choice for you? Or are you manufactured that way? And if so is it a choice whatever or whoever is making you makes or is it like random or something?”

“Oh, you’re still thinking about that, huh? That kind of thing develops at the same time as our personality so it’s not a choice anyone makes. It’s complex stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

That was undoubtedly true but before Fry could drop it, he wanted to know one more thing. … “What about you? Are you uh… you know?”

With the start of the ad-break, Bender finally turned his head to look at Fry again. “Are you asking if I’m gay?”

Fry nodded. How rude was it to ask that kind of thing? Surely it had to be mostly chill since it was socially acceptable now.

“What’s it’s to you? Why do you want to know?” Oh no, he seemed offended. Though that might just be him being him.

“I’m just curious.” There was no harm wanting to know that kind of thing about one’s best friend, right? “We’ve been best friends for a whole month now and I don’t even know what kind of people you’re into.”

“Very well,” he relaxed, seemingly taking that as an acceptable answer, “if you must know, I’m pansexual.”

“Um… does that mean you’re attracted to pans?” What else could it mean? This was the future and lots of things were weird and Bender was a robot so maybe that was just a thing.

“No! What kind of idiot would even think that? It means somebody’s gender plays no role in whether or not I find the attractive. For me the only thing I care about is if they’re a robot.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“What about you Fry?” Bender pointed an almost accusing finger at him. “Now it’s your turn. Are you gay?”

“Uh… no.” It almost sounded like a question even to his own ears. But he wasn’t gay, he was normal, always had been even if he had been picked on in middle and high school with accusations of being gay.

Bender gave him a skeptical look but seemed to shrug as he turned his attention back onto the TV; the ad-break was over. With a sigh, Fry followed suit. He was more than ready to stop talking about that subject now.

Later that night

“Wake up Bender,” Fry said, shaking Bender by the shoulders.

Bender groaned as the metal flap that covered his eyes when he slept lifted. “Huh? What?” Understandably he both looked and sounded sleepy. Which Fry felt bad for but this was urgent.

“If I was gay, which I’m not, but if I was, it’d be okay with you, right?” After the thought that it might not be okay with Bender had come to him while he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, he hadn’t been able to get any rest so he needed to know for sure.

“Are you kidding me? That’s what you woke me up for? To ask a dumb question like that? Man, Fry get out of her and go back to bed.” Bender put a hand on Fry’s shoulder to push him back into the closet, hard but nowhere near as hard as he was capable of so really it probably counted as gentle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Fry said, putting his foot in the door before Bender could close it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Bender rolled his eyes. “Yes Fry, if you were gay, I’d be fine with it. Happy?”

“Uh yeah, thanks pal. Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to know. Even though I’m not gay so it doesn’t really matter, I just wanted to know if you’d accept me even if I was because… I don’t know. I just wanted to know I guess.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go back to sleep meatbag.” With that Bender pulled the door closed, seemingly little caring that Fry only barely managed to get his foot out of the way in time.

A few months later

‘~ I kissed a guy and I liked it…~’ Fry had to admit it was a bop. More so than a lot of the other songs he’d found while trying to catch up on some of the music he’d missed in the last thousand years. Who would’ve thought so much bad music would be what persisted throughout the years? Yeah sure it was one of those opinion things but his taste in music was great and no one could convince him otherwise.

As the second chorus hit, he found himself half singing along with it as he resumed scrolling through the song list on the tablet, searching for more titles that caught his eye. … What would it be like to kiss a guy? Would it be like kissing a girl? (Not that he had much experience with that even despite having had a girlfriend once upon a time. The few kisses they had shared had been meh at best.) Probably not, right? It had to be different. … He kind of wanted to find out for sure now that he’d thought of it. Maybe it would even be not terrible. Who could he kiss to try it though? …

The sound of the door opening prompted him to look up as Bender strode in. Ah, he’d be perfect because he was a guy. And they were best friends so there wouldn’t be any confusion about intentions.

“Hey Bender,” Fry said as he placed the tablet, still playing music on the coffee table and hopped up off the couch. “Would it be all right if we kissed?”

Bender froze mid-step as the door swung shut behind him. “Uh… what?”

“Well, I’m listening to this song here and it’s about a guy kissing another guy and liking it and it got me thinking what that would be like. It has to be different from kissing a girl, right? But like how different? So I’m curious and I want to find out and you’re a guy so… yeah. It’s fine if you’d rather not, I know it’s a weird request. I could always ask someone else, I’m sure it wouldn’t be…”

“Yes!” Bender interrupted with a surprising amount of intensity as he lowered his foot. He let out a nervous chuckle as his eyes darted away. “I mean if it’s just one kiss, it should be fine. Nothing wrong with experimenting a little and satisfying some curiosity, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah! This is the year 3000, things like that aren’t a big deal anymore.” It was so freeing and wonderful. So without further ado, Fry pranced over to stand in front of Bender. Hmmm… he was a robot though so kissing him wouldn’t be like kissing any human – or humanoid alien – guy or not. But he was still a guy so the basic idea was still there so…

Fry put his hands on Bender’s shoulders as he leaned in for a kiss. Bender’s mouth was cold and unsurprisingly tasted of booze, in a good way though. A slight tingly sensation hit Fry’s lips as Bender’s hands reached up to light touch his sides. Odd but not necessarily unpleasant, he could probably easily get used to it.

They lingered like that for several long seconds before Fry pulled back, letting out a shaky sigh. “Uh… that was interesting, huh?” he said, tugging at his shirt collar a bit because it was suddenly a bit hotter in here for some reason. They were still standing a bit closer than they normally did too. How had he never noticed that Bender was just a tad shorter than him? … The perfect height for a forehead kiss if Fry were inclined to do so.

“Eh, I’ve had better.” Bender avoided eye contact as he stepped back. Which seemed to release the sudden tension in the air as if an important moment had just passed by them.

Fry looked away too, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah sorry, I’m not a great kisser. I don’t really have much experience.”

“So, curiosity satisfied?”

“Uh… yeah. Thanks.” It had been nice actually if a bit weird. … That meant he was into guys though, wasn’t it? …. Oh well, that kind of thing was perfectly fine now so yeah, he was into guys and not ashamed of it.

“Good, now… let’s move on and pretend this never happened, okay? We don’t want anyone thinking we’re dating when we’re not.”

“Um… yeah.” Fry nodded, holding his smile even though for some reason Bender’s words made him a bit uncomfortable. If it wasn’t a big deal, why did they have to pretend it had never happened? “Let’s watch some TV, huh? All My Circuits should be starting soon.”

~~~

Despite how it was supposed to have just been an experiment and not a big deal, Fry thought about that kiss a lot. He wanted to do it again and do it better so that maybe Bender would like it too. How did he even go about that though?

That wasn’t all he thought about. Now that he was comfortable and willing to accept that he liked guys like that he allowed his mind to go to other places to. Like dating and holding hands and cuddling and sometimes even sex. What would all the be like with another guy? A robot? Specifically Bender? He wanted to know. He lay in bed at night thinking about it more nights than not. Often it turned into barely remembered dreams that left him more unsatisfied than anything.

He’d never find out though, would he? Because Bender didn’t like humans like that. He’d said so himself directly and had implied it in other instances too, always insisting he hated humans and all that – even if he didn’t really act like it most of the time. So… Fry didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell with him.

Damn! He was finally in a place where he was comfortable with his sexuality and in a time when he wouldn’t be persecuted for it and the first man he fell for was unattainable. That was just his luck, huh? … But then again, this was the year 3000 and almost anything was possible with today’s technology, right? …

Waking up early and getting out of bed was absolutely terrible, even worse was going into work that early. But he had no choice if he wanted some time to talk to Professor Farnsworth without Bender around or hopefully anyone else.

As he knew from the handful of weeks he’d lived at the Planet Express building, Farnsworth should be one of the first people here. He typically went straight to his office … and lo and behold, that’s where Fry found him this morning; asleep in his office chair.

Fry walked over to prod his shoulder. “Hey Professor?”

The only response was a loud snore. How he slept so soundly faceup in his desk chair like that, Fry would never understand. But it was important so Fry poked him again, harder this time.

“Wake up, I got something important to ask you about.”

With a grunt, Farnsworth jerked awake. “Huh? What?” He looked blearily around for a few seconds before his gaze settled on Fry. “Oh, you’re here early… I think.”

“Yep because I got something important to ask. You see I’m uh…” Fry gulped, suddenly regretting this a little bit but he’d already come this far so putting his hands behind his back, he soldiered on. “I think I’m gay, well uh… I don’t just think, I know… I think. I’m not entirely sure yet but do I do know I like guys and I’ve never really got girls, you know? Like I thought I was supposed to so I would flirt with them and stuff but it never really felt good even when one finally agreed to date me, you know what I mean?”

“That’s what’s so important you came to work early to tell me about? Well earlier than normal. This is the year 3000, no one cares if you’re gay Fry. The fact that that was ever viewed as a reason to hate people is astounding when there’s so many more actual reasons, such as their taste in music or sports teams.”

“Uh… that’s only part of what I came here to tell you. What I need to ask you is um… well in discovering that I like guys I also discovered that I got a thing for Bender. A kind of big thing. I’ve never felt this way before so I don’t really know what it is for sure but I really want to kiss him and hold his hand and stuff. I know that probably sounds weird because he’s Bender and…”

“Just get to the point,” Farnsworth interrupted.

“Oh uh… sorry. I don’t think he likes humans, not like that anyway. So I was thinking would it be possible to upload my mind into a robot body so that I might have a real chance with him?” Fry had seen such things in movies and stuff a few times, surely that was possible with today’s technology, right?

“Hmmm…” Farnsworth lifted a hand to tap a finger on his chin. “I suppose we could give it a try. You’d be more useful as a robot anyway.” … Wow he’d agreed to that without any need for convincing.

“Awesome, let’s go.”

With a grunt and crack of his old bones, Farnsworth pushed himself off the chair and led the way out of his office. He seemed to know where he was going so Fry followed. In the hallway, they ran into Leela.

“Oh hey Fry,” she said, “You’re here on time for once, good job.”

“Thanks! The Professor’s about to turn me into a robot, you want to watch?”

“Uh… what?”

“I’m turning him into a robot,” Farnsworth replied. “Now come along Fry, we need determine what kind of robot will be most useful to us. I’m thinking one with built in weaponry.”

Leela fell into step with Fry as Farnsworth resumed leading the way presumably to the lab. “Why exactly do you want to be a robot?” she asked in her suspicious voice.

“Because um… well uh…” Fry wasn’t ashamed to admit it or anything but he wasn’t ready for her to know especially when she was looking at him with that looks of hers she always had on her face whenever she caught him doing something stupid.

“He’s in love with Bender or some such bull crap,” Farnsworth said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Is that true Fry?”

“Uh… I think so, yes. I don’t really know what love feels like but… regardless he won’t be interested in me as long as I’m human so… I’m becoming a robot. Don’t tell him though please. I want to be the one who tells him.” … What if even becoming a robot didn’t work though? What would Fry do then? He didn’t have time to think on that much as they reached the professor’s lab.

“All right Fry,” Farnsworth said. “You go sit on the table while I work on getting you a good robot body and then when Doctor Zoidberg gets here we’ll call him in to help remove your brain from your skull.”

Oh! Fry didn’t like the sound of that. Before he could voice a protest though, Leela did. “Uh no, that’s not happening. Come on Fry.” She grabbed Fry by the arm and dragged him right back into the hallway. She then closed the door, cutting off Farnsworth’s groan of disappointment.

“But Leela,” Fry tried only to be interrupted as she kept pulling him away.

“Have you even tried talking to Bender and telling him how you feel yet?”

“Well, no but…”

“That’s what I thought. Try that first before going and doing something dumb like having the Professor turn you into a robot. Seriously what were you thinking? It’s the Professor, there’s no way that could ever turn out well. Now come on, we’re going back to the main room and when Bender shows up, you’re going to tell him how you feel, okay?”

Before Fry could even try to answer…

“What’s this about Fry telling Bender how he feels?” Hermes asked as they entered the main room.

“He’s in love,” Leela replied as if it weren’t a big deal.

“Really?” Oh great, Amy was here now too. “I guess that makes sense though, huh? Since they’re roommates and all, the romance practically writes itself. Congrats on realizing it sooner rather than later though Fry.”

With a groan and free Leela’s grasp at last, Fry slunk over to sit at the round table so he could hide his burning face in his arms. He was never going to live this down. Basically everyone knew now and it was only a matter of time before that ‘basically’ was no more. His only solace was the fact that Bender wouldn’t be arriving at work for at least another hour or two so he had some time to figure out what he might say… not much though, nowhere near enough.

The next couple hours were awful. Hermes lectured him about the risks and dangers of workplace romance and what was and was not allowed as if proper romance were a foregone conclusion and not the vain hope it actually was. Amy quizzed him about what he even saw in Bender because Bender was an ‘egotistical kleptomaniac’, whatever that meant. Zoidberg came in and was immediately told and expressed joy that his friends were ‘in love’ and that it was beautiful, again as if it wasn’t just Fry with these feelings which was far more likely to be the case, right? Leela was the only one who left him alone about it despite the fact that she was the one that let the cat out of the bag to everyone else.

The awfulness of all that came to a point when Bender finally arrived. Everyone in the room froze as they looked up at him. Amy let out an excited giggle that made Fry kind of want to die.

“Uh… hey guys,” Bender said as he strode into room. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“No reason,” Leela as she stood up. “Fry’s got something important to tell you though. Come on guys, let’s give them some privacy.” She led the way out of the room, quickly followed by everyone else, leaving Fry and Bender alone together within a matter of seconds.

Bender looked after them as they closed the door for a few seconds before turning to look at Fry. “All right, that’s weird. What’s this you want tell me?” he said as he strode over to sit at the table next to Fry. He bent legs up to rest his feet on the table as he pulled out a bottle of booze.

Unable to maintain eye contact, Fry looked away, focusing his gaze on the table instead. He rubbed his finger idly over the little scratch on it that he somehow hadn’t noticed before. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t ready to tell Bender… more like wasn’t ready to be rejected. How badly was this going to hurt their friendship?

He couldn’t brush it off as nothing, could he? … No, now that Bender knew there was something, he’d probably take offense to any attempt to keep it from him. He’d likely assume the worst too – whatever that might be in his mind – and thus be quite angry. So Fry either had to come up with a convincing important thing to tell him or the truth. The former would be difficult but…

“Out with it meatbag, what is it?”

“Uh… um… it’s uh…” Fry had never been good with words.

“Just spit it out. Am I fired? You don’t want to be my friend anymore? You moving out? … That’s what it is, isn’t it? You hooked up with Amy or Leela and you’re going to move in with them now, huh?”

“What?” Fry jerked his gaze back up to meet Bender’s angry glare. “No, no, no, that’s not it at all.”

Bender didn’t seem much placated. “Then what is it?”

Fry had never been very good at lying or coming up with convincing tales so… with a deep breath he stood up. “You um… remember a couple weeks ago when we kissed and it was supposed to be an experiment to see what it was like to kiss a guy and nothing more?”

Bender’s expression softened a little, though the suspicious anger didn’t leave completely yet. “Yes.”

“Well uh… I’d like to do it again sometime if that’s okay with you. Maybe uh… multiple times.”

“Uh…”

“What I’m saying,” Fry quickly interrupted before he could be shot down before even really saying what he meant, “is that I um… really like you and stuff. So uh… do you maybe want go on a date sometime and like… see what happens?” Fry forced himself to meet Bender’s gaze again. He seemed more surprised than angry now. Was it pleasant surprise though or the opposite? It was hard to tell.

Before replying, Bender took a long drink from the bottle still in his hand, finishing it off and slamming it onto the table as he stood up too. “Is this some fetish thing? You want to fuck a robot and I’m the only one you know so you’re getting all sweet on me to try to get in bed with me?” Right back to being angry, suspicious, and wanting to believe the worst. Why was he like that?

“No, Bender, that’s not it. I like you for you.” Fry pointed at him to emphasize his point. If he were in a less delicate situation he might’ve pointed out how Bender kind of resembled a walking trashcan and therefore wasn’t exactly sexy enough to be worth going to so much trouble for just the purpose of sex. “You’re great and you’re my best friend. And I love spending time with you whether we’re off on a space adventure or just lazing around the apartment watching TV together. So, I’d like to be more than just friends if that’s what you want too. If not, that’s… okay too, I’d understand.” And hopefully this confession wouldn’t hurt that any.

“Oh, hmmm… what else do you like about me?” Well, he was chill now and even grinning, that was good.

“You’re always fun to talk to and you’ve got great ideas for ways to pass the time when we’re bored. And even though you steal my wallet all the time, you always give it back eventually. And you’re a robot and that’s still super cool even if I’m used to robots by now because you were the first one I met and I wasn’t lying when I said I’d always wanted a robot for a best friend. So really by being my pal, you’re fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine. I’ve never thought about dating one before now though, it just never occurred to me until after that uh… kiss experiment we did.”

“Go on,” Bender said in the pause that followed, leaning in eagerly.

Fry sighed. “You’re also very confident, especially in yourself.” Too the point of annoyance at times but even during those instances Fry still wished he could have even a fraction of that level of confidence. “And you’re also super strong, you can bend metal like it’s made of paper which is super cool. And sometimes you use that strength to open jars for me and sometimes you don’t even make fun of me for not being able to open it myself. Also, even despite our occasional disagreements, we always make up eventually and then we’re friends again like nothing ever happened and… that’s really nice.” Fry had never had a friend that would do that for him before, normally one disagreement was all it took for someone to decide they didn’t want to hang out with him ever again. “So… will you go out with me?” Forcing a grin, Fry held out a hand in hopes of Bender taking it.

Bender stared at him in silence for a few horrible seconds that seemed to drag into eternity before finally speaking. “Well, if you’re going to butter me up that much, I suppose we can go on one date and see what happens.” Looking away awkwardly, he even put his hand into Fry’s.

With a rush of giddy relief and grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, Fry use that grip to pull him closer so that their bodies were almost touching, earning a small but very satisfying surprised gasp from him. “Can I kiss you again? For real this time, not just as an experiment?” One was always supposed to ask before doing such a thing, right?

“I just agreed to go on a date with you meatbag, what do you think?”

Fry didn’t answer or make a further move because he didn’t know what to think. He’d never done this before, not with someone he actually wanted to be with.

Bender sighed. “Yes moron, you can kiss me again.”

Fry did so before any self-doubt could get in the way. Bender’s mouth plate was still cool, the taste of beer even stronger than last time. The slight tingling buzz was still there too, just as odd but nice.

“Better than last time?” Fry said, letting out a heavy breath as the pulled apart a few seconds later. He was a bit lightheaded and wanted to sit down but that would mean letting go of Bender’s hand and moving away from him.

“A little.”

Fry took a breath, intending to suggest maybe he needed some more practice but he didn’t get a single syllable out before a small squeak to their right drew his attention. He glanced over just in time to see the door close, silently as whoever was on the other side did so carefully.

Bender had clearly noticed too; he let go of Fry hand and left him to sneak over fling the door all the way open. Perhaps not so surprisingly Leela, Amy, Hermes, Zoidberg and even Professor Farnsworth were gathered in close on the other side. The looks of guilt on their faces made it quite clear what they were doing there.

“Uh, hey Bender,” Leela said with a slight grimace. “What you up to? We were just uh… passing by.”

“And we’re quickly moving on,” Hermes added before turning to flee. The others wasted no time in following suit, Amy dragging away Zoidberg and Leela dragging away Farnsworth.

Bender sighed as he turned back to Fry. If he were as embarrassed as Fry, he was doing a good job of not showing it – though as a robot he couldn’t blush so maybe that had something to do with it. “They’re a bunch of disgusting voyeurs, ,” he said with a scoff as he walked over back over to Fry. “Let’s go to the break room and watch some TV. They should be ashamed enough over being caught spying to not yell at us to go back to work for at least an hour or two.” He put an arm around Fry’s waist to guide him out of the room. Fry was more than happy to go along with it. And maybe, just maybe, they could practice kissing during the ad breaks.

#my writing #futurama #Frender #Mentions of homophobia #internalized homophobia #Fry is gay AU #Bender is pan #kissing #Leela is mom-friend

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