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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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kkulmoon · 4 years

Text

SUGAR & SALT | The First Snow Has Melted (2)

pairing(s): rich boy!kim taehyung x baker!reader (f) + park jimin x named OC & kim seokjin x named OC

genre: angst (?), slice of life, romance, smut (later chapters), slow burn, fluff (occasional), s2l, e2l, countryside-ish au

word count: 6.7k

rating: pg

a/n: i took way too long to update this 🤡(it won’t happen again 🥺) and i am doing so with such a shitty chapter lol but hey at least I managed to finish it. also thank you to my lovely beta reader for giving me much needed advice about where i should go with this, @scvkjin, angie you’re truly an angel 💕😭

warnings: some swearing

synopsis: You’re a small town baker, whose business is on the line following questionable decisions made by your town’s political board. You decide to take action in order to salvage your reputation as the town’s favourite baker.

What you didn’t expect was to fight for your precious secular life that keeps being invaded by the best friend of the owner of your rivalling bakery, Taehyung. He also happens to be the one in charge of your lack sugar, due to a minor (depending on the point of view) mistake, though he’s known as quite the conscientious count.

You’re a baker.

A bad one, it seems. Even with Taehyung, Jimin, Seokjin and Ada, the finest products and tools at your disposal, you seem to cook up a disappointing dish. So whose fault is it really?

☁︎ previous chapter ☁︎

The journey back is just as agonising if not more. You keep your eyes closed in hopes of catching some sleep but all in vain.

Thump! Taehyung's legs are about to drive you insane. You move your jacket's hoodie to cover your ears, hoping he gets the memo. He keeps going. It is really annoying but you don’t you feel like telling him to stop and possibly make him more anxious than he already was, so you hold out. A few minutes pass by and he seems to calm himself, so you decide to take down your hood. To your right Ada's head lays on Jimin shoulders as their chest oscillate, up and down, at a steady rhythm.

You're brought back to your high school days, when the two fell in love for the first time. Jimin was your go-to friend, who also happened to be your only friend. Ada was, and still is, a hopeful admirer in disguise. It's actually quite hard for you to comprehend how two people can be so obvious about their feelings while simultaneously being negligent about the subject of their affection.

You shake your head. You've reached the threshold for your daily analysis of your best friends' relationship. You shift in your seat and dangle your feet. The boredom is crippling and the humid air in the bus is making your hair frizzy.

"Arghhhhhh!"

Itching for some action , you turn to your right and say, "What's the matter?"

"Is everyone in Warringham like you?" Taehyung wonders. He stares straight at you making you tilt your head back to the left.

While you're glad at the increase in activity, you aren't sure that being indirectly insulted is the type of action you are currently looking for. But there's nothing better for you to do. Indulging in some self deprecation wouldn't be too bad given your recent behaviour.

"If you're referring to being hostile, then not so much," you say, thinking about the new bakery that recently open across from yours, "but they are weary, change isn't really an appreciated thing."

"So they don't like outsiders?" he pushes.

"No and yes. Outsiders that are trying to change things, that's what they don't appreciate."

Taehyung drags his hand down his face. "Goodness gracious, I guess I will have to deal with the backlash at some point."

You could have told Taehyung that backlash in Warringham is more like rage. However you don't feel like that is your responsibility, so you hold your mouth shut. You're sure Jimin would have his back. Brotherly love or whatnot.

"By the way, why are you asking me this," you add, "don't you already live in Warringham?"

"Well yeah, technically, but it hasn't been that long. I had only been there for about two weeks before I followed Jimin here. I didn't have much to do so I stayed in for the most part."

You truly want to scoff at Taehyung's reply but you think of one word: Jimin. People truly do live different lives. You wish you had the privilege of staying at home. You wish your mom and your brother had the privilege of staying at home. Maybe things would have turned out different for you. Maybe you would have been different and befriending Taehyung wouldn't feel like combing your hair while it's dry, meaning impossible.

"Why did you move to Warringham anyways?"

You raise your eyebrows while bracing yourself. This should be a good one.

"I needed some change. I got bored of the city, as one does, and a friend needed some help," he says matter of factly.

"Ahhh, exactly as one does." You nod as the sides of your lips drag down.

To feign familiarity with such a concept is all you can do at the moment. Your lives and reasoning are being revealed to be so diametrically opposed, you doubt that your individual bonds to Jimin would be enough to allow the two of you to connect.

You try to find a way to end the conversation. Talking to Taehyung only seems to involve judgement one way or the another. Taehyung's body shifts towards you. You guess he's in a talkative mood, now that he has calmed down. But you are not, at least not anymore.

So you pull your hood up back onto your head. For the first time since you bought the jacket, you're happy it's too big for you. That way you get to avoid glancing or being glanced at by unwanted subjects. The rest of the ride back is silent, just as before. Lucky for you it's nothing unusual, just how you like it.

Quick and heavy steps sound against the gravel in front of your porch. You would already be on your bed hugging your phone by now had it not been for you having to drag both yours and Ada's suitcases into the house.

Apparently her and Jimin needed some privacy. For what? You really don't know, what else would they need to talk about? They have been attached at their hips for the past two weeks one could almost think that she went on vacation with him and not you. In fact, that’s probably what people thought. You remember catching elderly couples and young parents glancing cutely at the pair.

She had said, and you remember it clearly: 'This will be a time for me and you to simply relax and have fun together. Make some new golden memories in a shitty place’.

Lies, lies, lies.

You remind yourself to not easily cave in next time she suggests you do a common activity. That isn't even the worst part. You were made to leave your beloved work phone. It’s not that you didn’t believe in your staff, but the bakery is the only thing you’re remotely passionate about. Your life revolves around it, leaving it behind even for just two weeks, was a harder task that you thought it would be.

You huff as you use the little of your remaining force to lift Ada's suitcase up the few stairs on your porch. For someone who seemed to have worn pretty much the same clothes during your stay at Punniton her bag sure was heavy. Or it must probably be all the baggage she carries from her failed romantic endeavours. Yes, you just said that, because once again, yes you're that type of friend. Loving, supporting but judgemental and blunt nonetheless.

You strut all the way to your room while the odd bone crack disturbs you. For all the money you paid for your stay at Punniton you sure as hell deserved better beds. Bed with wire lattices? Come on, it's not like we were going to boarding school.

You may need to leave a bad yelp review. It was your seventh year there after all, you're bound to feel entitled to some things at some point. Anyways, it's not like yelp reviews really count to anyone outside of the city, so you'll simply just write one to satisfy your own petty behaviour.

You walk to the end of your room to open the window. The air is stale and mixed with another scent that you can't quite catch. You turn to face your bedside table. HA! On it there is a moldy orange. The orange you should have taken taken with you for the train ride to Punniton.

With a pair of scissors at your disposal you poke into the orange. Something you soon realise you shouldn't have done now that there's a small puddle of orange juice on your table. You hurry into the kitchen to throw it away. While you're at it you glance outside through the kitchen window. What are they talking about?

Ada's head turns towards you and you duck as fast as you can. You creepily lift your head back up to find that they are kissing. The creases that form on your forehead would be able to be seen from miles away. You're also sure that someone could inspect the back of your throat right now from how wide your mouth is open. It has been two weeks, and they are already locking lips!?

Huh, you guess it must be easy to get over a couple years of emotional trauma if you're really in love with one another. You spend some more time analysing their kiss. Was is a 'I'll see you soon 'kind of kiss, or the 'I love you but i can't tell you' kind of kiss, or the 'I have been wanting to kiss you for the last 2 weeks' kind of kiss.

For someone who claims to be trying their best to live their best life, you really are concerned with other people's problems. But how couldn't you? If you're thinking logically, which you always are, hurt Ada equals you having to mend her wounds. On top of that you would also have to deal with another strain to yours and Jimin's friendship.

So yes, them trying to get together again is just as much their business as it's yours. If things go wrong you'll be the one standing between the crossfire and while the last one was quite mild, you believe years of pent up frustration will blow up this time.

As much as you would like to keep watching them go at it, it feels too private and you're not a creep so you look away and walk back to your room. You reach for your bedside table's drawer to get a hold of your phone so you can turn it on.

There's two possible scenarios. First one, no one messaged you, in which case everything is under control. Or, no one messaged you because they either forgot or deemed whatever happened to be too serious to say over text.

The moment you type in your code while your phone tries its best to recognise the house's wifi, you're so startled you automatically get up from your bed.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Okay, so you obviously got messages and now you are scared. You navigate your way to your messages. Eight missed messages from Joe, one of your staff.

December 17th

[09:10] (Joe) Hello Y/N. So we have a problem...

[10:05] (Joe) Hello? Are you there?

[10:15] (Joe) I don't know if you're getting these messages but I'll go ahead and explain the situation.

[10:18] (Joe) So we just got an email from the municipality saying that there was an inconvenience with one of the papers you sent in for the bakery's inventory.

[10.20] (Joe) They have got everything else ordered and it should arrive on time. However, the paper for the sugar order can't be found anywhere.

December 18th

[10.35] (Joe) You haven't answered and nobody knows where you went for vacation. The only person who would know also most likely happens to be with you.

[10.38] (Joe) Since it is a time of crisis I went over your log for the bakery's inventory and rewrote a sugar order based on your notes. So I have now gone to the municipality and deposited the order papers.

December 20th

[08.20] (Joe) So the municipality just got back to us. They have said that the order is now registered however there will be a month long delay before it arrives given the fact that it was ordered during a vacation and other businesses most likely are before us in the deliveries.

This. This is why caring for things is something you try to avoid. You could do everything right from your end and yet there's no guarantee that you would at least get rewarded for that. In fact, worst case scenario you could even end up being wrongly penalised for it. That's where you are currently standing and you feel awful and betrayed. Which is a funny thing since this wasn't even done by someone you actually knew. The downside to taking things and caring for them...

Your body stays in a paralysed state as you try to rack your brain for any possible solution to the situation. The only thing you can come up with is complaining. Your staff had already done their best to lessen the damages. Now all you need is someone to dump your frustrations on so that you can feel somewhat productive and needed.

Also being head chef means showcasing the type of qualities that a leader should have so you need to come up with something to do in order to make sure that your employees don't think any less of you. Going to the municipality's building seems like the best option.

It would allow your subordinates to see your dedication to work but also allow you to complain to your heart's content. This means feeding other's expectations of you all while feeding your own ego. Two birds, one stone.

You're in the middle of typing away furiously, when Ada steps into your room, leaning against the door frame.

"By the way I thought about keeping this to myself at first but then I thought, you know what I should treat my friends the way I want them to treat me so here we go...", she starts.

"I'vechosentopursuethisthingthat'sgoingonbetweenmeandJimin,"she blurts it out and still you manage to catch everything.

That's how focused your mind was even if you are busy typing back a response to Joe, it's still on high alert.

"Uh, hellooo? Did you hear what I just said"

“Ahh uhh, got it. Capiche. Good luck”

"That's all?"

"I mean can I talk you out of it and bring up past sad memories?"

" Well, no... I would rather you not"

"Then i repeat, good luck," you take a break from your phone screen to look at her, "I really hope it works out for you this time around. They say third time's a charm, right?"

"Yeah they do....hopefully it's true for us"

It's quite rare for someone as cold as Ada to openly share her doubts when it comes to private matters. You have had to battle her in the past to get her to tell you what exactly happened between her and Jimin. You get up and walk up to her. Black hair strands tickle your shoulder before you can engulf her entire body in a big comforting hug.

"I'm just really scared."

"Take it as a good sign. You like him. At least you know you're not only halfway into it like the time you tried to date Louis just to make Jimin jealous."

You try your best to sound comforting and play the best friend part. It crossed your mind to be more harsh with her about her decision, but you decided against it. Just because you may personally have a hard time dealing with romantic matters doesn't mean you need to project that onto her.

She is going through a rough patch as it is. You make a mental note to message Jimin about the matter. Ada may not want you to talk about it with him, but still you will, not as Ada's best friend but as his.

Ada steps back from the hug and blinks hastily. "Anyways, why did you look so irritated?”

"There's some problem with the bakery's inventory so I need to go the municipality to complain," you explain.

"Just to complain?"

"I mean yeah, but also deal with the logistics of it all you know," you cough out the answer.

"Uh huh, I see. Just don't cause too much trouble or make a scene. I don't want to have to defend you in court knowing you're in the wrong."

"Yes Ma'm. I'll try," you retort mumbling the last statement.

"Alright, then we're all good. Also I ordered pizza it should be here in 20 so you can come out then."

You vigorously nod your head.

Nice fit. Head full of a mix of good arguments and well camouflaged arguments made to sound good when truthfully they are quite groundless. Throat cleared. Chin up. Power pose on. You felt like you could rule the world. Well, maybe the world is too much of an ambitious thought. You want to feel powerful but remain humble, so let's settle for Warringham. Yes, you feel like you could rule Warringham. Anyways, that not really the point. The point is:

You are ready to make a scene.

This better work. You did not get dolled up and decide to swap your sneakers for some heeled boots in order to be ignored and left high and dry. For once, you hoped that you could use humans' blatant incline for vanity and love of beautiful looking to your disposal. Your contouring better make sure you can make up for the mess that the municipality created.

You strut as gracefully as possible. The automatic doors slide open in front of you and you panic slightly at the sudden gush of air that hits your face. Your hairstyle better not get ruined. The reception is overseen by some poor intern that's looking to curb her boredom by playing with her nails or trying to figure out the different ways she could scratch her different body parts without people taking notice.

You can't help but feel like a blessing. You are about to liven up this kid's work place. The kid had exactly thirty-five seconds left of boredom. That's how long you think it will take to walk to the reception desk in the most gracious yet intimidating manner possible. The countdown starts as you take your first step.

K'duh. K'duh. K'duh. K'duh. K'duh.

You arrive at the desk, feeling even more excited. The intern's eyes are still wandering around. Yes, you feel like a superhero that could defeat all of the world's injustices but you are pretty sure invisibility isn't one of your strengths. You clear your throat.

The intern lifts her blue eyes to look at me. Eyeballs bulging out of their skull. What a way to feign interest.

"How could I help you ma'am?"

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit sorry to have to put the intern through a scene. She probably didn't know how to deal with such situations. Or, you could just be getting cold feet. Things always sound better in theory, in your head, where they should be left.

"Uhm, yes...," you shuffle through your handbag to find your documents.

Actually, Ada's handbag. What?! You needed to match with your dolled up cover. Once you find them, you squint your eyes in hopes of catching the name on the name plate attached to her blazer.

"Yes, Vera. I'm looking to talk with the person in charge of the economics department here. Or maybe just management"

You were thinking about what sort scene to pull. On a scale from Becky to Susan how petty did you really feel being.

"I'm sorry but the concerned person is currently not in right now."

You take a long look at Vera. Is she really going to pull that move on you just because she is too lazy to go look for the person?

"Can you then check if there's someone else I could talk to?" you sneer.

"Well I would need to know what the errand is about exactly," she continues to use her service voice.

"I'm am the head baker at the municipality owned bakery, you know the one in the town centre. My orders were messed up and I need to talk to someone in charge to know how I am supposed to deal with the consequences. You know do the things that people in charge of businesses do."

"I would really love to help you ma'am, but the person in charge of economics has yet to arrive. I do not know who it is as they are starting today."

Ok, so maybe Vera was annoying but she didn't look like a liar. It must be a sign not even the world wants you to go ham with your complaints.

"Y/N?"

Who do you know that works for the municipality? You turn around to realise that it's in fact no one because you don't know the person standing in front of you. Not personally at least. But oh my my my. You wish you could get to know him physically. Que? What is wrong with you Y/N, get a grip on yourself. He may not appease your mind or your feelings, but your eyes are heaving a feast at the very moment.

"Oh hi Taehyung, fancy seeing you here?!"

'Fancy seeing you here', really!? Just because you're dolled up and everything doesn't mean you are on the same level of fancy that his city self is. Once, again get a grip Y/N.

"I would say the same but unless you work here people usually only come in if they are having problems," he says as he walks closer to you. Against your better judgement you walk closer as well.

You're facing each other, standing right in front of the reception desk. In your periphery, you can see the shift of a body. Vera must be intrigued for some reason.

"Well you hit the nail on the head. I was trying to have Vera here help me, but she says she can't," you say as you point to your left.

"It's actually they, ma'am not she," she retorts and you bite your bottom lip. Why in the heck does she keep calling you ma'am.

Taehyung turns to her, "Anytime she's here and she needs help you can just call my office phone," he says and you don't know why all of a sudden his hotness points soar through the roof as if he had collected enough coins to get a power star just like in Mario Bros. You may have a thing for people with saviour complex you realise.

"Of course, Mr...," Vera probes with a wide smile and fascinated eyes.

"Kim. Kim Taehyung"

Kim Taehyung. You mumble his name. It has a nice ring to it, you can't lie.

"Oh and I don't know what the occasion is but you look really nice," he says and you reprimand yourself for how good his statement makes you feel. Who are you? You do not need validation from anyone. No, you don't. However, deep down you know that a little appreciation, even from someone you say you don't like, goes a long way.

"Oh this...," you point at yourself, "pfft, nothing much just felt like getting dolled up." Oooh, what a big fat liar you are. And yet, you have the audacity to criticise Ada.

He nods his head at you and gives you a thumbs up. There you go again making things awkward. You can already imagine the sort of things he will tell Jimin about you and none of them are positive.

"You look good too...," your voice wanders.

You could have easily added to your statement, because unlike his, it wasn't a lie. You could hate him, which you don't. You could find him uncomfortable, which you do. But you couldn't lie about his fortune in the visual department.

Taehyung is suited up, or at least he was when he got into the building. Now, he's wearing a crisp white button down that's slightly rolled up at the wrists to showcase his watch. It resembled one of those watches you see on Antiques Road Trip. He must gotten it from his great great grandfather or something along those lines.

While you were at Punniton there hadn't been a chance for you to take a good look at Taehyung given the pile of winter clothing he had on him. So, you allow your eyes to roam lower to where his shirt is tucked inside well ironed light brown slacks.

Well ironed. Finally something non-Jimin related that you like about Taehyung. There are very few men your age that you have encountered that wear properly ironed clothes so you consider it one of the highest signs of self care. Your eyes have a mind of their own. They fixate on the movement of his hands as he moves to adjust his watch.

"What is the problem anyways?" He asks and you shoot your head back up. He didn't catch that, did he?

"Ohh I work at the bakery. I sent in the papers to stock up on inventory since it's owned by the municipality. But apparently someone from management lost the papers for the sugar inventory and now the bakery is out of sugar. I'm just here to complain about the fact that I'll need to increase the prices which will mean less bread sold and lower wages and smaller bonuses. I just find it really disrespectful given how hard we all work for the bakery and how long we've stayed while knowing we can get a better pay elsewhere just by doing half of the work"

"Huh, huh," Taehyung attempts to sound supportive.

"The situation just annoys me, A bunch of well-off people thinking that a more than a month long delay won't affect much. Like damn I have to pay rent, utilities and ten employees as well as myself," you continue your rant.

Look on the bright side, you got to vent a bit. Not that you thought Taehyung would be the one on the receiving side. You are feeling slightly better, and like your entire mission didn't completely fail. It simply took an unwanted detour. Time to get out of your head. Taehyung's fingers caress his knuckles before they go through his hair. Is he nervous?

"Wow that sounds awful, i'm sorry that happened to you," he says as he reaches into one of his pockets. That sounded... weird or even fake. But then again you couldn't expect him to understand the struggle some people face in life. His past big city life must have been so luxurious even problems took care of themselves.

"If you need any help all you need to do is ask. Any friend of Jimin's is a friend of mine."

He brings his phone out and points at it. "Duty calls. I'll see you some other time Y/N." He walks away typing furiously. Now that was also... weird. Another thing to add to the list of pros and cons you had made for Taehyung.

Pros: Jimin's friend, irons his clothes properly, weird.

Cons: annoying, big city boy, weird.

It's a tie, for now. If only you could imagine the fluctuation the future beholds. You will run out of mental space to store all of the reasons why you don't like and why you do like Kim Taehyung.

Now that he's gone, you face Vera again. Did you want to cuss her out and then leave, or did you want to cuss her, make another petty comment about appropriate workplace behaviour and then leave? You settle for neither. You already got to vent so you don't think you have it in you to go the extra mile. So you turn to your left and leave, never to return again, you hope.

The slowness at which you are going is flagrant. You removed your boots by the entrance to be met by such swollen feet you feel embarrassed for yourself. They aren't even that high neither are they too tight. You attempt to walk all the way past the kitchen and through the hallway that leads to your room but you give up less than halfway through. The couch will have to do for now.

You scroll through your social media and come across an announcement post from Jimin's account and you're reminded of his show. It premieres in four days and you remember him saying that he will leave tomorrow. God, you're so caught up in your own shit, you completely forgot about him.

[14:20] hey, what time are you catching the train tomorrow again?

[14:25] minnie 💜13:45. Trying to see when to schedule in a crying session before?

[14:27] Ha.ha.ha. You’re not that special and you already left once. I am immune now.

[14:28] minnie 💜Ooff, ouch. I am strong but I’m not made of stone y/n. That hurt 😢

[14:30] I would argue otherwise. Which is great since it brings me to the very important and touch topic we need to discuss

[14:32] minnie 💜Y/N. I heard it the first time. I am NOT going to hurt her.

[14:35] You don’t know that. She is more invested than you may think. I don’t think she can take a third fall out. So I will need you try your best, can you promise that?

[14:36] minnie 💜Promise. I’ll be honest with her tonight.

[14:36] Thank you 😌

Jimin really wishes he could tell Y/N why he is so cautious about completely confessing to Ada. It has nothing to do with him being insecure about his feelings. It is more so a matter of protecting Y/N because he knows how Ada would react in such a scenario. Maybe one day, when Y/N is ready, he will be able to let her know.

[14:38] minnie 💜speaking of Ada she told me about your sugar issue, what’s going on? ps I’m also hurt that I need to get your life updates from someone else 😣

[14:40] Hmm yeah srry about that, i’ve been a bit out of it 😬,I went to the municipality building to find someone I could complain to but there wasn’t anyone there

[14:41] minnie 💜you will hate me for suggesting this but you should ask Tae for help

[14:42] Hmmm 🤔….

[14:42] Nope

[14:42] Non

[14:43] Nein 👎

[14:43] I am not trying to be indebted to someone i don’t plan on keeping in my life

[14:45] minnie 💜Ohh come on you wouldn’t be indebted, just think of it as him doing me a favor (cuz he owes me a couple) except it has nothing to with me

[14:46] minnie I really appreciate you looking out for me, but I got this 😚

[14:46] minnie 💜https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/kim_taehyung

[14:47] minnie 💜I’m just saying he’s got connections 🤷‍♂️

You click on the link. A freaking Wikipedia page?! The page isn’t ridiculous long but still, the fact that he has one. Your eyes shift to read his profile. There’s a picture of him, one worthy of a couple of screenshot you were not going to take, except he has blonde hair and you can’t help but think that you prefer his current hair color.

Kim Tae-hyung (age 24) Other names: Earl Kim Taehyung, Count Kim Taehyung Occupation: Economist Awards: Uffington’s Novice Photographer 2019 Taehyung is not just Jimin’s city friend. He is a count. An earl. An aristocrat amongst Warringham peasants. [14:53] Wow I see that you have upgraded huh, what are your intentions for the future that you felt the need to become friends with a nobleman 🤨

[14:55] minnie 💜actually he approached me, he went to one of my shows with his fam and then came to compliment me backstage and asked if i wanted to go for a drink

[14:57] and you thought ‘you know what, going out for a drink with a stranger is totally responsible’ [14:59] minnie 💜 i didn’t go alone i went with the team, i’m nice not stupid 😤

[15.00] minnie 💜but my point still stands, you wouldn’t be losing anything by asking him

Should you tell Jimin that Taehyung has already offered to help or would that just encourage him to keep pushing? You decide against telling him.

[15:01] i’ll think about it

[15:01] minnie 💜 that’s y/n code for: thanks but no thank you

[15:02] i mean it, i’ll actually let the thought simmer in my mind and see if i like the result

[15:03] minnie 💜smh

[15:03] minnie 💜 i’m going to need to leave u, someone else is here to keep me company 😏

[15:04] ewww, u nasty, byeeee

[15:05] minnie 💜byeeee, and like for real think about it 😙

Tomorrow is now today. Jimin is sadly going away. You are that deep in your feelings that you feel the need to recite a corny ‘poetic’ rhyme. You are standing near the edge of the railway platform. Taehyung is standing somewhere behind you. The both of you waiting for Ada and Jimin to rap up their sob fest or more accurately Ada’s sob fest. It takes a minute.

Once they are ready they find their way to you. You form a disproportionate human circle where Jimin and Ada are glued to each other’s side while you are closer to Ada and Taehyung’s closer to Jimin.

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you real quick.” Jimin motions for you to come to his side as he increases the distance between you and the rest.

Is he going to have individual talks with all three of us?

“So, what’s up?” you ask. The quicker you’re with this the less time you get to feel emotional.

“I’ll keep my promise if, and only if you keep yours,” he says as he places his pinky in front of your face. You grab onto it with your palm.

“I don’t remember promising anything.” He signals to Taehyung with a head nod. Oh, you see what this is about.

”You know it’s okay to admit you need help, right? You don’t need to have all the answers yourself.”

It may be true that you do not have all the answers, but you do have the ones that you need and the ones that mean something to you. But you can’t tell Jimin that so you sigh as you bite your top lip.

Jimin reaches into his back pocket. “I’ve had this now for a while and I think it has done its job. I believe you need it more than me right now.”

Onto your palm a small metal circle is placed. Teddy the penny. You can’t help chuckling. It had in fact been a while since you had seen the rusty fake penny with a teddy bear engraving. The penny that brought you and Jimin together back in elementary school when you still thought your teddy bear was the bestest friend you could possibly have. It listened to you and it understood and it comforted you, softly, all night. Most importantly, unlike Jimin, it never questioned you.

Your teacher had made fake pennies for the class to give as rewards. You and Jimin had a joint place in your drawing competition and coincidentally you both wanted the only teddy bear penny available. The teacher placed the two pennies in the palms of her hands, and told you to close your eyes. Her hands shifted from side to side, above and around one another. When you opened your eyes, you were made to chose and ended up with a butterfly penny instead.

All you can remember is moist cheeks, hurt cries and resentment. All of which went away when Jimin put the then warm penny on your small clammy hand, “You look like you need it more. Don’t be sad. Teddy doesn’t want things to be sad he wants them to be funny.”

From then on you exchanged Teddy the Penny, the one who needs it the most gets it. You had given it to him when he left to pursue his dreams.

“Honestly it’s not that big of a deal,” you dismiss his worry, “it’s definitely not a teddy the penny worthy situation,” you clarify.

“You know I am not gonna fight you right before leaving. You and I both know that the bakery is the only thing you actually care about. So yes, you care more than you show.”

“I also care about you and Ada too,” you retort and it’s the first time in the last three years that that you get to have Jimin’s questioning and disappointing expression directed at you.

“If you’re going to keep playing like this I might as well join and not keep my promise.”

FUCK!

Ok, so now your plan to avoid talking to Taehyung just wouldn’t be doable. You could deal with hurting yourself but hurting others? No. That’s where you draw the line. You are really going to have to talk to him.

“Fine,” you mumble out.

“Uh?”

“I said fine.”

Jimin pulls you into a hug. “Look at you, this is progress and thank you, that means I can keep my promise.” He hugs you tighter and your jaw tenses as you attempt to make sure he doesn’t squeeze out all of the tears that you plan on shedding when you get back home.

“I’ll miss you so much. Please take care of Ada.” He lets you go but keeps holding your hands. “And let her take care of you too. Okay?”

“Uh hmm,” you nod your head at the fastest speed you can manage. Partially because you do want to reassure him but also you need to dry the incoming tears.

Jimin continues to caress your shoulder as you walk back to meet the others. You try to keep your head up as to not raise any suspicion but realise your failure when you meet Taehyung’s eyes. He gives you a reassuring smile and winks at you. The last part does register properly in your head but you act like you didn't see it.

The train tracks sound. It’s almost here.

“I’m so glad I decided to come back. Take care guys, I’ll try to get back as fast as possible,” he says as he goes on to squeeze Ada’s hand and hug Taehyung.

The train comes to a stop and the gushing sound of air that comes from the opening doors resonates against your eardrums and you’re brought back to the first time he left. You were just as hurt back then as you are now. The only difference is that you felt hope where you feel despair today. Why? You don’t really know. Things tend to be felt before you get the time to register what those feelings mean.

Jimin steps into the train and sits by a window seat facing your side of the platform. The whole minute before he’s taken away with the train unravels itself in slow motion. It goes by so fast, you realize you forgot to wave goodbye. Nevertheless, you raise your hand to wave it frantically. Maybe he saw it?

Taehyung clears his throat. “I gotta hurry back to work. But hopefully I can see you guys around.”

Right, Taehyung and Ada still had work. You had given yourself a leave from work for the remaining of the day.

“Alright, sounds good, we can catch up some other time,” Ada says with a cheerful voice. You're surprised by how well she's taking this.

She moves to link arms with you. The same arm that she pinches.

“See you around Taehyung,” you manage to say. He looks at you a little too long for your liking before he turns away to walk away.

Your phone buzzes and you reach for it.

[13:45] minnie 💜here’s his number by the way: *********

[13:45] minnie 💜also I saw that 🙋‍♀️🤞

The outlines of your hands holding your phone blurs before you can feel wet drops on your forearms. Ada brings your body tight against hers as she pats your back.

You now realize how happy you felt having all three of you in the same place despite all the problems at work and Taehyung. You had really thought that the sweet imagery would manage to stay alive a bit longer than what it did.

But good things tend to be ephemeral, just like the first snow that melts to reveal old ways.

Posted: May 15, 2020

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waveypedia · 4 years

Note

Have anything else for that Team Spyience au you made ages ago? Some writng or a bullet list? I crave angst.

The AU in question

Yes!! Aaaaahh i was so excited when I saw this ask because i’m so happy people still like it!! I’m definitely still thinking about it, don’t worry. The old AU hinges on the fact that FOWL doesn’t have a way into Scrooge’s company and family but uhhhh that’s not how it is now lmao. So I’ve been thinking about revamping it for a couple months now. I don’t want to do anything concrete until we know a little more about FOWL and how it works. We know who its agents are and a little bit about its goals but we really don’t know anything about its inner workings, what the Board’s dynamic is with their agents, what their dynamic is with modern SHUSH (if it even exists), etc etc. all of which are things that would probably be addressed in the Team Spyience AU! It is an AU but I’d like to build on canon as much as possible (unless there’s something that I really don’t vibe with) since it’ll be cleaner and less confusing that way. Like if I threw 2019 Team Spyience AU at you guys rn it would 1) be confusing since the FOWL structure and motives are completely different from canon and 2) be less interesting since there’s SO much potential for angst and drama with the Board, Rockerduck/Jeeves, and Gandra as part of FOWL. (and oh boy I’m so excited to work with that!!!)

(sorry for that long block of text sdfgfds i wasn’t sure how to break it up)

that being said I have built a bit of a shaky foundation for a redone Team Spyience AU for when we learn more!! and ahhh i’m so excited to share. For bullet points, here are some ideas swimming around in my head. these all could change with new information from the show or just if i think of something better tbh

so this might change when we learn more about the Board in general and the nitty-gritty of FOWL’s plans, but right now I’m thinking that the Board realizes that 1) Gyro and his ragtag band of science nerds are powerful and stubborn, and will most definitely get in the way of their plans 2) Gyro already hates the Board, and if anyone in McDuck Enterprises were to pick up on their treason, it would be him 3) They have a strong foothold for control in the company, second only to Scrooge (and even that’s debatable), but they have minimal control over Gyro and the science department. So this time around it’s less about needing to spy on Scrooge and more about wanting to control Gyro and Team Science. how that translates to “capturing them and forcing them to spy on their boss and his family” is still up in the air, but i’ll let you guys know when i figure it out! (and if you all have any ideas lmk)

we all know Gyro dislikes the Board but it’s mostly just annoyance/spite since they always shut down his inventions. Here, though, he would hate them. He would probably start like smack-talking them to everyone he can, especially Scrooge, which is his own way of trying to get them to realize the Board is evil without tipping the Board off to his treachery. Scrooge would be confused and it would be like the first crack in the Board’s carefully built facade, but it wouldn’t work for him. He probably just thinks Gyro’s being his mean self.

Huey, though... I’m pretty sure Huey’s gonna end up researching FOWL since it’s his season, and he spends enough time around Team Science to notice how off they’re all acting, without being too busy to pay it much mind (like Scrooge). so one of Gyro’s snarky remarks will tip him off, and he’ll start to view the Board with a little more suspicion each time. Until he comes to the conclusion through his research, and SHUSH resources like Beakley and Webby, that oh god that was an allusion to FOWL the Board is FOWL-

and then- wait is Gyro FOWL?? is Team Science okay?? this goes deeper than I thought-

so essentially the B-plot of this AU is Huey (with the help of the rest of the kids, but especially Webby, Boyd, and Violet) researching FOWL in the background and trying to figure out why Team Science is acting so weird lately, and there’s a lot of dramatic irony

FOWL definitely threatens Boyd to get to Gyro because I love me some quality Boyd & Gyro family content 😌

I originally thought about working a “Gyro is a former FOWL agent that got away by the skin of his teeth” aspect into the AU since I was really fond of that concept when it was a theory, but now it’s been disproven. It does make for a lot of extra drama and angst, but I don’t think it quite fits, so I might just make that an entirely separate AU. I might add some non-canon bonus content with this concept though!

The majority of Team Science’s dynamic throughout the AU stays the same - they’re all incredibly stressed and on edge and just in a really sticky situation, so they snap at each other and have a lot of petty arguments. But at the same time, they’re all in the really sticky situation together, and so they come out of this mess a whole lot closer. It’s sort of a “You’re the only ones I can be honest with without dire consequences” situation.

also re: that last point - CUDDLE PUDDLES. i’m so soft for them. i’m thinking maybe on a night when FOWL makes them all stay in the cells overnight as a punishment or smth, but they’re all in one cell, they just fall asleep all on top of each other and it’s just a really sweet moment made bittersweet by the circumstances. it’s also a testament to how far their relationship has come under pressure and how much they trust each other now.

Gyro is the only target originally (I’m thinking maybe Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb catch the Board in the act and it’s very dramatic and terrifying. i think they’re originally gonna kill Team Science, since FOWL has a very take-no-prisoners leave-no-loose-ends sort of mindset, but Gyro convinces the Board that the majority of Scrooge McDuck’s research team mysteriously dying in one fell swoop would be extremely suspicious, especially since Scrooge has an in-house former SHUSH agent. so they live, miraculously, but the Board lets all of them know in no uncertain terms that if it happens again, the other person dies. No ifs, ands, or buts. So Team Science is all very, very nervous and careful about what they let slip. They want to tell everyone, especially Scrooge, but they can’t because they care too much. (Hence Gyro making passive-aggressive comments about the Board to Scrooge.) and of course everyone else gets suspicious and resentful since they know Team Science is hiding stuff from them. so that leads to a lot of drama and arguments.

speaking of the drama and arguments from the outside, the kids are doing their own investigation, but I headcanon Della as friends with Gyro from before the Spear of Selene, and she has a budding friendship with Fenton too. So she’d notice they’re all acting really weird and bailing on all her plans, so she storms down to the lab and tries an aggressive tactic to get them to fess up. They don’t, obviously, so she goes on a little investigation of her own. I’m thinking she might drag Launchpad and Donald into it - Launchpad since he’s good friends with Team Science, and Donald because I love him and I want him involved they’re the Duck Twins and they work best together.

I have this scene floating around in my head where, in the very beginning, FOWL agents/Eggheads capture Gyro and drag him to FOWL HQ underneath Funzo’s to be briefed on his new situation. He’s stuck in one of those glass cells Launchpad and Dewey were in when Steelbeak brought them back in the Double-O-Duck episode. The Board knows he’s there, but Gyro has no clue they’re villains. So they come to the cell to brief and belittle him (let’s be honest here, they’ve never liked Gyro) and he just. He’s pissed. Spitting mad. He’s always resented the Board but never like this; never pictured them as actual powerful villains. He may be spiteful of them because they shut down his projects, but at the end of the day, they’re good guys. They’re on his side, and more importantly, Scrooge’s side. Right?

So Gyro is like, up against the glass, trying to punch them through the airholes. He’s just so fucking furious. He’s not really thinking straight and he doesn’t care about any dignity, he’s just angry. The Board is just overly smug and pleased with themselves. It’s a very stereotypical “You’ll never get away with this, you villain!!” picture, and very dramatic. And then the Board just walks away after giving him a bare-bones explanation of the situation that he doesn’t really process because he’s so mad and terrified. And they turn off all the lights and let him stew in there overnight.

Once Huey and the kids have finally put the pieces together, Webby comes to the Bin one day with Scrooge, and she goes to the meeting room to look for him. Only he’s not in there - The Board is, and they’re berating Gyro for sassing off about them to Scrooge or smth. Webby, with all her trained spy skills, hears their conversation and is able to avoid detection (although the Board is suspicious, and they start investigating to tie off any loose ends). Their conversation, though, would be suspicious to any oblivious passerby, but from all the research the kids have done, they know what’s going on.

That’s not the actual reveal - I think thematically that should go to Huey, since he’s the closest to Team Science and it’s his season. This would just chase away any last doubts the kids may have. And maybe Webby gets a voice recording as evidence? I just love those; they’re so dramatic.

this is one part that might not end up aligning with canon but I’m REALLY fond of the Akita FOWL theory. So in this AU, I’m thinking Akita was a really casual member of FOWL all along that recently got an updated agent commission. So there’s even more potential drama there, since Gyro utterly despises Akita now. And a bigger incentive to keep Boyd safe, since Gyro knows FOWL would be more than happy to program Boyd into a mindless attack robot.

in the old AU I was toying with the idea that FOWL didn’t know Fenton’s Gizmoduck until a big reveal, and it was a secret weapon of Team Science’s (but also a point for a lot of arguments, since Fenton desprately wanted to be out there protecting people at the cost of his own safety) but uhh... they definitely know now. In a bid to stop FOWL from taking control of Gizmoduck, Fenton claims the armor is out of commission and sabotages it. So Fenton’s heroics are temporarily halted while Team Science frantically tries to figure out how to keep FOWL from hacking/taking control of a new and improved Gizmosuit.

As for writing... I don’t have anything done, least of all anything for the revamped version of the AU, but I do have this wonderful writing prompt from @advisortotheadvisor that I started back in January 2019, when I was working on the old version of the AU, that I really want to do with the revamped AU. (it just fits so well ahhhh!!!)

["If you won’t do it, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t mind being in your place." + your FOWL team spyience au?]

Gyro crossed his arms across his chest, scowling to hide his fear. He’d gotten pretty good at it over these past few months.

Watching the halls was basically useless. Fowl was careful to keep Gyro and his team within the same halls, as to not be able to find their way out on their own. And Gyro knew the way to Steelbeak’s office well. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been marched here.

At least he wasn’t cuffed anymore, though he suspected it was only because the agents and their minions knew there was too much at stake for an escape attempt. It had been too long, anyway. That was an amaetur move. Even though he loathed to admit it, Gyro cared too much about the consequences - the people at stake - to even try.

It was just a well-aimed mockery. Like everything short of punishment seemed to be these days under FOWL’s watchful eye and careful thumb. Gyro scowled deeper and crossed his arms tighter and pretended in vain it didn’t bother him.

That was all he could do, really.

Okay that kind of got away from me haha. thank you so much for the ask!! It means a lot to me that people are still interested in this AU. definitely motivation to work on both the AU and that fic haha!! I’ll talk more abt this soon when I have more info/content

#*screams* I LOVE THIS AU #this ask got me thinking more deeply about it... and that one fic...#my asks #anons #ducktales #team spyience au #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #manny the headless manhorse #lil bulb #huey duck #webby vanderquack #scrooge mcduck #boyd gearloose #wavey writes

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dr-lizard-kisser-nphd · 5 years

Text

Man in Glass part 2

My liveblog, done in my Notes app last night when the episode came out. Spoilers, obviously. If you haven’t listened yet...folks this is peak Penumbra. Contains 100% of your daily value of shenanigans, style, softness, angst, and nuanced character growth.

[[MORE]]

* “I know my argument with Juno is pointless, but that doesn’t mean I won’t win it”

* DISTRACTION

* Dance? 👀

* “Connecting the dots between his bruises”

* Dance metaphors?

* Rudolph Nureyev theories GO

* Damn he’s awesome

* Wait Juno’s yelling at him

* I would believe you if you said you just wanted a hug ❤️

* Ms. Zolotovna is unhinged and wonderful

* “Old”, energy fading...followed by reference to debts...medical debt theory!

* Unpredictable because incompetent!

* Zolotovna invests in the debtors’ tags

* Nureyev has never heard of Board of Fresh Starts...

* YES Juno is studying her of course

* Peter’s blatantly checking him out. Doing what he accused Juno of doing

* Gentleband

* Hell yeah they’re going to dance!!! While scheming!!! Dip to get a good look!!! I’m dying. And complimenting each other!

* Smiles again...

* Peter’s trusting Juno again!! *crying cat emoji*

* Calling Peter “beanstalk beau”

* “You want this” ahhh bad!

* Zolotovna calls Juno “her”—she wasn’t paying attention to him at all huh

* Peter is really considering marrying Zolotovna to steal her money?!

* “Constant worry that has followed me across the galaxy as close and insistent as my own shadow”

* So he’s had these debts the whole time? Probably since well before s1?

* “I do not file it under ‘for future consideration’”

* “Our love it’s...it’s forbidden!” lmao

* Organized crime!

* “Delicate as a sunspot on a Sunday”

* I sweeeeaaaarrr my loooove

* Extorting money: asks for medications for a (clearly fabricated) thyroid condition—keeps the concept of paying for healthcare in the front of listeners’ minds

* This is so silly I love it

* “No questions just start walking”

* Fuck

* “The gilded globe” Double fuck

* Oh she’s distracted again

* BUDDY

* Shouting your feelings (edit: don’t know why I wrote this down...I think I had found a parallel between this moment and some other, but I don’t remember what that other was)

* Most of their criticism was from themselves ❤️

* “I don’t repeat myself. In fact, I think it is fair to say I never repeat myself” —isn’t that a repetition, Buddy?

* “You...did?” He sounds like Arum here for half a second @ someone is there a similar Arum line I’m thinking of??

* “A great thief” again ow.

* Ow. Wanting to. Be kept safe. Ow. Let me cuddle him

* AAAHHH he’s a Buddy fanboy ahhh

* She knows about the debts—are we going to learn about them

* “Pete”

* She knows it’s a pseudonym, ...thinks “Peter” is pseudonymous too

* ...when did they test his blood lmao

* Do we get to hear the story?!

* Peeeete I love you dumbass

* “The cure to all illness”

* “You do remember” or did he just know about it already. Due to being in medical debt.

* Do I have to listen to a full season of biotech as written by people who barely passed high school biology and haven’t thought about science since?

* Yes I do. And I know I’ll enjoy it, but I retain my right to laugh at them.

* “Sounded impossible” yeah there’s a reason for that

* “Part of me has clung to the legend...a vulnerable part of me” medical debt!Peter

* “Less like a file and more like an overstuffed closet” oh that’s a familiar metaphor

* I love Buddy’s better than legends line I should find it later

* “I have my suspicions as to what you’re here for” so! Do! I!

* “I hope you rePete that success” I see you

* “Your debts—financial, personal”

* “Like having a heart embarrasses you” Noah Simes plays one character

* Sweaty boy

* 💔

* Him

* Regrets the name already!

* “Everyone who’s called me Peter has wanted to be my parent”...does keeping the first name in his current pseudonym mean he wants his hero Buddy to be his parent lol

* Nureyev is the sweet name! Flips the usual script of “calls you by last name until things get soft” —it’s the last name that’s intimate

* They’re talking! They’re going to talk! Already! Thank goodness!

* I really do hate agonizing slow burns and pining. I want them to be together.

* Not even listening to the apology. Just appreciating him and seeing that he’s changed.

* Hell yeah Ryan Vibert you are amazing

* “A kind of helplessness in complete freedom”

* Peter’s talking like he’s the one who left Juno

* Calling Juno a man for this episode is...feels good to my bigender soul. I love how no one makes him choose between being a man or a lady. He can be one for a little while without fear of losing the other or the potential to be both.

* Warm...okay but what did you say Nureyev. I know what decision you’re making. I think.

* Commentary: new narrator thoughts? *door shuts*

* *deadpan Kevin Vibert voice* “Hash tag Space Communism”

* “The diameter of Juno’s dress”

* We are finally realizing the potential of Patreon names thank you

* Noah Simes is still credited as “Peter Ransom” even though Juno started calling him Nureyev again, hm

#arin chat #arin liveblogs #tpp ep: man in glass part 2 #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #junoverse spoilers #the penumbra podcast spoilers #tpp spoilers #long post

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kebinwooo · 4 years

Note

for the kpop ask game: 25, 28, 35, 47 🧡

AHHH hi rae! thanks for dropping by! i hope your thanksgiving has been alright so far!

25. Your opinion, natural hair colors or dyed hair?

OOO i like natural hair colors (especially black 😍😍) but i do love dyed red, blue and purple hair as well (it’s kind of what inspired me to dye my own hair those colors lol)

28. Your favourite leader?

i would say ukiss’s soohyun! he’s the only og member left in ukiss and i really admire him for how much he loves ukiss and kissmes ;; he has been consistently doing the most yet still remains super humble about it (THE FACT THAT HE APOLOGIZED ABOUT NOT KEEPING THE GROUP TOGETHER WHEN HE WAS IN THE MILITARY. THE FACT THAT HE SPENT HIS MILITARY BREAKS TALKING TO THE COMPANY ABOUT UKISS. THE FACT THAT HE APOLOGIZES TO KISSMES WHO HAVE WAITED WHEN HE’S NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT. WE LOVE THIS MAN 😭) i honestly respect him so much and i’m so glad his efforts are finally paying off this year as he gets more attention and schedules ;;

other honorable mentions include: bang yongguk, seungcheol, and shownu!

35. Do you own any kpop merch?

i do! i own a bunch of albums (a gigantic collection too YIKES MY MONEY 😬), two lightsticks (the carat bong and mondoongie!), and a few kpop tshirts and hoodies too hehe

47. Your favourite MV aesthetic?

OH DEAR this is hard.... i like darker concepts (like mx’s shoot out) or anything with like a clean (?) look like suits and stuff (mx’s love killa lmao) or also anything that’s vaguely royal? (dreamcatcher’s deja vu, oneus’s come back home, mx’s fantasia etc.) idk i feel like if i tell people which mvs i like, the range kinda goes all across the board HAHAHA

#thanks for stopping by rae!#also i had to put this under a read more bc i got a little emotional about soohyun LMAO #ask #nebulouswaters

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dementedgnomicwizard · 4 years

Text

celestriakle replied to your post “oh my god i fucking HATE the wolf 359 finale no podcast has ever made...”

Man I feel you. Personally I didn’t see a tpk coming and for me that probably woulda been too dark, but I remember feeling so weird about the ending as is, it was just, uncomfortable? It felt like they were trying for a happy ending and def did not get there, there was for sure a balance off. (Keeping in mind I listened like 2 or 3 years ago probably)

yeah i think it was maybe me being used to/having a preference for slightly darker fiction generally gfdhsjkhf i like stuff that’s humorous and doesn’t emotionally fatigue you but the stakes are high as hell and you know that none of the characters are ever 100% safe regardless of how much of a main character they are yk

ok i just started writing and then it got Long so i’m putting this under a readmore, ALSO HUUUGE SPOILERS UP AHEAD OBV FOR ANYONE WONDERING

what put that idea in my head initially was when eiffel almost got sent back to earth and turned back—in my head i was like ah, okay, so that’s the moment where he makes his Choice to come back no matter the cost, they’re gearing up for an Ultimate Sacrifice ending. (now looking back i’m like.... well. i Guess that’s still what was going on but.... lol.)

i assumed that for most of the episode the plan would be “stop goddard+kill cutter pryce and young, get home,” and that towards the end it would become clear that there wasn’t enough time/options/whatever to accomplish all of the above (either that they would succeed in killing cutter+price+young but in order to finish it they’d have to stay on the station as it crossed the red line or something like that, or that they would realize there were no options left besides destroying the station with everyone on board) and they’d have some touching moment as a crew where they reflect on all the development they’d undergone as people throughout the journey and all things considered are pretty gung-ho about accepting what has to happen.

it just feels (to me) like the logical and satisfying conclusion for their arcs! they finally have ALL the answers they’ve been looking for, they’ve succeeded in stopping goddard, etc. for lovelace it would’ve been a pretty kick-ass “the captain always goes down with the ship” moment and honestly a well-deserved /rest/ after everything she’s been through and all the loss she’s witnessed (because... um... can she die? now? of anything? bc it doesn’t seem likely, and ‘going back to earth so i can settle into a normal life again and then watch everyone i know get old and die around me while i stay alive because i’m not fully me anymore’ feels like ... kind of a really cold and sad ending for her, considering everything).

for hera it would’ve been a chance to (once again) reaffirm her humanity and just how much she’s progressed beyond what goddard tried to make her be; a really excellent final fuck-you, ESPECIALLY if the nature of the TPK in question was like “hera has to initiate the self-destruct and pryce is alive to witness this but powerless to stop her for once.”

for jacobi... i mean... like am i forgetting something or did they just not really bother establishing much information about like, what jacobi has to return to on earth? bc it seems like blowing the station could’ve been a way for him to 1) let go of a lot of his guilt/grief over maxwell and 2) a salute to kepler for his efforts (assuming that by the time the TPK happens kepler has already been revealed as a double-double agent + swooced out the airlock)

for eiffel it would’ve been a good conclusion to the Massive amounts of development he had; he spent the entirety of the show slowly and painfully learning how NOT to be an asshole/selfish/basically everything that he Was that contributed to destroying his life on earth care about, and how TO Show Up For the people around him despite getting off on the wrong foot initially. he arrived on the hephaestus as a (mostly) well-meaning but self-absorbed jackass with virtually no concept of boundaries or self-restraint, and by the end of the show he’d Realized this about himself and put in a colossal amount of hard work in order to Be Better... and then at the very peak of that arc, which the audience and the characters themselves have invested so much time and energy into, the decision is just to... throw all of it away? IT’S JUST GDFKSJGHFDK SOOO MUCH MORE FRUSTRATING TO ME THAN IF THEY’D JUST STRAIGHT-UP KILLED HIM because they try to dance around it like “Ahhh but IS he the same person anymore... who can never be sure.... maybe it’s a second chance....” but that logic just doesn’t WORK given the questions+answers about what makes up one’s humanity/personality as established AT LENGTH by like everything else in the show!! according to everything we’ve learned so far from hera/maxwell/pryce etc as they address these questions through the lens of the AI system, the answer to “are you still the same person if you’re physically unchanged but every single one of your memories is altered or removed?” is a resounding “NO.” i hate it when writers spend their entire story establishing certain rules/information/logic and then suddenly make decisions that completely fly in the face of all of it and think it’s a “subversion” when really what that’s called is “a bad writing decision.” i genuinely think they were just too hesitant to actually kill him so they tried to do “the next best thing” but it just... didn’t work the way they wanted it to. i’ll elaborate more on why i think they would’ve been afraid to kill him (beyond just “he is the beloved main character”) in a second

for minkowski... i mean... from a character/writing standpoint, if lovelace, hera, or eiffel (not including jacobi here only bc i don’t think they were QUITE close enough by the end for his death to have caused her As Much guilt as the other three would have) died during the finale then minkowski would almost definitely have to die as well, bc her primary motivation as we’re all very aware is to ensure the safety of her crew above all else; i don’t think there’s a universe where minkowski is okay with leaving herself if all three aren’t with her. BUT i think this became a corner that they wrote themselves into with her by the end, because then (i assume) the dilemma became “well, as much as we might like to, we basically can’t kill off any one single other character, because it will cut minkowski’s strings” WHIIICH is why i think they couldn’t go through with killing eiffel.

ANYWAY. YEAH. ALL THIS TO SAY for me personally an ending where the characters all have to sacrifice themselves, but it’s a choice they arrive at together easily + something they welcome and accept without much sadness/regret because they’ve done everything they could (and, in the case of those crewmembers w active ties to earth, successfully ensured the safety of their loved ones on earth) would’ve made a lot of sense and been satisfying. i’d be sad, definitely, but in an “this story and characters were excellent and i’m sad it’s over” way more than a “wait i’m so frustrated by this ending that can’t possibly just be It” way

#celestriakle #wolf 359 spoilers #THIS GOT LONG OOPS... SORRYgsdfhjkgfhd #dont feel obligated to read all of it im just rambling

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saint-patrice · 5 years

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“Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD”

here are some more of my favourite marchy pics, complete with my bizarre personal commentary, for anon! the 34 bergy pics can be found here also!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m up for taking people’s requests if there’s a particular player they’d like to see! inbox is always open (and anon is on) so just drop me your request and i’ll get working on it :)

okay so this is some absolutely premium cute marchy!! the smile that manages to be completely self-confident yet in no way cocky? the polite little wave as he surveys his audience who, if i recall correctly, were booing him heavily?? oh i do love you mr rat. marchy is fantastic and i have so much respect for the way he deals with his reputation across the league and the excessive amount of shit he gets.he knows what people think of him yet doesn’t seem to let it get to him. i have so much love for him.

KATRINA IS LEGENDARY. before moving on to the part of the image that gave me whiplash when i first saw it, we’re back to talking about brad’s smile. i think i said it in my last post but he really is one of those people who smiles with their whole face - even if you just saw his eyes in this photo you can immediately tell that he’s got that little grin on his face and that’s adorable tbh. now onto the d*lf mug (censored bc i fear the dodgy underground porn blogs these days)… i don’t even know where to start. i feel like he very proudly bought it for himself. and it’s like the only mug he ever wants to drink out of. just my take. i also think the longer hair really suits marchy ngl

ahhh the boys and their dirtbag christmas suits 💛 highlights of this image are the suit jacket that is definitely just one size too small for this absolute man rocket, and the pants with “FRAGILE” plastered all over them - very relatable if not at all festive.

gay rights are stored in the rat!!! i’m glad marchy has been pretty open about his support of LGBT stuff, particularly within hockey. also i feel like some of the stuff he’s said in interviews or social media (esp re: lickgate) manages, even if not intentionally, to be quite diminutive towards implicit homophobia or ‘toxic masculinity’ within hockey. okay maybe that that was poorly expressed but basically he just doesn’t give a shit and appears very open and accepting and i think that’s super nice. this picture also makes for a good reaction image when someone says something dumb

short kings love.jpeg !! a wonderful example of the love that brad shows his teammates on a regular basis, despite his constant chirping. i have no real opinions on torey krug (no h8, i just don’t think i’ve seen that much of him off ice so idk) but him and marchy are quite the duo tbh, i live for their back and forths on twitter - more on that later - and they seem to love each other an awful lot, it’s v cute :^)

that’s my pest™. honestly i think lickgate is one of the best scandals in recent hockey history. when looking for a good image of this is saw an article where some dipshit reporter was outraged about it and was like “how would you feel if someone just came up and liked you?” i mean what if someone just came up and started punching you or hip-checked you into the wall????? hockey is a nasty game a lot of the time, and instead of giving people concussions or broken bones (not that he hasn’t in the past ik…) marchy managed to make opposing teams just as angry, if not moreso, just by licking players. i think it’s fucking hilarious. and most of them took it well in hindsight anyway - i think it was komarov who said he kinda liked it lmaoooooo. peak bradley kevin antics if you ask me

every pic from the china trip has such a special place in my heart. this is just an all-round adorable photo and brad is looking gorgeous in the sunlight and his backwards cap

brad waving the towel in surrender is just about the funniest thing i’ve ever seen someone do in the penalty box… i can’t believe they gave him a 10 minute misconduct for it, something i think they’d wouldn’t have done if it had have been someone else. at least someone in this league has a goddamn sense of humour. the penalty minutes stat in the corner just makes this even better

brad, once again, showing us how we should deal with people talking shit about us - just get on board with it. i love how much he’s just embraced his massive nose and his height and his general reputation. idk if it’s really deliberate but i think it’s such a good message to send, and it makes for some pretty funny stuff too.

brad single-handedly keeps nhl refs in a job. in my bruins drinking game™ you have to take a shot every time the ref has to physically restrain marchy (2 if it’s because he was going to get revenge or fend for bergy) and you could get fucked off that alone during some games. it was nice to see him not actually get suspended this year, but i will always love that he’s such a physical player and quite the pest on the ice :))

me: *slaps helmet of brad marchand* this bad boy can fit so much personality.

really though, can you believe he’s managed to squeeze more charisma into only 5 feet and 9 inches than 85% of the league combined… very cute picture, and always lovely to see him by bergy’s side on the ice where he belongs

oh my goddddddd how fucking cute is this though!!!! the hat! the dad energy those jeans and the boots give off!!! his face!! his little daughter!!!!! i can’t take it, my heart is going to burst.

(gif via @kureally) this is also just so cute, i need a minute. brad has some very powerful eyebrows and this gif displays them wonderfully. this section of behind the b was also pretty sweet all round, and i agree with pasta that the hair is looking pretty first class

(gif via @murlin09) i am not like into marchy (no tea no shade if u are though), but this gif… whew. i’ll let you come to your own conclusions on this one, gang

i was not lying when i said more on the brad-torey social media antics earlier. there are some truly iconic chirps (the zamboni one is lethal), but this self-roast just kills me every time. i never once thought i’d read a tweet from the official brad marchand twitter account that opened with “hey shorty” but here we are. “my nose wouldn’t fit” i astral projected the first time i read that. and if you’re wondering what torey said to prompt this, it was simply “hey marchy”. it doesn’t take much for brad to light on you, huh? we better watch our backs

definitely a favourite marcheron pic right here - the pucks and paddles (i still think that’s a questionable name but maybe that’s a me issue) content is always top notch. if you can find the video, it’s even better, but this picture captures the general energy of the video perfectly. the only thing missing is that brad’s feet aren’t actually on the floor because the height difference is so pronounced that bergy has to lift him. beautiful

return of the cute brad smile!! a cute yet mischievous little grin, i can only assume he’s restraining himself from laughing at m*tthews fivehead (although who is he to talk with that schnozz. at least he rocks it tbf 👃🏻). not sure blue is really his colour but he’s going for it anyway. that’s my all star!

it’s been days since this photo first surfaced and i haven’t stopped palpitating. the cutest photo ever, they all look so happy and i love that!!! also how are their wives so beautiful….!? oh my every pixel of this image is just stunning

i know i included this in my last bergy list but if they can name new york twice i think i can put this on 2 lists, because lord knows it’s even more iconic. i feel like this is a good metaphor for brad marchand: getting up to no good, although still relatively harmless, all the while supported by the considerably more sensible, yet still entertaining, patrice bergeron. additionally, another excellent display of the oft-overlooked fact that this man is built like a motherfucking tank. holy shit

i wish i could see these boys in suits without my brain immediately trying to think of some sort of au. anyway, i really like this look on brad (unpopular opinion - i love his loud checkered suits as a concept but i don’t think they look good). although he has dark hair, strong eyebrows, and dark facial hai, the all black actually looks really good on him. coffee in hand really adding to the look too - well done, brad “fashionista” marchand.

ahhhhh i love nothing more than family man marchy 💛 his daughter is adorable - those tiny jerseys kill me - and i love that his son is wearing the all-star jersey omg how cute (he is definitely going to end up taller than brad lmao)

sometimes i forget that brad is short and then i see photos like this (brandon is 6′5 for reference)…amazing. i relate to the lady on the left on a spiritual level. brad’s face is a mood and a half. his feet are half a foot of the ice at least. i adore this photo.

(gif via @brandoncarlo) absolutely one of my fav things about watching bruins games is how brad and patrice will always find each other during a celly - nothing beats the 100 hug. this is also just a very satisfying skating gif that i love.

last but very very very far from least is this. there is literally no need for me to make any comment on this so i’m just going to leave it and go. bradley kevin marchand you are iconic and ily

ayyy this was super fun to do, thank you for requesting it anon, i hope you like!! again, i’m absolutely up for taking requests for more of these lists so hmu if you have ideas :)

#my bergy post was pure thirst for the most part #this is just me appreciating the true iconicness that is marchy #the effort i went to to not use 'iconic' every third word...bc he just is #answered #Anonymous #bruins photos compilations #bruins #marchand

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upontheshelfreviews · 4 years

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Last year I talked about Fantasia, which is not just one of my favorite Disney movies, but one of my favorite movies in general. And if I may be self-indulgent for a moment, it’s also one of the reviews that I’m the proudest of. Fantasia is a visual, emotional masterpiece that marries music and art in a manner few cinematic ventures have come close to replicating. One question that remains is what my thoughts on the long-gestated sequel is –

…you might wanna get yourselves some snacks first.

As anyone who read my review on the previous film knows, Fantasia was a project ahead of its time. Critics and audiences turned their noses up at it for conflicting reasons, and the film didn’t even make it’s budget back until twenty-something years later when they began marketing it to a very different crowd.

“I don’t wanna alarm you dude, but I took in some Fantasia and these mushrooms started dancing, and then there were dinosaurs everywhere and then they all died, but then these demons were flying around my head and I was like WOOOOOAAAHHH!!”

“Yeah, Fantasia is one crazy movie, man.”

“Movie?”

Fantasia’s unfortunate box office failure put the kibosh on Walt Disney’s plans to make it a recurring series with new animated shorts made to play alongside handpicked favorites. The closest he came to following through on his vision was Make Mine Music and Melody Time, package features of shorts that drew from modern music more than classical pieces.

Fast-forward nearly fifty years later to the golden age known as the Disney Renaissance: Walt’s nephew Roy E. Disney surveys the new crop of animators, storytellers, and artists who are creating hit after hit and have brought the studio back to his uncle’s glory days, and thinks to himself, “Maybe now we can make Uncle Walt’s dream come true.” He made a good case for it, but not everyone was on board. Jeffrey Katzenberg loathed the idea, partly because he felt the original Fantasia was a tough act to follow (not an entirely unreasonable doubt) but most likely due to the fact that the last time Disney made a sequel, The Rescuers Down Under, it drastically underperformed (even though the reasons for that are entirely Katzenberg’s fault. Seriously, watch Waking Sleeping Beauty and tell me you don’t want to punch him in the nose when Mike Gabriel recalls his opening weekend phone call).

Once Katzenberg was out of the picture, though, Fantasia 2000, then saddled with the less dated but duller moniker Fantasia Continued, got the go-ahead. Many of the sequences were made simultaneously as the animated features my generation most fondly remembers, others were created to be standalone shorts before they were brought into the fold. Since it was ready in time for the new millennium, it not only got a name change but a massive marketing campaign around the fact that it would be played on IMAX screens for a limited run, the very first Disney feature to do so. As a young Fantasia fan who had never been to one of those enormous theaters before, I begged and pleaded my parents to take me. Late that January, we traveled over to the IMAX theater at Lincoln Center, the only one nearest to us since they weren’t so widespread as they are now, and what an experience it was. I can still recall the feeling of awe at the climax of Pines of Rome, whispering eagerly with my mom at how the beginning of Rhapsody in Blue looked like a giant Etch-A-Sketch, and jumping twenty feet in the air when the Firebird’s massive eyes popped open. But did later viewings recapture that magic, or did that first time merely color my perception?

We open on snippets from the original Fantasia…IN SPAAAAAAAAACE!

It reminds me a little of the opening to Simply Mad About The Mouse, where bits of classic Disney nostalgia fly about to evoke the mood of this upcoming musical venture. In a clever conceit, snippets of Deems Taylor’s original opening narration explaining Fantasia’s intent and music types plays over the orchestra and animators materializing and gearing up for the first sequence, which jumps right into –

DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUN – I mean, Symphony #5 – Ludwig Van Beethoven

Here, a bunch of butterflies flee and then fight off swarms of bats with the power of light – I can’t be the only one who saw these things and thought it was butterflies vs. bats, right?

It does look cool with its waterfalls and splashes of light and color bursting through the clouds, but this brings me to a bit of contention I have with the movie.

When I planned this review I was going to do a new version of “Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing”, except there were only four major complaints I could think of that. On further introspection, I admit they are legitimate grievances worth addressing. I’m going to get them out of the way all at once in order to keep things rolling.

#1 – This Seems Familiar…

Certain sequences are noticeably derivative from the first movie. It’s as if they were afraid of trying too many new things that would alienate audiences so they borrowed from their predecessor in an effort to say “Hey, we can do this too!” Symphony #5 is clearly trying to be Tocatta and Fugue with its abstract geometric shapes swooping all over to kick things off. Though I love how much character the animators managed to give two pairs of triangles, Tocatta’s soaring subconscious flights of fancy leaves me more enthralled. Carnival of the Animals literally began as a sequel to Dance of the Hours until the ostriches became flamingoes. And Roy E. Disney openly stated he wanted the last sequence, The Firebird Suite to have the same death and rebirth theme as Night on Bald Mountain/Ave Maria, which they got, right down to a terrifying symbol of destruction emerging from a mountain to wreak chaos.

‘Sup, witches?

#2 – Too Short

Speaking of repeating the past, the original idea for Fantasia 2000 was to follow Walt’s vision in that three favorite segments would make a return amongst the newer ones – the Nutcracker Suite, which was eventually cut for time, Dance of the Hours, which I’ve already stated morphed into Carnival of the Animals, and finally, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, the obvious choice to keep since that’s the most popular piece out of any of them. Cutting things for time doesn’t make that much sense, however, when you realize that Fantasia 2000’s runtime is only 75 minutes. A very short animated film by today’s standards that lasts barely half as long as its previous installment. I don’t see why they couldn’t keep at least one other sequence from the first Fantasia to make things last a little longer and keep in the original idea’s spirit.

#3 – All Story, No Experimentation

Unlike the first Fantasia, all of the sequences have a linear narrative structure that’s easy to follow. Not a bad thing and kudos to you if you’re among that group who prefers Fantasia 2000 for because of that, but again, I admire how the original film didn’t stick to a coherent story the whole time; how it was unafraid to let the music, atmosphere, and visuals speak for itself without sticking to a three-act plot and designated protagonist for every piece.

#4 – The One You’ve Been Waiting For, The Host Segments

One of the things that turned Fantasia off for its detractors was Deems Taylor’s seemingly dry narration. But maybe Fantasia 2000 can fix that with some folks who are hip and with it, perhaps a wild and crazy guy or two…

Eh, he’ll do.

Now, the idea of varying segment hosts isn’t an altogether bad idea. Most of them work well: Angela Lansbury gives the lead-in to the Firebird Suite plenty of gravitas befitting the finale, as do Ithzak Perlman, Quincy Jones, and James Earl Jones, who build plenty of intrigue for Pines of Rome, Rhapsody in Blue and Carnival of the Animals respectively; this seriousness makes James’ reaction to what the Carnival segment is really about a successful comic subversion. Even Penn and Teller for all their obnoxiousness kind of works with The Sorcerer’s Apprentice due to the linking magic theme.

I suppose what turns people off is the self-congratulatory tone and seemingly forced attempts at comedy you get from Martin, Penn, Teller, and Bette Midler. But you know what? They still make me laugh after all these years (well, you have to laugh at Bette Midler’s antics or she’ll come after you when the Black Flame Candle is lit). In fact, I have to hand it to Midler’s intro in particular. Fantasia 2000 came out right around the time I began taking a keen interest in what animation really was and how it was made. For me, her preceding The Steadfast Tin Soldier piece with tidbits about Fantasia segments that didn’t make it past the drawing board was like the first free hit that turned me into an animation junkie (plus this was before you could look up anything on the topic in extraneous detail on the internet, so it had that going for it). If I have to nitpick, though, The Divine Miss M referring to Salvador Dalí as “the melting watches guy” is a bit reductive. That’d be like calling Babe Ruth “the baseball guy” or Walt Disney “the mouse and castle guy”. Plus, Dalí and Disney were close compadres with a layered history. They planned on many collaborations, though the fruit of their labors, Destino, would not be completed in either of their lifetimes. Couldn’t show just a modicum of respect there, Bette?

Ahhh! I take it back! Don’t steal my soul!

So, I wouldn’t say I hate or even completely dislike the host segments. Sorry to disappoint everyone who was hoping for me to rip into them. They’re not awful, just uneven. And if you think they ruin the movie for me, you’ve got another think coming.

Pines of Rome – Ottorino Respighi

The idea for Pines of Rome’s visuals came about due to an unusual detail in some concept art. Someone noticed that a particular cloud in a painting of the night sky heavily resembled a flying whale. So why make a short about flying whales? The better question would be why NOT make a short about flying whales? A supernova in the night sky miraculously gives some whales the ability to swim through the air over the icy seas. Again, seeing this in IMAX was incredible. There’s just one minor issue I have with. This and another segment were developed well before Pixar made its silver screen debut, and unfortunately, it shows twenty years later; the worst cases are the close-ups.

Okay, who put googly eyes on the moldy beanbag?

There are ways of blending CGI and hand-drawn animation well, and this isn’t one of them. I understand the necessity of having expressive eyes but simply dropping one on top of a CGI creature gives it a bit of an uncanny valley feel. They should have either stuck with traditional all the way or made the whales entirely CG. The CG animation of the whales themselves isn’t too shabby, so they could have pulled it off.

Because simply giving whales flight apparently isn’t enough to hold an audience’s interest, we have an adorable baby whale earning his wings, so to speak. Once he gets his bearings above the surface, he swoops ahead of his family and bothers a flock of seagulls. They chase him into a collapsing iceberg, leaving him trapped, alone and unable to fly. The quiet dip in the music combined with the image of this lost little calf adds some genuine emotional weight to this piece. The baby navigates the iceberg’s claustrophobic caverns until he finds a crevice that elevates him back to his worried parents. From there a whole pod of whales rises out of the ocean to join them as they fly upwards to the supernova’s source.

“So long, and thanks for all the krill!”

As the music reaches its brilliant crescendo, the whales plow through storm clouds until they reach the top of the world and breach through the stars like water. It’s an awe-inspiring climax of a short that, flaws and all, reminds you of what Fantasia is all about.

Majestic.

Rhapsody in Blue – George Gershwin

The music of jazz composer George Gershwin? Timeless. The art of renowned caricaturist Al Hirschfeld? Perfection. All this brought to life with the best animation Disney has to offer? It’s a match made in heaven. Eric Goldberg, who animated the Genie among other comedic characters, idolized Hirschfeld and drew plenty of inspiration from drawings, so getting to work alongside him while making this was nothing short of a dream come true. That attention to detail in rendering Hirschfeld’s trademark curvy two-dimensional style goes beyond mere homage. It is a love letter to a great artist that encapsulates everything about him and his craft, and to a great city that we both had the honor of calling home. The story goes that Goldberg screened the final product for Hirschfeld shortly before his 96th birthday and his wife told him after that it was the best gift he could have ever received.

All this to say I am quite fond of this particular short, thank you very much.

The piece follows four characters navigating 1930’s Manhattan and crossing paths over the course of a single day:

Duke, a construction worker torn between his steady, monotonous job and following his dream of drumming in a jazz band,

Joe, a victim of the Great Depression desperately looking for work,

Rachel, a little girl who wants to spend time with her parents but is forced to attend lesson after lesson by her strict governess,

and “Flying” John, a henpecked husband longing to be free from his overbearing wife –

And her little dog too!

By the way, John is modeled in name and in looks after Disney animation historian John Culhane, who also was the inspiration for The Rescuers’ Mr. Snoops, hence why the two look so similar. He’s not the only name who appears in this sequence: Gershwin himself makes a surprise cameo as he takes over Rachel’s piano solo halfway through the story.

Speaking of, my family used to compare me to Rachel because at that point in my young life I was doing or already did the same mandatory activities as she – swimming, ballet, music, sports, all with the same amount of speed and varying degrees of success.

No one can argue that art is where we both excelled, however.

The physical timing of Rhapsody in Blue’s animation is hilarious, though it doesn’t rely wholly on slapstick for its humor. The sight gags and clever character dynamics all weaved into the music milk plenty of laughs, and envelop you in this living, breathing island that is Manhattan.

I speak from experience, this is the most accurate depiction of commuting on the 1 train that there ever was.

Even with such a premise and two masters of combining comedy and art, there is still enough pathos to keep the story rooted. Take when all four characters are at their lowest point. They look down on some skaters in Rockefeller Center and picture themselves in their place fulfilling their deepest desires. Seeing their dreams so close in their minds and yet so far away while paired with the most stirring part of the score is heartwrenching.

In the end, things pick up as the characters unwittingly solve each other’s problems. Duke quits the construction site, leaving an opening for Joe to fill. Joe accidentally snags John’s wife on a hook and hauls her screaming into the air, allowing him one night of uninhibited fun at the club where Duke performs.

“Anyone hear something? Nah, it’s probably just me.”

Rachel loses her ball while fighting with her nanny, which Duke bounces off the window of her parents’ office, which in turn gets them to notice their daughter about to run into traffic and they save her. Everyone gets their happy ending and it ends on a spectacularly glamorous shot of Time Square lit up in all its frenetic neon glory.

And not a single knockoff costumed character hitting up tourists for photos. Those were the days, my friend.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I adore Rhapsody in Blue. It’s easily my favorite part of the movie; a blissful ménage-a-trois of art style, music and storytelling, and it’s so New York that the only New York things I could think of that are missing are Central Park and amazing bagels. This sequence is gut-busting, energized, emotional, and mesmerizing in its form. I don’t often say I love a piece of animation so much that I’d marry it, but when I do, it’s often directed at Rhapsody in Blue.

Piano Concerto #2 – Dmitri Shostakovich (aka The One With The Steadfast Tin Soldier)

This piece has an interesting history attached to it. Disney wanted to do an animated film surrounding Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales – including The Little Mermaid and The Steadfast Tin Soldier – as far back as the 30’s, but the project fell by the wayside. During Fantasia 2000’s production, Roy E. Disney asked if they could do something with Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto #2 since he and his daughter were attached to that piece. He looked over sketches and storyboards made for the unrealized Tin Soldier sequence and discovered the music matched in perfect time with the story.

This is the second sequence that features CGI at the forefront. Unlike Pines of Rome, though, it works because the main characters are toys, and you can get away with your early CGI looking shiny and metallic and plastic-like when you’re animating toys.

Hell, it worked for Pixar.

The story centers on a tin soldier cast with only one leg who is shunned by his comrades for routinely throwing off their groove. He falls in love with a porcelain ballerina when he mistakes her standing en pointe as her also missing a limb. Despite his embarrassment when he learns the truth, the ballerina is enamored with him as well. This rouses the jealousy of an evil jack-in-the-box who I swear is a caricature of Jeffrey Katzenberg minus the glasses but with a goatee and Lord Farquaad wig.

“MUST. CHOP. EVERYTHING!!!”

The jack-in-the-box and the soldier duke it out for a bit before the former sends the latter flying out the window in a little wooden boat. The boat floats the soldier into the sewers and attracts a horde of angry rats who attack him, because animated rodents seem to have a natural hatred towards toy soldiers.

Case in point.

The soldier hurtles into the sea where he’s eaten by a fish – which is caught the following morning, packed up to be sold at market, bought by the cook who works at the very house he came from, and he falls out of the fish’s mouth on the floor where his owner finds him and places him back with the rest of the toys. Now the story this is based on hints that the jack-in-the-box is really a goblin who orchestrates the soldier’s misfortunes with his malicious magic. But based the extremely coincidental circumstances of his return home, I’d say the soldier’s the one who’s got some reality-warping tricks up his sleeve.

The soldier and jack-in-the-box duel again that evening, but this time the harlequin harasser falls into the fireplace and burns up. Our hero gets the girl and lives happily ever after. A nice conclusion, though a far cry from what happened in the original tale: the ballerina is knocked into the fire, the soldier jumps in after her, and all that remains of them by morning is some melted tin in the shape of a heart. I gotta say, for all my love of classic fairytales, Disney made the right call. Andersen’s life was far from magical and it reflected in his stories, making many of them depressing for no good reason. The triumphant note the music ends on also would have clashed horribly if they stuck with the original. Even the Queen of Denmark agreed with Disney’s decision to soften their adaptations of Andersen’s work. I don’t know if I’d call The Steadfast Tin Soldier one of my very favorite parts of Fantasia 2000, but in the end, s’all right.

Carnival of the Animals: Finale – Camille Sant-Saëns

This shortest of shorts (clocking in at less than two minutes) kicks off with James Earl Jones asking with as much seriousness as he can muster from the situation, what would happen if you gave a yo-yo to a flock of flamingos?

The answer –

Good answer!

Fie on those who dismiss this part as a silly one-off that doesn’t belong here. Fie, I say! It’s a pure delight full of fun expressions and fluid fast-paced action. Once again we have my man Eric Goldberg to thank for this, though this time he animated it entirely by himself. I’d call it a one-man show except for the fact that his wife Susan handpainted the entire thing with watercolor, making it look like it sprung to life straight from a paintbrush. It’s a simple diversion about a flamingo who wants to play with his yo-yo while the other snooty members of his flock try to force him to conform. As you can see from the still, they fail quite epically. Nothing beats the power of nonconformity and yo-yos (also every yo-yo move featured here is authentic; I love when animators go that extra mile).

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice plays next, but since I already touched on that in the first Fantasia review, I’m skipping over it. The segment ends with Mickey congratulating Leopold Stokowski (again), then crossing the barriers of time and space to inform the conductor, James Levine, that he needs to track down the star of the next segment, Donald Duck. Levine stalls by explaining a bit about what’s to come while Mickey frantically searches for his errant costar. The surround sound sells the notion of him moving around the back of the theater accidentally causing mischief all the while. Thankfully, Donald is found and the sequence commences.

Pomp and Circumstance – Edward Elgar

This famous piece of music was included at the insistence of Michael Eisner after he attended his son’s graduation ceremony. He wanted to feature a song that everyone was already familiar with. Of course, since this was after Frank Well’s untimely passing and no one was bold enough to temper Eisner’s worst instincts with common sense, his original pitch had every animated couple Disney created up to that point marching on to Noah’s Ark – and then marching out with their babies.

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Okay, A: Unless you’re doing a groin hit joke or are Ralph Bakshi or R. Crum, cartoon characters don’t have junk as a rule. And B, one of the unwritten rules of Disney animation is that barring kids that already exist like the titular 101 Dalmatians or Duchess’ kittens, the established canon couples do not in any official capacity have children.

To which Eisner laughed maniacally and vowed that they would.

But in order to placate Eisner’s desire to turn every branch of the Disney corporation into a commercial for itself, the animators compromised and agreed to do Pomp and Circumstance with the Noah’s Ark theme, BUT with only one couple – Donald and Daisy Duck. In this retelling of the biblical tale, Donald acts as Noah’s beleaguered assistant (I guess Shem, Ham, and Japheth were too busy rounding up the endangered species). Daisy provides emotional support while preparing to move on to the ark as well. It’s refreshing to see these two not losing their temper at each other for a change. I wish we got to see this side of their relationship more often. Donald returns Daisy’s easily lost plot device locket to her and as the rain rain rain comes down down down, he starts directing the animals on board; the lions, the tigers, the bears, the…ducks?

Anyway, all the animals and Donald get on board – well, most of them do.

The world’s first climate change deniers.

Donald realizes Daisy hasn’t arrived yet and runs out to look for her, unaware that she’s already boarded. Daisy sees Donald leaving but is too late to stop him before the first floodwaters hit their home. Donald made it back to the ark in time, however, though both of them believe that the other is forever lost to them. I find it astounding that they never run into each other not even once during the forty days and forty nights they’re cooped up on that boat. It’s the American Tail cliche all over again, and well, at least it’s happening in a short and not the entire movie.

Soon the ark lands atop Mount Ararat and the animals depart in greater numbers than when they embarked on their singles cruise. Daisy realizes halfway down the mountain that she’s lost her locket again, which Donald finds at that very moment while sweeping up, and the two are joyously reunited.

“I thought you were dead!” “I thought YOU were dead!”

I kid around, but I truly enjoy this short a lot. There’s so much warmth to Donald and Daisy’s relationship that makes their reunion at the end all the sweeter, and there’s plenty of great slapstick to offset the drama in the meantime. I will admit it’s nice to hear there’s more to Pomp And Circumstance than just the famous march, and the entire suite matches flawlessly with the visuals, though the main theme itself is so ingrained into the public consciousness that it’s difficult to extricate it from that what we’ve seen accompany it countless times.

Come on, you all know what I’m talking about.

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“What? Don’t tell me YOU don’t think of heads exploding like fireworks when you hear Pomp and Circumstance! Name one other life-changing moment could you possibly associate it with…you weirdo.”

The Firebird Suite – Igor Stravinsky

Fantasia 2000 comes to a close with a piece that has some emotional resonance if you know your history. You might remember from my first Fantasia review that Igor Stravinsky was disappointed with how Rite of Spring turned out, especially since he was a big admirer of Walt Disney and really wanted to do more projects with him beforehand. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they picked his premiere ballet to end the movie on decades later. After all these years, Disney worked hard to do right by Stravinsky – with a few twists, though. Instead of a balletic retelling of Russian folktales involving kidnapped princesses and immortal sorcerers, we have a fantastical allegory for the circle of life.

No, not that circle of life.

A lone elk who I’m fairly convinced is the Great Prince of the Forest walks through the forest in the dead of winter. With his breath, he awakens the spirit of the woods and one of the most beautiful characters Disney has ever created, the Spring Sprite.

I. Love. This character. Her design is gorgeous, shifting from a shimmery opalescent blue as she steps out of the water into an eternally flowing fount of live greenery spreading from her hair in her wake. Wherever she moves, grass, flowers, and trees blossom, fulfilling the idea of a springtime goddess more than Disney’s own Goddess of Spring ever did. The Sprite was a massive influence in developing my art style, particularly in her face and expressive eyes, and I used to draw her a lot. Visit any relative of mine and chances are you’ll find a picture of her by me hanging up on a wall somewhere in their house. Yet there’s far more to her character than just a pretty representation of nature; there’s plenty of curiosity, spunk, determination, and a drive for creativity. I love her frustrated expression when she’s dissatisfied with the tiny flower she sculpts out of the ground and how her face lights up when she morphs it into a buttercup as tall as she is.

The Sprite paints the forest with all the colors of the wind (mostly green) until she reaches a mountain that isn’t affected by her magic. Perplexed, she climbs it until she finds a large hunched over rock figure – or is it an egg? – standing inside. She reaches out to touch it and…

The Sprite has awakened her counterpart, the wrathful and deadly Firebird. Think giant evil phoenix made of smoke, flame and lava. And it goes without saying that seeing this on the biggest screen left quite the terrifying impact. One of the biggest inspirations for this sequence was the eruption of Mount St. Helens (though the shot of the Sprite surveying the breadth of the Firebird’s destruction reminds me far too much of the Australian bushfires going on) and the sheer horror of nature’s irrepressible chaos is fully captured here. But the Firebird refuses to settle for merely destroying the Sprite’s handiwork, oh no. It won’t rest until creation itself is consumed, and the Sprite is reduced to a powerless mite as she scrabbles to escape the Firebird’s relentless pursuit of her. Try as she might, however, the towering monster corners and devours her in one fell swoop.

The forest is reduced to gray ashes in the wake of the Firebird’s rampage, but the Great Prince has survived. Once again he brings the Sprite to life with his breath, only this time she is tiny and weak (the animation of her slowly developing from the ash into her huddled ragged form is breathtaking). Now, I didn’t think I’d get emotional revisiting a small part of a single movie I’ve rewatched countless times before but viewing this through a mature eye combined with the beauty of the Firebird Suite’s climax and its timely message has caused me to see it in a new light:

The Sprite is utterly broken by what she’s been through and the destruction she carelessly caused. She’s lost all faith in herself and in the idea of returning the forest to what it once was. Even so, the Prince gently insists on carrying her on his antlers to the remains of their favorite cherry blossom tree. Where her tears fall, grass shoots begin to sprout. This fills the Sprite with hope, and she soars into the air becoming one with the sky and rains life down on the forest. New trees burst from the earth. The air is filled with leaves and pollen and new life flowing from her essence. The Sprite’s joy and power grow so strong that she even encircles the Firebird’s mountain in all her verdant glory. Life and creation overcome death and destruction. It’s not Night on Bald Mountain/Ave Maria, but it’s close.

And unfortunately, that’s the biggest problem Fantasia 2000 has.

While working on the original Fantasia, a storyman made the mistake of referring to the work they were doing in “the cartoon medium” in Walt’s presence. Walt turned on him and snapped “This is NOT ‘the cartoon medium’. It should not be limited to cartoons. We have worlds to conquer.”

And conquer they did…just not the way Walt intended.

The point I’m trying to make is Walt was breaking new ground and experimenting with things nobody ever tried when it came to Fantasia. While those risks were initially deemed a failure, it eventually gained the recognition it deserved from the animation and filmmaking community. Any attempt to recreate the magic of Fantasia is no small feat. But rather than taking new risks that not even the first film dared, the studio opted to adhere to Fantasia’s formula with pieces that recall if not flat out copy from the original segments. I hesitate to call it a pale imitation or cash grab however because this was done for the art much more than the money (though Eisner was probably hoping it would bring in some bank). There’s even a little bit of depth to it: while the first Fantasia had themes of differing natures in conflict – light vs. dark, fire vs. water, etc. – Fantasia 2000’s theme is accidental but brilliantly meta: CGI vs. traditional animation, a conflict Disney would become very familiar with in the decade following the film’s release. In some ways, it reminds me of Epcot’s genesis. The driving force behind it was long gone, but the attempt to bring it to life as close to the original vision as possible is still much appreciated.

For all my gripes, I really do enjoy Fantasia 2000. Perhaps not on the same level as its predecessor, but it has its moments, oh yes. And believe me, as far as Disney sequels go, you could do far, far, far worse than this one. Fantasia 2000 is Fantasia’s kid sister mimicking its beloved older sibling in an attempt to show it can be cool like the big kids too. But hey, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting this misfit on Patreon. Patreon supporters receive great perks such as extra votes for movie reviews, movie requests, early sneak-peeks and more! If I can hit my goal of $100 a month, I can go back to weekly tv series reviews. As of now, I’m only $20 away! Special thanks to Amelia Jones, Gordhan Rajani and Sam Minden for their contributions! I’ll see you in a few weeks when I and review the 1959 Disney animated classic, Sleeping Beauty!

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Screencaps from animationscreencaps.com

Yes, I know The Lion King and Lady and the Tramp ended with the titular characters having babies, but was there anyone out there apart from Eisner who demanded there be sequels to those films that focused on their offspring?

January Review: Fantasia 2000 Last year I talked about Fantasia, which is not just one of my favorite Disney movies, but one of my favorite movies in general.

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