#he's a silly freak who gets off on pleasuring logan

[mischievous-thunder]

It's a special skill set, Logan. Wade wants you to make good use of it over and over again!

[whereisstevethestove]

4 with anaroceit, or loroceit?

Prompt: 4. ‘The king is missing’ with Roman, Janus, and Virgil.   For the 300 Follower special here! (x)

TW: Implied Torture:)

AO3 Link (x)

In the three years that Janus of Onryx had been a companion to the king, not once, not twice, but almost fourteen times that the man had gone missing.  Most of the time, he had been found hiding somewhere on the grounds, so not exactly missing, but it did add some spice, so he dealt with it.

So don’t judge him if he was rather indifferent to the guard that had burst into his personal study.

“The king is missing.”

“Don’t bother me, I’m busy.”  Janus flipped a document over, pulling out a candle so he could wax seal the back.

“He’s not in the palace.”

“Do I care?”

“Janus, please, he was here last.”  the guard shifted nervously as Janus lit the candle, still indifferent.

“Let me finish this up and I’ll do your job for you.”

...

The king, meanwhile, was being insulted by a rather cheeky young man.  Roman had said good morning to Janus and then had snuck out of his own palace to head to the surrounding town.

Roman loved his job, he loved the people, but he hated how it made it difficult to just go out and observe.

Anyway, he had made it to the edge of the town, where the poorer people lived when the voice assaulted him.

“Looks like a little royal got lost, eh?”

Roman paused.  There wasn’t anyone in the area and so he slowly turned in a circle, one hand flinching to his sword.  “Where are you?”

“Does it matter?  Well, I guess it does, you do look higher ranking than me by any chance.  I’m on the roof to your right.”

Roman turned and looked up to see the owner of the voice, who was lounging on the thatch roof of a small shack, smirking.

“Hello Princey.”  Roof guy said, waving.  “Here to tax me again?  Honestly, at this point, might as well take the skin from my neck before I commit high treason.”

Roman sputtered.  “I... I was just taking a walk... Thatcher in the Rye.”

“Very creative for a royal.  I’m not a thatcher.  This isn’t even my roof.”

“It’s not?”

“No, it belongs to the rich fucker who is gonna force me off it.”

Roman really wished that his father had taught him how to talk to people like this.  He honestly had no idea.

“can I get a name?”

“Nah.”

“Well, Nah, how can I help you?”  Roman swept into a bow, feeling a bit silly to be bowing to a dirt covered person on a roof, but they laughed.

“A royal, bowing to me of all people! Must be my unlucky day.  You can’t help me.  When I said that I didn’t own this roof, I meant it.  It’s eviction day, I’m just waiting to be dragged off in chains.”

The nonchalant way that he seemed to accept it was jarring to Roman.  Yet, behind the dirt and the wary gaze, he could see very real panic in the other’s eyes.

...

To say that Virgil was having a good day was a lie.  First he’d had woken up to the reminder that this was his last day of freedom and when he decided to make a last, bold but stupid stand, the freaking king had shown up.

He was playing dumb in hopes that King Roman would laugh it off and hopefully leave before the count could show up.

God, it’d be embarrassing to be dragged off kicking and screaming if his royalness was watching.

Unfortunately, the king was still talking and Virgil could see a cloud of dust from about a mile off, which could only be caused by horses.

“Do you know who I am?”  The king’s voice pulled his eyes back down.  Virgil shrugged.

“You’re dressed like a common folk, but your clothes are too clean and you wield a sword. Most likely a royal boy running from his mommy and daddy for a day out.”  Virgil looked back up to see that the dust was closer, probably arriving within the next five minutes.

“How dare!  I am an adult.”

“Cool, I don’t care.  Run off royal, before the wolves come.”  Virgil waved his hand dismissively and the king looked taken aback as he swiveled around to see the approaching count with his entourage. 

“Virgil! Get down from there.”

Virgil rolled onto his back, taking in the sky.  “Can I take a week to think about it?”

The count sighed, hell it was loud, Virgil could hear it from here, almost fifteen feet away.

“Do you want to be forcefully removed?”

“I mean, I would have gotten off the roof if I wasn’t expecting a fight.”  Virgil flipped over again, glaring at the count, the king lost in the small crowd of people that had started to gather outside of their nearby homes to watch.

It happened pretty fast.  One of the entourage walked his horse forward, reached up and yanked Virgil down by the hair.

Virgil fell, landed on the dirt with a thud and then scrambled to his feet, attempting to book it before the man from before grabbed his hair again.

“Sorry.”

“It’s whatever I guess.  You were hired for this right?  Can’t hold it against you.”  Virgil said as roof puller got off his horse.

“I have to tie you up.”

“Fair enough.”

The ropes were the worst, and it was only now that Virgil’s bravado left him as he was thrown on the back of a horse, completely at the mercy of the count and company.

He looked up as the horse started to walk, catching a glimpse at the crowd.

“Bye!  Wish me luck as I rot!”  One last jab, fake snark as a hope to the others that he wasn’t about to be broken.

Virgil then closed his eyes, and quietly began to cry.

...

Janus had finally finished what he needed done when another guard ran in, further annoying him.

 “We found him.”

“Thank goodness, I was so worried.”

“He wants to speak with you.”

Janus stood and pushed his chair back, following the man to where Roman’s study was.

His partner was pacing the study, dressed in what looked like a poor disguise, hands running nervously through his hair.

“Ro, what’s wrong?”

Roman looked at him.  “Just something I saw today.  Do we really tax people so much?”

Janus let out a quiet sigh.  “Honey, you might want to sit down.”

“No, I want to know the answer.  I just watched someone get tied up and taken because they couldn’t pay!  How is that fair!”  Roman whirled around, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“We try to do it percentage based.  The person you was taken probably owed private tax.”

Roman turned again and Janus walked over, stretching out a hand.  “Did you get a name?  We can look into it.”

“Virgil.  I don’t think he had a surname.  But Janus, they ripped him off his roof and just.. took him, it was horrible.”  Roman took Janus’ hand, still shaking a bit as his partner folded him into a hug.

“We’ll look at it, promise.”

...

Roman waited a week before looking back with the records finder to see if there was any clue where Virgil was.

Logan was annoying, but at least he did his job better than anyone.  He handed Roman a stack of transcripts, and when he looked through it, it was all trade receipts between Virgil and the Count Burgess, and the prices slowly got higher with no explanation to why or what was being traded.

At least he had a location now.  Roman took Janus and a few guards on the journey to the Count’s estate.

Needless to say, the Count was surprised to see the king knocking on his door.

“Your Majesty.  To what do I owe the pleasure, and with so little warning?”

Roman stepped forward as the Count bowed.  “Just looking for someone.  Virgil was his name.  There’s no record of him after you settled your debts with him.”

“But of course.  Come in?”

The group entered and Roman shivered.  Everything was perfectly clean, but even then, it all just felt shifted to the left.

“I don’t have many that come to me for financial aid, but when they do, it’s always delightful to help them out.  Of course, the poor boy couldn’t pay me back...”  the Count turned and opened a door.  “He’s down there, two at a time.”

Roman gave Janus’ hand a squeeze before nodding to the Count.  “I’d prefer to go first.”

“But of course.”

The pair went down the stairs, it being eerily silent.

“Now, before we enter the backrooms, I’d prefer you don’t have me killed,  I’m only collecting my debts.”

Roman narrowed his eyes.  “You say that as if you are doing something that would warrant death.”

The Count shrugged.  “You seem to be the overly emotional type you Majesty.  I learned my method of debt collecting from your father, so forgive me if I do offend you.”

Then he opened the door.

...

Virgil woke up, feeling like death itself had sucker punched him.  He didn’t bother opening his eyes, it was dark, of course it would be, he was in the dungeons after all.

Something felt off though.

“Is he okay?” “MMMMmmm, no, the infection is pretty bad.  I’m sorry Ro.  He’ll probably be in and out of consciousness over the  next few days.” “Thank you.”

Virgil tried to open his eyes, yelped in pain from the natural sunlight and then tried to roll away, pain flaring absolutely everywhere.

“Hey, you’re okay now.  Promise.”

Virgil didn’t respond and he felt a hand rest on his forehead.  

“I’m so sorry etoile.  Just rest okay?”

Virgil nodded.

Something warm covered him and he drifted off again.

...

Janus was surprised that Roman had let the Count live.  After everything had gone down, they’d returned to the palace with one less Count and one patient in need of severe healing from the injures and undernourishment from just one week.

They were laying in bed when Roman first asked him.

“Am I bad because of what my father did?”

Janus rolled to his side to look at his love.  “You saved Virgil, right?”

“yes, but~”

“No buts Ro, you did better than any king I know.  You’re a hero.”

“Hmm.”  Roman muttered before scooting closer to Janus.  “I’m worried.  Patton said that he’d get better, but I still worry.”

“How about you let the funny magic man do his healing, and I’ll make sure that you don’t go stir crazy waiting for your crush to wake up.”

“Not a crush.”  Roman protested.

“Virgil is very pretty though, you told me that.  And you seemed to put a lot of effort in for one person who owed debts to a person.”

“Okay, fine, you win Jan, but you’ll see once he’s coherent.  He’s wonderfully snarky.”

Janus laughed quietly.  “Fair enough.”

...

Roman wasn’t in the country when Virgil first awoke and was actually functioning past a fever dream and a few mumbled sentences.

Janus was there however, and Roman was right.

Virgil was incredibly snarky, and also very antsy, further proven when he tried to clamber out of the bed, almost falling before Janus caught him.

“Let the fuck go of me.”

“I’m sorry, I’d rather not have staff clean blood from your face off the ground when you collapse.”

Virgil hissed and Janus begrudgingly let him go, hands still hovering just in case.

“Roman’s going to be disappointed that he didn’t get to meet you.”

“We’ve met.”

“Ah yes, the roof incident, I’m well aware.”

“Fuck you.”

...

It took a long time for the scars to heal.  It took even longer for Roman to work up the courage to ask if Virgil would court him.

And it was Janus who asked in the end anyways.

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

I know I can't stand you, but please stay anyway? (pt 1)

Patton hates lying. Patton never tells lies. Patton has told a massive lie. Ethan can’t stand Patton. He has no reason to ever help him. Except, of course, the most obvious one. A fake relationship, a family Christmas, and other shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Deceit’s name is Ethan in this fic, Christmas

Pairings: Established side prinxiety, eventual moceit (initially one sided, and I guess this is also technically enemies to lovers?)

I have been informed that it’s okay to start posting chapters for a Christmas themed fic in late November so I am

AO3 Link Pt 2

“And then I told her that me and my boyfriend would both love to come over for Christmas!”

“Well that was a wonderful decision that couldn’t possibly backfire, I’m sure,”

“What? Patton, what were you thinking?”

“Were you thinking? At all?”

“You totally screwed up.”

“I know, I know, it was a really stupid thing to do, but I’ve done it now and I made a big mess and I really need you guys to help me, please?” Patton knew was whining, but at this point he had lost any sense of shame, or propriety he’d ever had. “I’ve been telling my parents for ages about this supposedly great guy that I’ve been seeing, and how he’s apparently too busy for them to meet, and now they’re sick of waiting.”

The group was gathered at Ethan, Roman and Virgil’s apartment for their weekly movie night. Ordinarily, by now they’d already be thirty minutes into the Beauty and the Beast, but due to circumstances, his friends had had to watch Patton pace and moan about his mistakes instead. It was really a testament to how good a friend Roman was that he hadn’t been punched yet.

Patton messed up a lot. He wasn’t quite used to messing up this hard.

He just hated to disappoint people! So, when his mum had called him up three years ago and asked about his love life, he’d made up a silly harmless little tale about a guy he’d met and started seeing. He’d meant to tell his mum that they’d broken up eventually, but she just seemed so excited every time she brought it up! Over the years, they’d established that Patton’s boyfriend was very painfully shy and worked a lot.

As his roommate and longest standing best friend Logan had pointed out to him when he’d first confessed the dilemma, he really should have expected that his parents would eventually want to meet his mysterious significant other. Logan was very clever.

“So let me get this straight- “,

“Good luck with that” chorused Roman and Virgil. Patton had to take a break to think about how cute they were together.

“…Not only have you been lying to your dear mother and father for three years, you’re now asking one of your friends to join you in your deceptive plot by pretending to be your boyfriend? How very disappointing.”

…

Patton firmly reminded himself that if he couldn’t say anything nice, he shouldn’t say anything at all. Roman and Virgil’s incredibly aggravating roommate was a relatively new presence in their close-knit group, and not one that Patton was thrilled about.

Ethan was…snarky, to put it mildly. He had a flippant attitude towards everything and seemed to take pleasure in driving Patton up the wall. Most frustrating of all, you could never quite shake the feeling that behind the careless exterior, Ethan had some sort of secret motive, one that Patton could never seem to figure out but that he didn’t trust one bit.

He didn’t even particularly seem to like any of them and yet he insisted on tagging along whenever they hung out. If only he wasn’t so close with Virgil…

Ugh. Patton liked to think he was a nice person, but whenever Ethan looked at him with that infuriating smirk or said something sarcastic it became really hard for him to remember that.

But for now, he didn’t have time to be mad at Ethan. He had other problems.

“It’s just for one week.” He pleaded with his friends. “I’d call my parents up and tell them we broke up, I promise?”

Logan sighed. “I am afraid I cannot do it, since Patton and I have been friends since childhood. Patton’s parents already know me very well, and they would know immediately that we were conspiring to distort their reality.”

“Do you have to phrase it like that?!”

“Well, that is literally what you are suggesting Patton, regardless of whether you’re willing to admit to it.”

Ethan snorted at that and Patton counted to ten in his head.

He had really hoped that Logan could do it. They were best friends, his parents already adored him, and Patton didn’t even think he’d be that uncomfortable pretending to act all romantic with him in front of his parents. But Logan had a point. He always did.

“Roman? Virge? Please?”

Roman and Virgil turned to look at each other before answering.

“Sorry Padre, but it’s our first Christmas being together and Virgil and I have already made plans.”

Virgil shrugged apologetically at him and Patton immediately felt bad. How could he have forgotten?

To think, when they’d first met, the two silly kiddos couldn’t stand the sight of each other and now Virgil and Ro were practically inseparable. Patton was happy for them. He couldn’t help but think that he deserved just a teensy bit of credit for introducing them in the first place.

“Patton?” Logan’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “What will you do now?”

“Huh? Oh… I don’t know, I guess I’ll just have to call my mum up and tell her the truth. Or something. I don’t really have any one else who I think would want to do it. I guess that’s what I get for telling a lie…”

“You haven’t asked me yet.”

Patton gawped at Ethan, who had been staring at his phone throughout the whole conversation. Was he serious? No. This was probably some cruel trick. He wanted Patton to ask him so that he could say no and laugh at him.

“I didn’t think you’d actually want to do it.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Well obviously I don’t want to do it. Honestly, I can think of few things that would be less appealing. However, one of those things happens to be spending the week alone while these two-“he jerked his thumb at Roman and Virgil – “are off making out in some cabin.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me?” Patton wasn’t sure what he wanted the other to say. On one hand it would solve his current problem. On the other hand, an entire week alone with Ethan and his family sounded like a whole bunch of problems on its own.

Ethan hummed as if he was considering it. Did he really have to be so infuriatingly calm when Patton was clearly freaking out?

“Oh, Patton, I don’t know how I could accept such a brash proposal, I’m a man of very high standards.”

Oh goodness, he was practically purring. Calling his mum and coming clean almost seemed appealing. Almost.

“Listen E, if you’re just gonna be a dick-“

“No, Virgil, it’s okay!” Patton hurried to calm down his friend. He was grateful that Virge was so quick to defend him, but he really couldn’t afford to annoy Ethan right now. As much as Patton hated to admit it, he desperately needed the snake’s help.

He mustered his bestest, friendliest, smile.

“Ethan, would you come to my parent’s house with me and pretend to be my boyfriend for the course of one week?”

Ethan tilted his head. What more did he want?

“Um… pretty please? With cherries on top?”

The grin that followed was practically wolfish. “Oh, alright, I suppose I could take a week out of my incredibly busy schedule to help out my dear friend.”

Roman looked confused “You were literally just talking about how you had nothing to do because Virgil and I were going out of town-“

“I do not understand the nature of your request Patton. Why would you be offering Ethan fruit in exchange for_”

As the group fell into their usual messy chatter, Patton fell into his thoughts. Ethan had agreed to help him. He hadn’t thought that the snake was capable of doing things that he had nothing to gain from.

No, wait. That was mean. Just because he’d never seen Ethan behave selflessly didn’t mean he was incapable of it. Patton didn’t have any right to judge him. After all, a person was innocent until proven guilty and Ethan hadn’t done anything to suggest that he had ulterior motives for helping him.

Besides, he thought, eyeing the tall man lying, stretched out on the floor. Ethan was – objectively – a perfect candidate for a fake boyfriend. He was (objectively!) very handsome and Patton had been to enough parties with him present to know that he could be charming when he wanted to be. He was intelligent – maybe not in the same way Logan was, but intelligent nonetheless. Maybe the week would be alright. He just needed to keep an eye on his unlikely saviour.

…

Roman pounced the minute Logan and Patton left the apartment.

“What are you doing?”

“… I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play innocent, you slippery serpent! Since when do you have a soul?”

Was he meant to dignify that with a response?

Virgil snorted, leaning into his exuberant boyfriend, who pulled him into his lap without even breaking his ridiculous tirade. How revolting precious.

“Roman’s asking you why you’ve decided to do something for once that helps another person and poses no benefit to you whatsoever.”

Ethan needed new roommates.

“Exactly! And for Patton? The two of you don’t even like each other!”

Ethan was definitely rolling his eyes at Roman’s antics. He was definitely not doing his best to avoid Virgil’s knowing smirk. Furthermore, he had no idea why Virgil was grinning at him right now either.

“Cool your jets, Princey.” The aforementioned emo turned to wrap his arms around Roman’s waist and kiss his cheek. (Did they have to do this in front of him?) Turning to grin smugly at Ethan in between kisses, he continued, “I can assure you that in this instance E’s motives are entirely selfish.”

…And new friends. Ethan needed new roommates and a new best friend.

“What exactly are you talking about, my Dark and Stormy Knight?” (what the fuck did that even mean??) “Do the two of you know something that I don’t?”

And it was high time for Ethan to retreat to his room. Jumping to his feet, he grinned at Roman.

“I assure you that there is a number of things that we know and you don’t my dear prince.” He pretended not to notice Virgil frowning at the nickname. It was what he deserved anyway. “Why don’t you sit here and think about it-“

“Excuse me? I am not about to sit here and be criticised-“

“-And I will go catch up on my beauty sleep.”

Safe in his room, Ethan collapsed on the bed. His motives weren’t entirely selfish. And even if they were, so what? He would be helping Patton either way. Quality time with the little blue-eyed angel was really the least he deserved for his troubles.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was going soft. There was a time when he’d mocked Virgil for the very same thing, when the emo had first started hanging out with Patton. Then he’d actually met the guy and it was Virgil’s turn to make fun of him.

It wasn’t his fault the other had been so adorably wary of him the first time they met, eyeing Ethan like he thought he’d pounce or something. He grinned to himself as he remembered the way Patton had squeaked, actually squeaked when the little blond puffball had offered his hand for a handshake and Ethan had kissed it instead. After that, how could Ethan possibly hold back? It was just a game at first. Flirting with Patton, making fun of him. Anything to coax out those ridiculously cartoonish reactions. He hadn’t meant to develop feelings.

And of course, it didn’t help that the object of his affections still didn’t entirely like or trust him. Patton and he had had many a “civil discussion” about ‘helping others’ and ‘telling the truth even when it’s difficult’. They’d consisted mostly of Patton talking about morals and Ethan thinking about how a person could be cute and ridiculously obnoxious at the same time.

And yet, he mused, all the moralising lectures seemed to be working, did they not? No matter how much he rolled his eyes and scoffed, he couldn’t deny that hearing Patton’s earnest little voice in the back of his head did make him want to do the so-called ‘right thing’ more often, and even if he was only helping people because he had a stupid crush on the most strait laced boy on the planet, who cared? The old ladies made it across the street in one piece either way.

Not that he agreed with everything Patton said. The difference was that when Patton looked at him like he was the bad guy, Ethan actually cared. That was a new feeling, for him.

In other words, he had it bad.

He had never been more glad that Virgil was not a mind reader.

…speaking of Virgil, if the noises coming from the front room were any indication, he really needed to start looking for a new place to live.

[the-parentheticals]

Sanders Sides....?

Well I’ve been looking or an excuse to post that one Logicality AU I hinted at months ago…

Reaper AU (in which everyone is trans and Google is no help)

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Logan, Roman, Deceit, Remy

Warnings: Death, pregnancy, stealing from dead people

Word Count: 1369

Patton Sanders is trans and pregnant with his boyfriend’s child. His boyfriend, unfortunately, has died. He lives in an apartment building with his high school friend Virgil Shelley.

There is a blackout and, unknown to him, the person who lives in the apartment next door, just died. Patton was going out to get something he dropped in the hallway and the door closed. Virgil is out at work so there’s no one who can get in the apartment and he forgot his phone. Also, his water broke.

Logan is the reaper sent to collect the guy’s soul. It’s a routine procedure. Unfortunately he has to actually pop out somewhere, and the closest is in the elevator. Unfortunately, that’s where Patton is.

Logan freaks out because THIS WAS NOT COVERED and also THIS IS NOT MY JOB THIS IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF MY JOB. He freaks out even more when the guy waves at him. “Hi there! Are you going to help me?”

And then he freaks out for the third time because HE CAN SEE ME AND HE’S NOT DYING. He is surprisingly informed about childbirth, and knows he has time.

“Please stay calm,” he says, because that is the only thing that manages to stick in his brain at a time like this. “Apologies, but I am unable to help you. I am, however, capable of transporting you to the nearest hospital.”

Patton smiles because yes that’s a good idea. “Do you have a car or something?”

“I do not. However, I do have the means to obtain one.”

Patton is kind of worried about what exactly that is but he shrugs and smiles anyway. “Um, okay…”

Logan only just realizes that no one else can see him and this guy can (because he’s giving birth? Perhaps.) and it is a terrible idea to have him drive when he’s pregnant. Driving is not one of Logan’s skills. He sighs. This, he supposes, is an unprecedented thing in reaper history. It means another delay. It means he can take the guy’s car because he won’t be needing it now, or ever.

So long story short Logan hijacks her car and drives Patton to the hospital (badly). Drops him off there and leaves to get Shawna’s soul. When he gets back he’s reprimanded like heck.

Patton, for his part, is confused but so thankful. No one saw them. And he’s barely conscious of giving birth to a healthy little boy — he doesn’t like that, but that’s the way it is, anyway. He decided on Thomas months ago. Thomas Sanders it is.

He stays there for three days. Roman McAdams comes to pick him up because Virgil is stuck at work again. Logan is also there picking up the soul of another patient. Patton sees him and waves.

“Hi there! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Patton! Are you here to visit me?”

Logan looks around because Patton cannot be talking to him, surely… But there’s no one else around. And he did see him. (What is happening?)

“No, I am not. I do not understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Anything. I need to depart. Right now.” He pulls out his scythe.

Patton backs away. “Um… where did you get that thing?”

“I am a reaper. It is my tool.”

“Uh… what? Just… careful with that! You don’t want to end up killing someone!”

“That is my job,” says Logan without a hint of sarcasm. Roman walks over, evidently curious. Logan shakes his head. “We must continue this conversation at a later date. Do you reside in the building in which I found you?”

“Yes…?” Patton nods slowly.

“Excellent. I shall be there at… 21:45, in human time.” He turns and walks away. Roman catches up to them.

“Hey, who were you talking to?”

“The guy I told you about!” Patton says cheerily. “The one that took me to the hospital?”

“Who?” Roman frowns. “There wasn’t anyone there.”

“Yes there was, silly!”

“No, there wasn’t!”

“Um, okay…?” Patton raises his hands. “Okay then.”

Roman’s an actor who does a lot of odd jobs and lives in a tiny hotel room. Tthe best driver out of all of them. Always wears the same t-shirts but has two fancy jackets from the theatre. Nonbinary, he/him or they/them.

Logan is a reaper, one of many. He became a reaper in the 1500s in exchange for forgetting his previous human life. He saw it as a win-win.  He’s always known what to do, but he’s never had to deal with a human seeing him. He can’t find any mention of it anywhere. He travels mostly in Florida. He takes souls to the Underworld. He doesn’t much care for what happens next. He always wears a semi-nice suit and tie. Just otherworldly enough to be intriguing.

Patton always wears loose clothes and pastels. Very soft and kinda insecure. Loves Thomas very much.

Virgil is always wearing their uniform. They work at a series of restaurants as a waiter. Overworked, underpaid, in love with Roman. And now has to take care of Thomas. Virgil is very suspicious about Patton’s new boyfriend (or so he says) but doesn’t have time to worry. Has a tattered black jacket he wears over it when he’s off duty, with way too many patches stuck on it for his own good. Closeted.

Deceit is their vaguely chaotic and disturbing neighbour. Lives across the hall from Roman. Looks very good in Roman’s clothes. Roman is low-key jealous. Has inexplicably nice clothing. Probably has something to do with the reapers.

Remy is Logan’s boss, and surprisingly chill for a reaper. Has special markings (that signify he’s the leader of the team) that he hides behind sunglasses. Looks basic but he definitely knows when you’re going to die. Leather jacket, ripped jeans, soft black shirt. You don’t want to know what it’s made of. Obsessed with Starbucks. Will occasionally put in good words about specific baristas. He processed Logan’s request with his boss (at the time) Emile Picani’s approval. He’s promised never to tell Logan about it, and he intends to keep his promise.

Reapers in this AU don’t determine when someone dies, they just know when they will and take their souls to the afterlife, where it gets judged. Reincarnation doesn’t exist. Good souls go to the good afterlife. Terrible, irredeemable ones go to the torture place, but most go to pay for their sins as corporate workers. They do all the work for the reapers. When their term is up, they get to go to the good afterlife.

Distant ending: Patton dies and Logan goes to collect his soul. Logan realizes what happened. He cries, because he probably has at least acknowledged his feelings by this point. Patton goes to find Roman and Virgil because he really hopes he’ll actually get to see Logan and they know the truth at this point. Logan does not visit because that’s not possible. Patton goes off to find Logan. Roman wants to go with him, but Virgil convinces him that this is something Patton should do by himself.

Patton eventually runs into Remy, and asks him about Logan. Remy decides he likes this guy and gives him the same offer Emile gave Logan. Patton accepts and is sent to the team.

Remy introduces him to the team a few weeks later. Patton just waves and smiles. He doesn’t remember very much, but he’s happy to be here.

Logan is completely shocked and runs up to him.

“Salutations, Patton. Although I believe I am ecstatic at the prospect of collaborating with you—”

“Do I know you?” Patton’s not quite sure what to think right now.

In that moment, Logan’s heart breaks.

“Apologies. You do not. I see now that—” He can’t let his feelings get in the way. “That isn’t crucial. My name is Logan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Logan!” Yes, this is the same Patton he’d fallen in love with decades ago.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

It’s a slow happy ending. When they both retire (Logan refuses to leave until Patton can) they go to live with Roman and Virgil and possibly Dee. Oh, and Thomas and friends.

[preyed-llama]

an interesting night

Genre: hurt/comfort

Ship: Logince

Summary: Roman’s forced to go to a party to clear up a mess, although how could things go as planned. 

Warnings: homophobia, alcohol, drugs mentioned, sex mentioned, swearing. (Let me know if I’ve missed anything.)

The bass shook the foundations of the house as Roman rocked back and forth on the dancefloor. A girl from his drama group was moving around in time with the music doing some dorky dancing. Roman would’ve started doing silly dancing too if he didn’t feel others’ eyes on him. Of course, they were on him. They were watching for him to mess up. The only reason he was at this stupid party rather than staying at home with his precious Disney movies and a nice cup of green tea, is someone had let it slip that he was gay. Now this wouldn’t be a problem, if the school wasn’t so homophobic. A month ago they had thrown a guy out of the locker room because a rumour was spread that he was into guys.

It had made his blood boil when he found out about it, but now he was just trying to stay undercover. The closet was safe after all. The girls arm wrapped around his waist as she pressed sloppy kisses to his neck. It wasn’t the best situation to be in. He glanced around for a second before he looked down at the poor, drunk girl and excused himself.

The kitchen wasn’t too busy, it certainly wasn’t as busy as the loungeroom, you couldn’t move without someone touching you in some way, and most of the time it wasn’t intentional. The lights were also steady, rather than the flashing colours they had chosen for the loungeroom that was giving him a major headache. Outside of the glass door he could see another large group of people in the pool and sitting on the seats. Most looked too drunk to be responsible out there, but that was a problem for a different person who wasn’t currently drinking their problems away because the constant fear of rejecting was strong enough to drown him.

He shook those thoughts from his head and looked over the options. Beers and shitty mixes sat around the table. His eyes landed on the cruisers, they are overly sweet and taste just like soda, so maybe not. But the beers were excruciatingly dry. If he grabbed a cruiser though, would he seem more gay? Surely that would fuel the rumour. Beer tasted disgusting though, he always struggled to get drunk off it because it felt like it was stuck in his throat. He’d need a lot more alcohol before he’d grab a beer.

Jack Daniels sat untouched in the corner. Jake’s house totally had some cola in the back fridge. He’d seen it when he was over a few weeks ago for a game marathon. Jake was chill, he didn’t worry too much about rumours and he’d been friends with Roman for years, although they’d both got very different interests. He hadn’t told Jake he was gay, so he couldn’t even get his help.

Fetching the Coca-Cola from the back fridge was certainly an adventure. He was hit on by numerous girls, most of which didn’t look like they could even stand, and he was offered some… unnameable substance that he turned down rather quickly.

Back in the kitchen he made a Jack and coke, that was manly enough, right? Surely no one would notice. He downed a mouthful and winced, there was a reason he preferred green tea to alcohol, maybe he should’ve settled for a cruiser.

He shook that thought from his head, he was here to prove he wasn’t gay, so he couldn’t go and give up on his reputation. The hallway was quiet enough, a rather attractive man stood in the corner on his phone. Who was Roman kidding, he was gorgeous. His perfectly combed pitch-black hair made Roman’s heart stutter. It looked like he had dark blue eyes, although those were hidden behind blocky glasses. He was looking quite dressy, a black button up and some dark blue jeans, it was a sharp contrast to all the tank tops and muscle tops Roman had seen over the course of the night.

His eyes dropped down to the jack and coke in his hands before he glanced around the hallway, no one else seemed to be around.

The other teen looked up as he approached. He was clutching a lemonade cruiser in one hand and his phone in another, he seemed to have his phone open to messages. Roman gazed at the cruiser enviously. He doesn’t have to hide, does he? The spotlight isn’t trying to melt away his façade, to uncover every bump and secret hidden inside, and yet Roman has to give up things just so the spotlight can’t catch them, rude.

“Can I help you?” His voice was like honey and caramel. It was so sweet and so perfect that Roman couldn’t help the blush that spread on his cheeks. He quickly took a sip of his drink to try and shake off the nerves, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. He was meant to be proving how straight he was, but with such an angel in front of him, he wasn’t even sure how he could ever pretend to be straight.

Although, there was no one around, and the hallway wasn’t the lightest place in the house, a small conversation couldn’t be too bad. “Not particularly.” Roman hoped he was coming off as a flirty nonchalant and not regular weird. “What’re you doing standing all the way back here? The party’s in the loungeroom.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, that’s were everyone else is too.” Roman tried to calm his hammering heart, so what if this man is an introvert and his phone lit up with a notification revealing his sherlock background that clearly means he’s dorky as well, that’s hardly something to get excited over, after all, he’s straight.

He couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted. “You do have a point, my dear Nerd. It’s where all the obnoxious, judgemental people are, pretending to be something they’re not.” He tried to hide the wince when his own words struck home, maybe alcohol was a bad idea. Or maybe just leaving the house in the first place was a bad idea.

“So why aren’t you there?” The other teen shot back, his gaze was back on his phone as he continued to type to someone.

Roman’s impulsiveness got the best of him, before he could stop himself, the words were already falling from his mouth. “Because I’m not some judgemental, homophobic asshat that won’t even let others be happy.” He covered his mouth and looked down at his drink. This certainly wasn’t the first drink he’d had that night, and sure he was drunk and naturally incredibly impulsive, it’s how the original person found out he was gay, but it still made his stomach churn. It wasn’t okay, he didn’t know where the nerd stood with things. Was he homophobic? Would he be outed? Was it the end?

He hadn’t realised he was freaking out until he heard glass shatter against the floor. The nerd was saying something, he couldn’t hear anything over his own breathing, heartbeat, and the ringing of the shattered glass. Oh god he never should’ve come.

“Breathe for me. Come on. In four 4.” Roman shakily tried to follow the instructions. His breath kept hitching as his thoughts flew too quickly to gather. “Good, good. Hold for seven.” Roman could hear the music and the teen’s voice, the other sounds were slowly being drowned out. “Out for eight.”

He followed along several more times until he was calm enough to move. “Can I touch you?” the nerd asked. He nodded mutely. A soft hand landed on the small of his back as another one held his hand. He was led further into the house. There was one room that wasn’t being used…  for one purpose or another.

The moment the door closed the world felt calmer. The loud music and shouts were muffled behind the light grey walls. The nerd’s hand was still on his arm as the other one moved back to his back. “It’s okay. Keep breathing.” Roman tried to stop a shiver from rolling around his spine. This was certainly not how he wanted the party to go. People would be suspicious of him going into a room with another guy, and the nerd was touching him. Oh god this was really not helping the rumour.

He shrugged off the nerd’s hands and leaned against the wall breathing heavily. The thoughts continued to swim through his head at he let his eyes fall closed. Everything hurt. He should’ve stayed home. The rumour would’ve settled down eventually.

The nerd’s voice gently pulled him from his thoughts. “Greetings, Roman Prince, right?” Roman looked up at the nerd and furrowed his brows. “I’m Logan Sanders, Virgil works in the tech crew for your performance.” The name seemed familiar. He nodded his head and breathed out a laugh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Logan Sanders.” Roman held out his hand, which Logan shook firmly. Roman would’ve blushed if this was any other situation. They dropped each other’s hands and looked around the room. It was a study, bookshelves lined the walls and a desk sat in the centre. Someone was at least smart enough to hide anything precious before the party had started.

The music continued to drift into the room. It felt nice. Dream-like.

Logan cleared his throat and sat down properly, his legs crossed as he sat to the left of Roman’s outstretched legs. “May I inquire as to what caused the panic attack?” Logan asked softly. Roman blinked a few times and hesitated. Would it be safe to tell him?

Oh, screw it.

“A rumour’s going around that I’m gay.” Logan didn’t seem too impressed. His eyes looked disappointed as his mouth was etched into a frown. Once he started to speak he couldn’t stop. “The last person who was called gay was assaulted and harassed. I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I don’t want to be rejected for a part of me.” Roman knew he was crying. He could taste the salt from his tears in his mouth.

A hand rested on his. He looked up at Logan to see fire burning in his eyes. “Well that’s ludicrous. What does it matter if you’re a homosexual or not. Am I wrong for being homosexual? Of course not. So why would you be?” Logan seemed to be staring through Roman rather than at. He was just talking, as if it’s a conversation he’s had with himself many times. Roman’s heat clenched as he rolled his hand over to give Logan’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s fine.” Roman muttered. Logan rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet. ‘no, it’s not.’ The silence felt uncomfortable as Roman glanced around the room for anything to talk about. Although it was uncomfortable, neither made a move to leave. It felt like the room was safety. Away from lies and fears.

Roman let out a sigh and spotted Logan’s phone light up again. “So what’s a nerd like you doing at a party like this?”

Logan seemed to smile slightly as he rolled his eyes. “I was here to support a friend. Although he bailed rather quickly. What about you?”

Roman laughed. “Wow, first of all, rude. Second of all, here to clean up the rumour, although I don’t think that went down too well.” Logan nodded. The conversation felt more comfortable as Logan’s phone continued to go off, he never picked it up or looked at it. His gaze was at the room.

“So you like Sherlock Holmes?” Roman asked to break the silence. Logan glanced over at Roman, his eyes were alight with joy as his posture relaxed completely. He only had a few seconds until Logan launched into a long rant about how incredible Sherlock Holmes was. It seemed adorable how Logan gestured with his hands as his face lit up with emotion.

Roman felt his heart hammer in his chest as a blush grew. Logan glanced over at him after several moments and dropped his gaze. “Uh, I apologise for going off on a tangent.”

“No need to apologise, it was adorable.” Roman said absentmindedly. “So have you read the novels?” Logan immediately started to talk about the differences between the books, the movies, and the tv series. Roman felt mesmerised. How did someone manage to look so perfect? How was he so confident? Logan was blushing just the slightest as he continued to ramble on.

The conversation flowed for the remainder of the party as they talked about various shows they were interested in. Roman didn’t seem to need alcohol to forget his problems. Although he was glad he was drunk enough to get himself into this situation in the first place. During some point in the conversation, Logan leaned on the wall next to Roman.

Sirens blared through the music startling Roman from their moment. So the party seemed to have been broken up, which meant it was probably their time to bounce. Logan walked over to the window facing the backyard and opened it. The pair quickly left the house and moved over to the fence. Roman pulled himself over it and helped Logan up.

Laughter broke between them as they casually made their way down the street. “Can I borrow your phone for a minute?” Roman asked. Logan hesitated for a moment before he handed it over. Roman quickly typed in his phone number and handed it back. “Well I best be off, it was incredible to meet you dear Logan. Message me.”

Roman walked in the opposite direction towards his house. He could see people be pulled out as he walked passed casually. A few people glared at him or tried to call out to him, but he just kept walking. His house was only thirty minutes away on foot, so he didn’t bother to contact anyone. He received a message from an unknown number half way home. He smiled down at his phone.

[dr-gloom]

The Makings of Greatness: Chapter 6

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: platonic logince, platonic moxiety, platonic anxeit, familial ThVi

Tags/Warnings (for this chapter): intimidation, slight violence, yelling

Ko-fi

AO3

Masterlist

Prologue  Ch 1  Ch 2  Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7  Ch 8  Ch 9  Ch 10  Ch 11  Ch 12  Ch 13  Ch 14  Ch 15  Ch 16  Ch 17

“All clear, captain!” a petite grey tentacled alien called from the lookout, his three eye stalks extending to look down at the deck below.

Roman smiled, turning to Emile. “Well my friend, are we ready for takeoff?”

Emile grins. “My pleasure, captain.” He turns to the crew, calling out. “All hands to stations!”

The deck bursts to life, crew running to and fro to reach their stations and prepare for takeoff. Virgil made it to the top of the stairs, looking around curiously at all the aliens running around. He’d never seen a ship take off from the vantage point of the ship itself. He was kind of worried, as silly as it sounded.

He watched as a female alien - almost human-like in appearance, bone thin, body stopping right below the arms so she was little more than a head and two limbs - and a rotund vomit-green man with tentacles for hair resembling dreadlocks both climbed the shrouds nearest him, many other crew members doing the same on the others.

“Loose all solar sails!”

The crew stood on the supporting beams and grabbed their ropes, releasing the sails from their drawn-up positions to unfurl, tying the ropes in place. Virgil watched the half-circle shaped sails simultaneously billow out, already catching on a breeze. A fish-like crew member bumped into him as they took a step back to pull a rope into position, whirring around to growl at Virgil in exasperation. Virgil stumbled away, muttering an apology, cheeks burning.

The ship rose into the air, no longer tethered to the dock and solar sails gathering energy to power the thrusters. Roman grinned, feeling the thrill of an impending journey squeeze his chest and steering the ship to turn around, directing it away from the space port. Virgil watched with a wide grin as light danced through the sails from the top down, lighting the hexagonal pattern and brightening the power indicators on the sails’ masts, Virgil’s breath catching at the sight.

This was significantly cooler than his scrappy homemade solar surfer.

Below deck, a crew member watched as the power reserves slowly filled, readying himself to pull the lever to ignite the thrusters. Above deck, anything not tied down - mainly the crew and passengers - began to float away from the ship as it rose away from the space port’s artificial gravity. Roman, arms crossed and calm as ever as he rose into the air, called out. “Mr. Snuff! Engage artificial gravity.”

The Flatula man that Virgil had ran into earlier turned to Roman and gave an aerated response, turning to the lever inset on the post beside him and pulling it. In a split second, all inhabitants of the ship fell to its surface. Roman and Emile landed on their feet as if they had never moved, while Virgil stumbled and Logan landed on his face. Virgil snrked.

“Full speed, Emile.”

Emile nods and grabs a metal tube sticking out of the floor, a sort of communication piece running from the deck to the control room. “Take her away, fellas!”

“Brace yourself, doctor.” Roman muttered. Logan scoffed.

Below deck, the crew member watched the reserves fill and pulled the switch, the thrusters igniting and sending the ship into flight. Logan was sent flying, his suit being the only thing between him and a bad headache as he collided with the wall behind him. Roman’s body shifted with the sudden inertia but stood resolute, a smug grin on his face. Virgil climbed up the ship’s shrouds, clinging to the rope with one hand, half hanging from the structure as he watched the space port quickly grow farther away, a giddy grin overtaking his features.

The wind whipped at his clothes and his hair, the free feeling of hanging on to life by a rope and a sure foot pulling his stomach into his pelvis. The feeling of being alive lit his skin and made his heart race. Virgil loved it. He opened his eyes, unaware of having closed them, to catch the sight of dozens of galactic whales flying through the air. His eyes widened and he leaned just a little bit more. “Whoa…”

Dozens of large blue-and-white whales floated through the air with a level of ease as if swimming in the ocean. They had spottings of red along their backs and around their large eyes, and surrounded the ship on all sides, flying in V-shaped groupings. A galactic whale passed by just yards from the ship, and Virgil came face-to-face with one of its large amber eyes.

Logan gasps softly as he watches the creatures pass. “Orcus Galacticus… How fascinating…”

Roman watches the awe on Logan’s face with slight amusement.

“It’s a grand day for sailing, wouldn’t you say, captain?”

Roman turned to face Declan, who stood on the main deck. Morph zipped around his shoulders cheerfully. Roman’s eyes narrow as Declan shoots him a charming grin. “And look at you, you’re as trim and as fit as a sloop with new sails and a fresh coat of paint.” His robotic fingers skate along the surface of the deck’s trim. Roman preens under the compliment momentarily before shaking his head, narrowing his eyes at the cyborg.

“You can keep that flattery to your space port floozies, Moran. I’m not interested.”

Morph morphs into a miniature Roman, placing his hands on his hips and swaying them teasingly. “Space port floozies! Space port floozies!” Roman’s cheeks heat and he opens his mouth to retaliate.

“I speak nothing but the truth, captain.” Declan replies smoothly, sweeping Morph into his tricorn before placing it on his head.

Roman rolls his eyes, his gaze locking on Virgil still in the shrouds. “Isn’t that your cabin boy? I suggest you stop running your mouth and do your job.”

Declan’s mouth twists into a scowl and he turns away, stalking over to Virgil. Roman’s shoulders relax. Something about that cook rubbed him the wrong way.

“Virg-o!” Virgil turns to look at Declan, the light, carefree expression still on his face. “I have two friends for you to meet,” Virgil looks around, curious. Declan rolls his eyes, “Mr. Mop, and Mrs. Bucket.” He holds up a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, and the happy grin evaporates from Virgil’s face.

Declan tells himself the strange feeling in his chest is from the eye he ate as he disappears back down into the galley.

Virgil drags the wet mop across the deck, back and forth monotonously. “This is bullshit…” He grumbles to himself. “I’ll show you Mr. Mop, you stupid-” Someone bumps him from behind, sending him stumbling a few steps. He turns around to tell them off only to come face-to-face with a largely-muscled grey four-armed alien with a red face. The alien who’d been listening into their conversation earlier that day.

“Watch it, twerp.” He grumbles before walking away.

Virgil scoffs and goes back to mopping, his bored and restless gaze wandering over to three crew members chatting across the deck. The short multi-eyed alien from the crow’s nest is talking to the large man Virgil had watched climb the shrouds earlier and one other large magenta-colored alien. The new addition is the one who notices Virgil staring, nudging the other two to get their attention. The conversation stops, and Shrouds Guy scoffs. “What are you lookin’ at, weirdo?”

Suddenly his head detaches from his body, his tentacle dreads acting as legs to walk his head onto the barrel he’d been leaning on. His arms, which were folded over his chest, drop to lay at his sides and expose a face on his abdomen. “Yeah, weirdo.”

Virgil’s eyes widen in shock and he looks away.

A soft hissing sound comes from the shrouds above him, and he looks up just in time to see some sort of crustacean-spider-thing in a black leather jacket crawling down the ropes. Six long thin legs move his lithe body with such ease it looks as if he’s walking on flat ground. When he gets low enough, his front legs extend to stretch himself over Virgil and settle in front of him, looming over the scared teen.

Virgil’s heart hammers in his chest as large, gold eyes narrow at him. “Cabin boys should learn to mind their own business.” He hisses, pinchers at the sides of his mouth moving as he speaks. Virgil swallows, shoulders tense.

“Why, got something to hide, Bright Eyes?” Jesus Christ can’t you keep your mouth shut just once in your life you idiot.

The crab-spider dude rears back with an annoyed sneer and grabs Virgil’s shirt in his claws, lifting him off the ground. Virgil’s legs kick as he lets out a startled yelp, clawing at the alien’s claw. He isn’t sure if he’s trying to get out or trying to make sure the freak doesn’t drop him.

“Maybe your ears don’t work so well.” And oh, god, his breath.

“Yeah, eugh, too bad my nose works just fine.” No no no no you idiot shut up he’s going to kill you he’s going to throw you over-

The spider-crab guy snarls and shoves Virgil into the main mast, the metal digging into his back. At this point other crew members have gathered around the pair and start jeering, egging spider-crab to just throw Virgil overboard, or cut his fingers off, or an ear, teach him a lesson, teach him some manners.

“Any last words?” His claw reaches towards Virgil’s face, and Virgil’s blood runs cold. His stomach hits his feet and his heart is beating so fast that for a moment Virgil can’t tell if it’s beating at all. Just as the sharp tip pokes the soft flesh under his chin, a metal hand clamps around its base, pulling forcefully. Crab-spider grunts in discomfort, turning slightly to glare at Declan who looks all too casual for the tense atmosphere.

Declan takes a bite out of the purp in his flesh hand, grinning. “Mr. Solares, have you ever seen what happens to a fresh purp when you squeeze it hard enough?”

Declan’s grip on Remy’s claw tightens and Virgil realizes that it’s not his hand, but a metal clamp. Remy grunts in pain and releases Virgil, who lands in a crouch and scuffs away, heart still hammering in his chest. The surrounding crew give annoyed and exasperated cries, clearly not satisfied that Declan’s interfered with their fun. Declan lets go of Remy’s claw and Remy grimaces, flexing it to make sure it’s okay.

“What’s going on here?”

Emile descends the stairs and all chatter silences. “You know the rules; there is no brawling on this ship. Any further offenders will be confined to the brig for the remainder of the voyage.” He stops in front of Remy, glaring down at him. Virgil notices Remy has lowered himself to be beneath the first mate, curiously enough. Emile enunciates as he leans in, expression completely unamused. “Am I clear, Mr. Solares?”

Remy grits his teeth. A light catches his eye and he looks over to Declan, whose eye’s turned red and focused in on him. Remy turns back to Emile. “Crystal,” he grits out.

Emile turns away, satisfied, and heads back indoors. Declan grins at his retreating back, shooing off the crew as he calls out, “Well done, Mr. Picani. A tight ship is a happy ship, wouldn’t you say?” As soon as the deck is clear, Declan’s expression sours and he picks up the mop, turning on Virgil who still stands by the mast. “I gave you a job, Virg-o.”

Virgil scowls. “I was doing it until that bug thing-!”

“That’s enough!” Declan spits. “I want this deck swabbed spotless! It better be done by the time I come back.” He turns. “Morph.” Morph flits to Declan’s side. “Keep an eye on him. Let me know if there are any distractions.” He sends one last scathing look to Virgil before heading back towards the galley, and Morph flits over to Virgil, making a point of watching him closely. He even jokingly morphs into an eyeball, but Virgil just scoffs and goes back to mopping.

Declan descends the stairs, pausing at the base of the stairway as he takes in the sight of the crew scattered among the tables. He paints a charming grin onto his features as he calls attention to himself.

“So, we’re all here.” All chatter peters out as the crew turn to face Declan. “Fine. Now, pardon my candid speech, gentleman, are you all-” his hand changes to a large blade and he swings at the man with the tentacle dreads, the head jumping up just in time to avoid the cut. “stark-raving-” he swings at the multi-eyed lookout, who ducks and gets the tip of his tricorn cut. “totally brainlessly insane?!” He shouts, face twisted in rage. The crew all shrink back, some even cowering in their seats. Declan paces the isle between the rows of tables.

“After all my work, talking us up, getting us hired as an upstanding crew, you want to blow the whole thing?!”

Remy sneers. “The boy was being nosy.”

“How about you leave the talking to me, you bug-brained twit. As for the boy…. I’ll run him so ragged he won’t have time to think.”

Taglist: @the5thcoy @dailysandersidesaudoodles @hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

[lunarhowl]

Thomas Sanders (Sanders Side) HeadCannon/Possible AU

Ok I am going to put something out here that has been on my mind that i can't help but talk about it and even eventually make a design for. Ok so Thomas has his 4 sides, Patton, Logan, Roman, and Anxiety. And others have turned others things into parts of him too, like his imagination, or Imja i think its called? And then there is Pranks and Compliments too(and many more that i have read in fanfiction but i can't completely remember this time). But i started to think up of another side that hasn't been done yet and i can see the reasons why, but i can't help but do it. Now the only time i seen this done they made it a girl, and it didn't feel quiet right to me, but the idea of this stayed in my head. What if Thomas had a side, quiet possibly darker then Anxiety, because sure he is our dark over lord as Thomas stated in the Anxiety vs. Logic video, but Anxiety just does his job and believes that what he is doing is to protect Thomas. But this other side, is dark in a way that they aren't just looked at as a villain by the others, like they do to Anxiety even though he truly isn't, but this one is a villain. Now i am not sure how to do the whole cut off point where you click "Keep Reading" on the phone, and i k ow this is a stupid thing to put a warning for, but i know some tumblr kids are going to yell trigger warning back and forth if i don't, and i rather keep the tumblr police off my back, so consider this your warning for anyone who needs to be protected. If you feel you are safe to keep reading and just don't care, keep reading after this line. I am not sure what trigger warning this would be considered since i don't dabble in triggers so again, your only warning. Please do not leave asks on my blog because you don't like the post and it offends you because i will automatically remove it and go about my day. Thank you ------------------------------------------------------------- Ok so this side, i think many of you might know what I am talking about, is called Depression. Now I am not saying that Thomas himself has it or suffers from it. And i know a lot of people do have it, myself included but i know how to deal with it. Also, I am not sure if this has actually been done before, I have not seen it and have only seen the happy sunshine and rainbows one, and they are great and all, but I want to get to the dark parts, scary even. So if this HAS been done before, think of ot as my own version on the matter, if not, then enjoy this. So Depression is a serious topic, and I could see Thomas making a video about it. Probably has already and its just one video i happened to miss out on. But if he was to turn it into a side, then oh boy would Depression give you a run for your money. As i stated before, he would be a dark side, darker then Anxiety. Anxiety is a dark, emo/gothic boy who is only trying to protect Thomas from possibly events that could happen. Depression isn't gothic or emo, and could care less if Thomas crashed and burned. He would be the type to crave pain and draw pleasure from watching Thomas or the others suffer. He would even purposely ruin things and make a situation worse then it could have ever been, just to see the others in pain. Not only this, but none of the others would be able to control weather he popped in or out, referring to things like when Thomas summons the others or when Roman summoned Logan and Patton in the Originality video. No, he would pop up when ever he wanted and just screw things up more then you could ever imagine. And sure you could say "well Anxiety pops up and tries to steer everyone in another direction" and yes, your would be correct on that fact, but Depression doesn't just steer away from the situation, he takes complete control of it, essentially becoming the puppet master and bending and turning a bad situation that could have been fixed, to an unstoppable train wreck that would cause the others freak out and be unable to figure out what to do. As for how he would look, i have thought of some ideas. Obviously he would still look like Thomas of course. And i am sure most of the ideas i have for Depression would be considered stereotypical for a dark character, but i just don't care. I mean so much has been done, its hard to be completely original. Most of the visions i get in my head when thinking of this character is him surrounded by shadows, with light grey skin with black vain like things on his arms and by his eyes. He would have black hair and probably off colored versions of Thomas's clothes or something that would suit the character more, not sure yet. I want to draw a design for this character, but i am not sure you guys will even like this idea so, i will let that be up to you guys. Ok that was all i had to say on this matter. Again, I don't believe Thomas has depression, this is just a silly head cannon i came up with (could also be another AU if you guys want it to be *wink* *wink*) and I have, at least, not seen any real ideas for this sort of thing, so if you have, think of this as my own version. Also again, I know depression is a serious topic and I too suffer from it, so I in no way and doing this to poke fun at it, its just a stupid little idea i came up with that i thought would be fun, please don't send the tumblr police after me, thank you. I hope you guys like this and you can ask me any questions or include any ideas to this and i can throw it in. Thank you for taking the time to read my rant lol.

[anavoliselenu]

Manwhore chapter 19

Worst of all, I can tell he’s enjoying talking to me. And teasing me. I pinch my eyes painfully shut, savoring it too, “Don’t hang up yet, just say something long and important. . . . Say your name! Your ridiculously long name . . .”

“Justin.” He indulges me. Then, slowly, “Kyle,” then “Preston,” then “Logan,” then “Justin.” Then, more intensely: “I miss you, Selena.”

I wipe away a stray tear and strain my throat to say something in reply. “Okay.”

“That’s all I get?” He laughs, incredulous.

“I love you,” I say. The emotion gets the best of me, and I repeat, “I love you, Justin,” and before he can answer, I hang up and cover my face.

Oh god. Oh god oh god, I just said it. And I have no idea what effect it had! OH GOD.

Shaking from the adrenaline, I put my phone on my nightstand and watch it for a few minutes.

What. Did. I. Just. Do?

I fall back in bed feeling a mix of excitement and dread and . . . disbelief. Well, I did say “I love you” to a man for the first time in my life. Just like that—wham!—over the phone. To Justin Justin.

How silly it must seem to him.

I must seem so . . . gah! Stupid!

Why could you not wait until you talked to him in person, Selena? Why?!

I wish I hadn’t missed his face, his expression. I mean, he must have been completely dumbstruck. Dazed. Was he surprised to hear it? Pleasantly so? Or not-so-pleasantly so? Well, did he laugh? Or frown? Puzzle? Fuck my laptop, what did I do?

I lie awake for a while in full-blown stress mode, in his shirt, my body aching for his, haunted by his eyes and by the last time we were together and every moment in between. Haunted by the dread of LOSING HIM before I can really be his girlfriend.

“Dibs . . .” I remember.

“I’m an only son. . . .”

“Are you coming up, or do you want me to carry you?”

I’m flooded with him.

Remembering the way I could almost swear he caught his breath when he saw me at the Ice Box.

The way he kissed the corner of my mouth first, always, leading into his bigger kiss.

The way he saved an elephant.

The way he saved me.

The way he fed me grapes.

The way he opened up to me.

Please come back to Chicago and let me explain, let me tell you why I don’t deserve you . . . and give me your advice. Give me your wise advice on what to do. Because I should’ve come to you before anyone else. I should’ve trusted that you would help me because that’s all I’ve seen from you—I’ve just never trusted a man before.

I hear my text beep and read:

Sin: I’m going to take that as a yes

28

TRUTH AND LOYALTY

“Wake up, Livingston.”

I tuck my face into my pillow while someone who sounds a lot like Gina keeps knocking on my door. I groan, “I’m going to kick your ass when I get out of this bed.”

“You’re going to be too busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Selena, the door’s freaking locked.”

“So?”

“So open up.”

Hmm. Don’t think so. My life’s a mess. My life’s a mess and I need to fix it and I need to think of how to fix it. And the only pleasure I can derive anymore is in thinking and remembering, remembering talking on the phone only a few nights ago; I dreamed he said some things, and that I said some other things, then I remember that, yes, I think it’s true—I said I loved him.

Holy crap.

“Raaaa-chel,” Gina whines. Hard banging at the door. “Open up, Livingston. You need to see this!”

“I don’t want to see anything today. I’m seeing Justin when he gets back from New York and I want some beauty sleep, okay? It’s Saturday,” I grumble, but when she keeps banging, I leap off the bed and whip the door open, then rush back under my warm covers. “What is it?”

Wynn and Gina drop onto my bed.

Wynn is here too?

I’m aware of a strained silence while Wynn goes to open the curtains and comes back. Their stares . . . they look ominous.

A shadow of fear looms before me. “What?”

Their expressions alone set alarm bells ringing throughout my head. Leaping off the bed, I open my laptop and start scouring the Net, and all I can think is no, no no nooooooooo.

Within seconds, dozens of results with the words exposed and undercover and lies and betrayal pop up, tying Sin, my glorious Sin, to me.

“Selena, you’re all over the gossip sites,” Wynn says.

The results come at me with talons. One after the other.

“Go here.” Gina points at a website.

My hands have never shaken so hard on the track pad. I force the cursor to move and go to the site, and my stomach drops. I see Victoria’s byline and realize they went ahead and released her story in blog form before going to press.

I can’t see through my tears.

“That BITCH!” Gina yells.

As though someone else is speaking for me, numbly, in my own voice and with my own lips, I hear: “She’s doing what she has to. She wants to succeed, like me,” and as I speak, my tears keep gathering in my eyelids.

“She can suck my dick!” Gina yells.

I duck to read.

DECEIVED: Justin Justin’s New Girlfriend Really Undercover Press!

If you’ve been waiting for the dish on one of the most unexpected “relationships” to arise with one of our bachelors, prepare to have your mind blown even further when I let it all out of the bag. At least, Justin Justin’s girlfriend’s bag. . . .

I can’t continue. Each word is out there for Justin to read. Snarky, like the words of a real-life Gossip Girl amusing herself while my world is torn asunder.

My eyes well. “He’s read this by now, ohgod.”

“Selena, calm down. . . .”

“You don’t understand! Truth and loyalty are important to him! They’re so important to him . . . I can’t.” I cover my head in my hands as I start to hyperventilate. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Selena.” They try comforting me, both of them slinging their arms around my shoulders, but I’m beyond comfort.

My cell phone is buzzing madly. I suck in deep breaths, and when my phone falls still, the landline starts to ring. Gina lifts the kitchen phone in the air. “It’s Helen, Selena.”

When nothing happens, she waves the phone at me.

“Helen’s calling.”

“Don’t talk to her,” Wynn whispers.

Gina covers the speaker. “Hello? Wynn? She’s her BOSS.”

I know what she wants, what she will say. I grab the phone while my hand trembles and the rest of me starts to grow numb inside. I have disappointed everyone in my life. “You saw?” she asks.

I can’t answer.

Helen growls, “We’ll ride this if it kills us. Get to work.”

I’ve barely hung up the phone when Gina raises my cell phone before me, eyes wide and apologetic. “It’s your mother.”

With a moan of distress, I shoot Gina a “help me” look. What will I say to her? Well, let’s see. That I lost my heart and my senses with it. That I lost the man I loved before I had the courage to let myself truly have him. That I lost a story to my colleague. That I might, if I can’t find my balls soon, lose my job.

That I’ve lost all sense of direction. Of what’s right and what’s wrong. Of who I am and what I want—

“Heyyyy, adoptive mom!” Gina finally picks up on my behalf. “Yes! GINA! Oh . . . Selena? She’s super busy writing the article that will leave this other one in the dust. Oh, pfft! It’s just a blog article! Selena’s will be IN PRINT, and it’s much more important in that format. . . .” She starts to wax poetic to my mom while I go back to the computer and go to Justin’s social media.

I scan a few pictures.

There he is.

I see a picture of him getting out of his Rolls and into M4. A picture of him flipping off a reporter.

A set of slick aviators shield his eyes.

He looks sharp and on top of the world as he gets out of the car and, just like that, flips off the reporter. And a caption beneath the image reads: “When asked by a reporter, outside his offices, what he thought about his girlfriend being undercover press, this is what Justin Justin had to say.”

Justin is back in Chicago. He’s back from his business trip. To find this.

He’s being tagged. He’s being BOMBARDED.

@JustinJustin U deserve much mre and better than a cunt lke her!!

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

I run into my room and change as fast as possible into a pair of black slacks and a professional-looking white button-down blouse; then I quickly gather my hair into a ponytail and, despite Wynn and Gina’s reservations, take a cab to M4.

I cross the pristine lobby. If I’d thought it was difficult to walk up to the receptionists behind the oval desk the first time, it’s even more excruciatingly painful now.

I know that they know what’s going on; I can tell by their pointy stares.

My pulse is dangerously high. I can’t imagine what it will feel like when I see him.

“Selena Livingston for Mr. Justin, please.”

It strikes me, after several heartbeats, that none of them wants to answer me.

“We apologize,” the middle one with the tidy bun finally says. “But Mr. Justin just got into town.”

“Yes, I know.” I can’t believe how calm I sound, considering how twisted up my insides are. “I’ll wait.”

“Miss!” she calls as I walk toward the elevators. “No one is to be allowed to the top without authorization today.”

I stop mid-stride, puzzled. “Oh.” I hesitate, and notice that the elevator bank is, in fact, quite empty today. “I’ll wait here, then.” I try to stay calm as I walk back in their direction. Did Justin cancel all the meetings in his “packed” day? I feel increasingly anxious about it. “Just please tell him Selena Livingston would love to see him. It’s terribly important.”

“Like I said, he’s terribly busy.”

“I’ll wait,” I say, soft but firm.

I head to one of one of the lounges by the window. Huddled in my seat, I wait, feeling cold, remembering the absolute gossip storm taking place online. I shift uneasily from side to side, watching the elevators and the cars outside.

There are two or three people outside the building trying to keep their cameras hidden but occasionally taking snapshots of the building. So they want a piece of him too? Annoyance flares inside me. Annoyance, impotence, and loathing at myself for having caused this. The receptionist approaches moments later, and there’s an intimidating bodyguard with her.

Slowly, I rise to my feet.

“I’m sorry but we can’t have you here,” the receptionist says. “He’s busy, just arrived from out of town.” I see anger in her eyes. My attention flicks to the large man and . . . I just can’t believe there’s a bodyguard. I can’t believe he’s having them escort me out.

“Tell him I stopped by,” I murmur. Then I do them all a favor and take myself outside, using my hair as a curtain to avoid being recognized—glad that my hair can also hide the absolutely crestfallen look on my face. I head straight home, where Gina and Wynn appear to have been waiting by the door.

“How did it go?” Gina takes me by the shoulders and forces me down on the couch.

I’m still numb with disbelief. It takes me a moment to answer. “He’s walling himself up. I couldn’t see him. They . . . I was escorted out.”

“What?” Wynn cries, outraged.

And Gina: “Didn’t you tell me his staff is loyal to a fault? Of course they’d be overprotective of their Justin.”

“But did he know Selena was there?” Wynn wants to know.

They start arguing about whether or not Justin instructed them to kick me out, but I can’t join the speculation. I’m feeling more and more hopeless as I look at my phone. My silent phone.

Locking myself in my bedroom, I call his cell phone and pace around as I leave a message:

“Heyyyyy. Hey . . . will you please call me back? I need to talk to you.” I flounder with what to say next, my thoughts stumbling one after the other.

“Justin . . .” I trail off, but my voice breaks so fiercely, I hang up. I wipe my tears away and dial again. “Sorry,” I whisper. I have never wanted to hear his voice so much. “I want to say that . . . I don’t know. . . . I just wanted to hear your voice.” I think of what else to say when I reach his voice mail.

I dial again. “You value truth and loyalty, and I . . . I need to talk to you, Justin, you need to let me explain. If that’s all you do, please let me explain.”

It’s killing me. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I have a constriction in my chest and I literally can’t breathe. This time it’s not in a good way. I keep waiting to hear from him, keep expecting him to message me back.

I storm into Gina’s bedroom. “Do you think it’s over?”

She jolts up in bed. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought we had an intruder!”

“Do you think it’s over? Not talking and this shit happening, it means it’s over. Right? Who am I kidding? I wasn’t even his real girlfriend. Not even for a day. There’s nothing to be over.” I laugh sadly and struggle with my tears, and with my conscience, and my desperate need for him.

“I feel bad for you, but Justin’s a powerful man. When Paul betrayed me, I couldn’t look at him, not even a single possession of his. He broke me. And this is . . . this is public, Selena. How would you feel? If he came with something like this, throwing you for a loop? Give him time to assimilate what’s being said. Maybe he just wants to rationalize.”

Maybe he just needs to count to four, I think to myself.

“I have a temper. . . .”

One instant I’m trying to feel positive by telling myself that I will have a moment to explain, eventually, and the next I’m heavy with grief. The next, I’m one big, gigantic knot of regrets. Remembering those few, rare moments when he completely opened up to me makes me even more anxious to be with him right now, to explain. To make it okay. To hold him. To BEG him to hold ME. “Selena, what are you going to do with your article?” Gina asks worriedly.

In my hand, on my phone screen, for the thousandth time, I look at that picture of him arriving at M4 after a business trip. Looking like a true, first-class billionaire . . . but flipping off whoever was snapping that picture. All of that glass and technology in the background, and him, in that killer suit, his dark head bent, his eyes shielded behind his aviators. No comment, the caption says. But the finger said plenty.

29

RESEARCH

A short while later I slip into my bedroom and stand, in my socks and his shirt, and stare at my laptop.

Inhaling, I bring it, along with my shoebox filled with note cards, to the little rug beside my bed. I sit Indian style on the floor and read my notes, one by one. Notes on him.

Truth and loyalty, I had written.

Traits he probably admires in his best friends. Traits he may never have found in the women who are after him. Truth and loyalty . . .

That’s all I can write about. The rest of what I’ve learned is too raw for me to share.

But truth and loyalty.

Things Justin values above love.

Things he wouldn’t find in me. I read the back of the card, my scribbled note, this one talking about me.

I SUCK SOOOO HARD.

He’d stood there talking about truth and loyalty while I sat there moved by everything we talked about, absolutely knowing that I was falling in love, helpless to stop it.

And still, I was taking notes. Studying him like a lab rat. As if he wasn’t human. As if he weren’t driven by the same things everyone else is: a heart, a mind, a body, hormones; as if he didn’t need air and water and maybe even love; as if he were this robot to be scrutinized and picked apart for the amusement of the world.

Really? What does it matter that he’s been with a thousand and one women? What does it matter that he’s the city’s obsession and now also mine? He’s human. He’s entitled to the little privacy he has. He’s so damn closed off, he rarely opens up to anyone, and I know it’s because he’s always so judged and scrutinized.

My eyes water, and suddenly I grab the cards and start tearing them up, one by one. Then I lie with all the notes scattered around me and cry a little. Then I look at the scattered mess. What did I just do? Oh god.

If I want to save the magazine, I need to deliver something.

I breathe in and out.

“Selena?” I hear Gina call.

She peers inside and scans the mess of torn note cards, and then me. As broken as the paper around me.

“Oh, Selena.”

I start crying.

“I need to write it.”

“Selena, tell him the truth. Tell him the truth. If he knows you well at all, he’ll understand.”

“What? That I’m a liar?”

“Tell him you love him,” she says.

“He doesn’t want my love. He values . . . truth and honesty, qualities I don’t possess.”

“You possess them in spades. You’re loyal and honest with everyone.”

“But not with him.”

“From the moment you talk to him and come clean, you will be. Make him see it from your eyes. Maybe you can have it all.”

“Whoever gets it all, Gina? Nobody. Nobody, that’s who.”

“But yet we all believe that we can. Isn’t that the point of everything we do? We want it all. So write this piece. And if you still want him, then you should go get him.”

I pause. “I do want him,” I whisper, wiping my wet face with the back of my hand. “It’s a million tiny things that, added up, tell me there is no one in this world, ever, who will have this spectacular effect on me but him. Sometimes I just can’t see myself when we’re together, I’m so lost in him.” I wipe my eyes. “He’s the only man I dream about at night, and the only man I want to wake up next to in the morning. Everyone is after his fame or his money, but I love him not because of anything he has but because he has me. . . .”

“Oh, Rache. Don’t cry. Maybe there’s hope for you two.”

“How can there be? He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“He’s fucking hurting, Selena! Even I can tell, because there’s not one picture of him without fucking shades to cover his eyes. There must be hell in those eyes, Selena. I can’t believe I actually feel bad for him now.”

“Because I was the Paul in our relationship. I was the liar.”

“Paul played me. You never played him. Your feelings were real.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. I remember how Helen warned me from the beginning. That I was too young, playing with adults. I hadn’t seen all of this coming. She was right. I was not ready for this at all.

But I take the Kleenex Gina passes, wipe my tears, connect my laptop, boot it up, and write my heart out.

The day I turn it in, Helen tells me that the Edge email servers are bursting with hate mail for me, and she advises me to take the week to work from home.

The day it’s published, I don’t get out of bed. I don’t answer my phone. My mother stops by, but she ends up chatting with Gina because I don’t want her to see me like this; I’m too sad to fake it today, and she knows me so well. She tells me before she leaves, “I’m going to go paint.”

She’s telling me I should do the same. She’s telling me I’m free to go out there and do something I love.

But what I love hates me.

Twitter:

Did you read your girlfriend’s article? @JustinJustin

On his Instagram:

No way @JustinJustin would give that bitch a second chance!!

And the feminist groups online:

Selena Livingston, our hero! Revenge on the playboys! Want to play with our hearts? Beware the time you will find your own weakness. Revenge is sweet!

Later that week I find enough energy to get out of bed and go to work, and I’m immediately called into Helen’s office.

There’s tension between us. Helen was not happy when I sent over the article. She said, “It’s not what I asked for.”

“No,” I concurred.

Helen took it and printed it anyway.

Today, I’m surprised that she seems pleased to see me, genuinely pleased. “It’s a circus out there,” Helen tells me, waving me forward from behind her cluttered desk.

“I’m not online. Can you blame me?”

“No. But let me fill you in.” She signs to a chair across from her desk, but I remain standing. “Your boyfriend,” she begins with obvious glee, “pulled Vicky’s piece. It can’t be reposted without legal repercussions now.” She eyes me with a new gleam of respect and admiration, and adds, “In case you lost me when I said ‘your boyfriend’ ”—she laughs happily—“Justin Justin canned any print editions of Victoria’s post—and it was removed from the blog.” She nods ever so slowly and somberly.

My eyes widen. “What?” I finally speak.

“Victoria’s article. Your boyfriend owns the rights. It can’t be published anymore—not without his say-so.”

“What? How?”

She shrugs, then leans back in her chair with a little creak of the wheels. “Seems like Justin doesn’t want it out there.”

Ohmigod, he made Victoria’s story go away? “If he canned Victoria’s, why not ours? Why didn’t he can mine?” Why didn’t he read mine?!

My heart is in a fist in my chest and so are my lungs.

“Guess he doesn’t hate you that much.” She shrugs casually, but stops herself when she seems to notice—finally notice—that I’m crushed. That my hair is a mess, my face is a mess, I’m a mess. “Maybe he does like you, Selena,” she says softly. “I’m impressed, did you know? I’m not the only one who’s impressed. The world is impressed too. He hasn’t been seen . . . consorting with you-know-what types.” She taps a pencil absently on her desk, her eyes narrowed on me. “But he’s been skydiving daily. You’d think he has a death wish or has some serious mojo to get out of his system.”

I hardly hear her. I need to get away. From Edge, from her, from this office. “Is it all right if I work from home today, Helen?”

Though I sense her reluctance, she agrees. I go get my things from my desk, aching to my bones.

Justin skydiving.

Justin buying Victoria’s article.

Justin thinking I betrayed him.

Outside that afternoon, I stop when Edge stares back at me from a newsstand, one copy remaining on this side, a few on the other.

“You read that yet?” The man behind the newsstand whistles and laughs. “That reporter’s got her panties in a twist over the guy.”

I lift my head, prepared to scream at the man. Instead, I scan the picture of Justin that Helen used on the cover—those icy green eyes staring back at me. And yes, this man is right. I do have my panties in a twist over Justin. Not just my panties—my entire body. My entire life.

I miss him like nobody’s business.

I want to kiss him.

I want to squeeze him. With my arms. And my thighs. With my whole body until I BREAK or he breaks me, and that’s just fine, as long as he comes after me.

“Smart woman,” I finally whisper, emotion thickening my voice. “I think I’ll take him home with me.”

I buy the copy just because of Justin’s picture. Sharp tie, perfect collar, and that thick-lashed gaze, screaming to be warmed, that gets me. It’s a marvel how those eyes of green ice can so easily melt me.

I sit down on a bench with the magazine on my lap, brushing my fingertips over his eyes, wondering for the thousandth time if he will ever read what I wrote to him.

30

AFTER THE STORM

It’s over.

There wasn’t rain or thunder when we ended. We just ended like we began. There were no flashes of illumination that told me I would fall in love, that I would meet the one man who would challenge me, drive me crazy. Now it’s ended, my project done. Completed.

My mornings have returned to normal. I still have brunch with my friends on the weekends. I still visit Mom on Sundays. My world is back to ordinary, almost the same as it was before I wrote the exposé. I hadn’t realized how bleak it was. I’m afraid I will pick up the paper and there he will be . . . with someone. Or with three.

The crying spells are bad. You go out and accidentally smell wine and oops, snivel. And don’t talk to me about elephants, that takes me to a whole new level of despair. But the fear is gone. You were afraid of going out and suddenly you’re right there, daring the universe to take that from you or pleading with it to give you an excuse to feel like shit today. Gina passes me the Kleenex.

Some of my coworkers . . . some of them envy me.

“I wish I’d been asked to go after Justin Justin,” Sandy, my coworker, tells me because of the positions I’m being offered, but most importantly because “being paraded around in a yacht and being pursued like that . . .” she says dreamily.

“Fess up, was the sex phenomenal?” Valentine asks.

I think they’re trying to cheer me up . . . but I’m uncheerable.

I still stalk his Twitter feed. I can’t help stalking him, wanting to know how he is. Though the social media around him has been more active than ever, Justin himself has been . . . quiet.

He’s been asked about me—by reporters on live TV, and online. He says “no comment” or ignores the online jabs. Just like he’s ignoring me.

“It wasn’t going to last,” Gina assures me when she notices I’m mopey. “It was a hookup. He’s a womanizer to the next level.”

But it kills me that I’ll never know. I’ll never know if all the times he said I was his girl, he meant to keep me.

I have all these unsent emails addressed to Justin, and very little courage to do anything with them when I know that I don’t deserve for him to give me the time of day.

To: Justin Justin (Drafts)

Status: unsent

I have a thousand and one emails just like this that I won’t send either. I just needed to write to you.

Please forgive me

Do you think about me at all?

Dibs on your mouth and dibs on your eyes and dibs on your hands and dibs on your heart. Even your stubbornness cause I deserve it. Even your anger. I want it all. Dibs on my man. See #Iamsogreedytoo !!!!

Gina tells me that if she could survive heartbreak, I can survive breaking my own heart.

“Baby, I know it hurts. When I found out about Paul, I wanted a meteor to fall on my head so I could go numb inside a coffin.”

“God, Gina, I know. I just want a chance.”

I stare out the window this morning at the street. No more shiny Rolls-Royce waiting outside on Saturday mornings to take me “anywhere.”

Is it funny, though? That I keep waiting to see it? That I wake up with hope every day? For a text, a message, a call, the car, a glimmer of a chance?

Stop being so hopeful, Selena . . . he would have read it by now.

Maybe he did and he just doesn’t care to let you know what he thought of it.

I found out so many things about him during all the time we spent together, but I didn’t really find out if he could come to love me. If he’ll be too proud to ever forgive me. If he’ll seek to ease the pain of my betrayal with other women, or if he’ll shut himself off, like I’m doing. I found out dozens of things about him, but not the dozen ones that could give me any kind of comfort right now.

We saved an elephant together, he took up my fight for a safer city, but all I physically have to remind me of my time with him is his shirt.

His shirt, which sits like a priceless trophy folded away in plastic, inside a box, in the deepest part of my closet, because I can hardly bear to see it now. I can’t bear to wear it now. But sometimes when the melancholy hits, I go into my closet and pull it out, stark white and large, completely male against my frilly items, and still with his scent clinging to its collar. Self-pity washes over me on those days, and it takes one second, two, three, and then I think of him, and so I take four. Four seconds before I let myself breathe again.

EXPOSING JUSTIN JUSTIN

By R. Livingston

I’m going to tell you a story. A story that managed to pull me apart completely. A story that brought me back to life. A story that has made me cry, laugh, scream, smile, and then cry again. A story I keep telling to myself over and over and over until I have memorized every smile, every word, every thought. A story that I hope to keep with me forever.

The story begins with this very article. It was a regular morning at Edge. A morning that would bring me a big opportunity: to write an exposé on Justin Kyle Preston Logan Justin. He’s a man who needs no introduction. Billionaire playboy, beloved womanizer, a source of many speculations. This article would open doors for me, gain a young hungry reporter a voice.

I dove in, managing to get an interview with Justin Justin to discuss Interface (his incredible new Facebook-killer) and its immediate rise to popularity. As obsessed as the city has been with his persona for years, I considered myself lucky to be in this position.

I was so focused on revealing Justin Justin that I let my guard down, unaware that every time he opened up, he was actually revealing me to me. Things I had never wanted were suddenly all I wanted. I was determined to find out more about this man. This mystery. Why was he so closed off? Why was nothing ever enough for him? I soon discovered he was not a man of many words, but rather a man of the right words. A man of action. I told myself that every inch of information I hunted was for this article, but the knowledge I craved was actually about myself.

I wanted to know everything. I wanted to breathe him. Live him.

But most unexpectedly of all, Justin began to pursue me. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly. And relentlessly. I could not believe that he would be truly interested in me. I had never been pursued like this, intrigued like this. I had never felt so connected to something—someone.

I never expected my story to change, but it did. Stories tend to do that; you go out searching for something and come back with something different. I wasn’t looking to fall in love, I wasn’t looking to lose my mind and common sense over the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, I wasn’t looking to drive myself crazy with lust. But I ended up finding a little piece of my soul, a little piece that isn’t really that small at all: it’s over six feet tall, with shoulders about a yard wide, hands more than twice the size of mine, green eyes, dark hair, and it is smart, ambitious, kind, generous, powerful, sexy, and has consumed me completely.

I regret lying, both to myself and to him; I regret not having the experience to recognize what I was feeling the moment I felt it. I regret not savoring each second I had with him more, because I value those seconds more than anything.

However, I don’t regret this story. His story. My story. Our story.

I’d do it all again for another moment with him. I’d do it all again with him. I’d leap blindly into the air if only there were even a 0.01 percent chance that he’d still be there, waiting to catch me.

31

FOUR

Saturday.

The fourth one since.

There are still dozens of messages in my drafts folder that I won’t ever send to him.

I’ve still, more than ever, been living in the land of “what could’ve been” and trust me, this is a very sad place to live in. In the zip code of the lost, you breathe in regret with every breath, sadness permeating every space in which your body stands.

Of all the things that drive people to change, it is despair and sorrow that cause it most of all.

Sadness is so disempowering. Anger, on the other hand, demands action and empowerment. But I can’t get angry when it was me who put myself right where I’m standing.

I’ve spent weekends at the window of my apartment, trying to make myself want to go outside and not really feeling like it.

Never let anyone tell you that your life will return to normal after a hurricane.

I’ve got folders and folders with pics I can’t open.

A number I can’t dial.

A shirt I can’t wear.

A name I can’t say out loud.

The memory of a pair of eyes that will haunt me forever.

I live in fear of never seeing those eyes again. And in even more fear of what I’ll see in them if I do . . .

Helen had complained it was not what she had wanted.

She’d said it was “a love letter to Justin.”

But we all know stories are like that. Stories change. Just like people change. We change when we suffer, when we take, when we give, when we love. When you lose the object of your love, your normal will be perennially changed; there’s no returning to the old anymore. You have to rebuild stronger walls, change your expectations, and wait for the sunlight.

There’s nothing like a sunrise in Chicago, the orange-gold light shimmering over the buildings’ mirrored windows. I’ve watched the sunrises and the sunsets and I’ve watched it rain from this very window. I’ve watched Gina go out, and I’ve watched the cars drive by, not really focused on what colors they are, only that none of those cars belong to him.

My laptop hums nearby. Gina went out to lunch with Wynn, but I still can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm.

I’m trying to work on a new story. A story with good stuff. Stuff about people. Loss. And hope. And . . . forgiveness. I’m pouring tea for myself when my phone vibrates. The number is unlisted.

I stop and set my cup aside, then answer.

“Miss Livingston, this is Catherine Ulysses.”

I pause.

Justin’s assistant.

“Are you there?”

My heart. My heart is going to literally leap out of my chest.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“He’d like to see you in his office.”

I close my eyes.

“Should I tell him you declined?”

“NO! I . . . at what time? I’ll be there.” My fingers tremble as I write down the time and start nervously scribbling when I hang up.

The world tilts a little when I force myself to lower the pen. I stare at the hour. The date. The question mark. The heart. And the name Justin, I wrote, with all of that.

I’m finally going to see him. I have no idea what I’m going to say, where I will begin, what can even make this okay.

I picture myself kissing him, having the courage to say I love him.

I picture myself getting teary maybe, too, because this has been the worst month of my entire existence.

I picture him in all his glory, and my chest can’t take it without gnarling up like a live rope.

His office.

M4.

Justin.

I brush my teeth, take a shower, then hurry to my closet and swing open the doors, staring at my clothes, hoping something—the right outfit—stands out and yells, WEAR ME, HE CANNOT SAY NO TO THIS. Instead I see a lot of sleeves and nothing, nothing, fit for this moment. Hidden in this closet is his shirt. How I loved sleeping in this shirt. It engulfed me like his arms did, and I had the best dreams, sometimes even erotic ones, even after I was back from his arms, recently sated. I pull it out and look at it, missing it with an ache, then impulsively hide it in the long-dress section again.

I go for something white, a white turtleneck sweater, a pair of light-colored jeans, my lambskin boots.

I feel exposed, all my walls tumbled down. But I go brush my hair, add a light peach lipstick, and look at myself, my gray eyes staring back at me, as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen them.

Because I’ll tell him the truth—the entire truth.

And I’ll deserve whatever he comes back with; I’ll deserve it, every bit.

At M4, I take the elevator, trembling.

Our every complex human emotion, bottled up inside our bodies, our minds and souls and hearts.

Every member of every ethnicity, every human in the past and the present and every one in the future wants to feel like this. The way I feel right now, just a girl hoping and craving, dying to see him, praying the guy she loves loves her back.

My throat is so tight I can’t talk when I step out. His four assistants lift their heads from their computer screens. “I’m . . . here to see—”

“One moment,” Catherine tells me.

I’m standing here wondering if he’ll smell like I remember, look at me like I remember. If he’ll smile or frown, if he’ll hate me forever, if he thinks of me at all. If he misses me at all.

It doesn’t matter so long as he sees me right now. That’s all I want, to look into his face again. Hear his voice.

Finally Catherine hangs up and nods at me as she walks to the door and pushes it open for me, and I walk inside.